Finding Jesus Without Actually Being An Addict: God Has Some Mad Skills

I used to be an addict. I smoked. Marlboro Lights 100 in a box. I never did buy an actual carton because that would have meant i was a serious smoker... denial, of course. It would have been a lot cheaper to admit my addiction and save a few bucks. Forget about saving my lungs. I could say that it was this addiction that brought me to the Lord, that had me believing that my soul needed saving. But, that would be a lie. I knew the Lord before i smoked. I found him about the same time He found me. I think. Maybe that would be a lie too if the Bible tells me that he knew me while i was being knit together in my mother's womb.... well... at any rate, i got to know Jesus way before i was a smoker.

I found him by running away from my home. I ran to people that were kind and took me in, sheltered me under their collective wings. I believed that i could be loved at home if i did all the right things, if my works were good enough. I believed that would save me from the evil that prevailed. If i did all the right things and was a good daughter then i would be loved and adored and all would be really good. What i found out was that it didn't matter what i did. It was still awful and brutal and mean and unfair. I should have been treated like the good kid i was. Really. What i also found out was that it didn't matter what i did outside the home, under the wings of the people that i ran to. I was the same person, the same kid, but they saw all the anger and the tears and they showed me grace. How does THAT work? If i was a biblical editor i would throw out the book of James. It isn't about WORKS. At least it didn't work for me.

God has these mad skills of loving us despite ourselves and what we do. While i was being shown this Love by people outside of my home, it hit me that this is how God works. It didn't matter what i did. It didn't matter what i didn't do. I couldn't do anything to earn this Love, and i couldn't do anything to make this Love go away... my friends taught me the meaning of Grace.

I could have easily run from home into the arms of angry people who didn't know about Grace. i could easily have chosen to be angry and cry with these people and they would have tried to make me feel better with alcohol, or drugs, or whatever took them to a place where they didn't have to feel anything. I could have easily been an addict to something way worse than Marlboro Lights 100... but i didn't go down that road. I still wonder what makes some people choose that road, and others go a different way... I think it may be something to do with who we hang with. I ended up hanging out with a bunch of Christians...I ended up finding out about God's mad skills to save someone like me. It is amazing for those who find Jesus while being addicted to some other saviour. Somehow or another it is another person who reaches into the heart of that addict and pulls them out of themselves into a place of light and love and grace. Once that happens it's so hard to forget it -- it's hard to go back into the darkness.

As Christians, isn't that our jobs? To show the light to people? To accept their faults, their addictions, their anger and fear and lead them away from all that? I wonder about those certain Christians in the media who are close-minded to those who really need to see an open mind and an open heart. It isn't about what we say, or what we think is the Truth... it's about seeing people though the eyes of Grace and knowing that we all need it... we all need to be taken in under somebody's wings. Isn't it time to show the world the mad skills of God?

Watching Others Sled

So, i just got done reading some of Marie's blogs... going to the theatre and watching plays with her family, cleaning (organizing) her kitchen and currently going through the numerous number of books in her office space at home. She is quite inspiring, and irritating all at once. dang her ambition, and her energy. Dang her active family life -- hobnobbing at the theatre and all her writing about her feelings and thoughts, about her anger at the catholics and their myopic (although I'm not so sure that even their short-sightedness is all that clear) vision about sexual abuse -v- abortion and her weeping easily... all this life going on.

I admire that and it makes me wonder about this life of mine. Today, outside it is a blizzard... it's beautiful and fierce. i love it. Later today we'll have to go out in it, walk a ways to the church for an event. It's been a snowy winter and i truly have enjoyed every flake. It is our second winter here and last year was an eye-opener for all us and especially Sofie. That girl is a snow-bunny -- her and Joe went out every day that was sled-able and were out for hours, climbing up hills, sledding down, laughing, snowy, red-cheeked, completely able. An entire new world for her. Olivija would be out for a few minutes and would be freezing and have to come in. I, of course, didn't even bother to go out. i would stand in the window and watch - waiting for Olivija to come in and needing help getting her boots off, and me warming her up with hot chocolate and snuggles. I would stand and watch the sledding. thinking to myself - oh man, i'm so glad i'm not out there. i am so NOT able. i can't climb those hills.

Part of the watching was the inability to climb up the hill - i blame my bad knees, but when i'm completely honest with myself the bad knees are a product of the comfort food and lack of exercise. it's a very simple and hard learned equation: comfort food + lack of exercise = big thighs and way too much weight to carry up little tiny sledding hills.

Back to Marie... there is a part of me that is standing at a window watching her climb the hills. I'm trying to figure out the equation of this. I really have nothing to blame - there are no "bad knees" in my abilities to be active. my equation theory really doesn't hold up. The variables are the unknown x's and y's of my life. x + y = lack of climbing up my hills. hmmmmm. i truly wish i was a mathematician at this point.

I will say this though - the comfort food + lack of exercise equation made much more sense last year. This year the equation has changed a little: healthy food + lack of exercise = smaller thighs and a little less weight to carry up little tiny sledding hills. This year i put on the boots, the snow pants, the gloves and hat and i hauled myself up the Dalenberg Slope and i slid down the hill. I got up, climbed back up and went down again, and again.

Eventually, i had to go in with Olivija (who was freezing) to help her with her boots and the warming up of her body... later, as I stood there at the window, sipping my own hot chocolate, i thought - oh, man, i wish i was out there still sledding. I am able. I can climb up those hills.

a few good ideas...

so my friend marie (hello there friend!) has "encouraged" me to write some more on my latent blog page. i think my page hates me for ignoring it for the past 7 months but some things just can't be helped. i've been busy. i've been thinking. ...i've been blocked. so i asked my friend marie to help with the blockage. she has henceforth shoved a few stints into the blockage with a few good ideas that read somewhat like this:

-the last few books you read
-what you miss most about Clatskanie
-what you do not miss most about Clatskanie
-if you had a million dollars
-describe most what you love about Olivija
-describe most what you love about Sofie
-what is it like to live in Montana
-if money was no object what would i do for a year
-??? is my favorite character in the Harry Potter series because ???
-this is why i like Facebook
-why is it so hard to find my passion

hmmmmm... all these good ideas... what do you think? the last book i read was Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan. i'm still thinking on that. i miss some good friends and my pinochle club in Clatskanie. i don't miss living across the street from the bus garage. if i had a million dollars i'd be out of debt - for the most part. i love Olivija's sweetness. i love Sofie's curiosity. it's heaven to live in Montana, except for the lack of good shopping. if money was no object i'd have a really nice stereo, in a really nice house with a view, with a nice deck looking out at the view, with a really nice computer in which to blog to my hearts content for a year straight so that my blog page won't hate me anymore. Snape is my favorite character in the HP series because he's so mysterious and damaged - although he really needs to wash his hair. i love facebook because it allows me to reconnect with people that i haven't spoken to in years, and that now i can speak with them without all the pretense of teenage/college angst and that honesty and more truth can be found in those friendships. That leaves me with why is it so hard to find my passion...?

good question, marie.

I don't know if this will work or not... but here are some glacier pictures...

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2005371&l=5a6b1&id=1082162955

FLBC

Morning Worship at the ampitheatre...

With Just One More Surprise

I was holding it together until Amanda's pure voice came from behind and Mary wept and i was surprised by the sadness i felt. the passion was finished the night before and then she came the next morning to find her friend gone. the emptiness was overwhelming for her and we just sat there wanting to go to her to tell her it's all going to be alright, and then He appeared. she called Him "Teacher." I've always wondered at that. Teacher. What exactly did He teach Mary then, and what did that moment teach us? Could it be that with the retelling of this passion that He continues to teach us just through story?

Flathead Lutheran Bible Camp. We went there, the four of us. My older daughter experiencing her first week of camp - the first time away from mom and dad for more than just a weekend spent with grandma. Our youngest just hung around with the two of us (joe and i) - she played mostly in the sandbox and went through outfits like mad. I spent most of the time observing the energy of that place. Gradeschool children to college graduates all mingling together in fellowship and fun. I think learning from each other. I kept thinking of the time that i was their age(s) - having that kind of energy. Now it seems that just watching made me tired... and that somehow i was no longer able to relate. Now i was that old person who was just there and perhaps a little in the way. I was the person that they dreaded becoming. Oh, man, i can't imagine being that old sort of thoughts.

We were talking about that one night in Hagen Hall and Steve said that "old" keeps changing for him... it was always about 15 years older than he currently is. But, he added that he doesn't find it too hard to imagine being 75 and thought maybe he should change his definition. I thought maybe i should try to come up with my own definition of "old." Basically because somehow I don't feel old and yet, somehow i do. I'm conflicted within myself.

So, i've been bumbling around with thought of story, and learning, and youth, and maturity, and haven't been really able to formulate any particular thoughts other then this:

I dont' ever want to be too old to learn from story telling.
I don't ever want to be too old to enjoy the energy of the younger generations.
I don't ever want to be too old to think of myself as unable to relate.
I don't ever want to be too old to be surprised.

What to do about this? Stay young? People have said that you're only as old as you think you are, or how you feel, or something like that... the only time i really feel old is when my knees don't want to carry me up that hill, or when i realize that i just can't run anymore, or when i realize that my parents are in their late 60's and early 70's and i remember when she was 29 and when he turned 40.

I feel young when i look around the church and see people who have been married for 60 years, when i play board games with my children, when i go to camp and can laugh and sing and clap my hands with praise. When i giggle at Justice Man man man. When i still get butterflies when my husband looks at me a certain way and grins. When i can't help but cry with Mary at the emptiness she faced. When i smiled at her surprise when she realized it was Him and when she called out "Teacher."

Maybe i just shouldn't worry about this. Maybe I should keep listening to stories, and keep telling my own. Maybe I should just take to heart that verse in I Was There To Hear Your Borning Cry... "In the middle ages of your life, not too old, no longer young, I'll be there to guide you throught the night, complete what I've begun. Whe the evening gently closes in and you shut your weary eyes, I'll be there as I have always been with just one more surprise..."

4th of July

Here in the valley the sound is deafening. surrounded by rogue fireworkers lighting incredible light shows that we catch a glimpse of here and there - some to our north, some directly above from some guys in the church parking lot next door, most to our west for the shows on Flathead Lake.


We spent the day a lot like we did in Clatskanie... we walked downtown, watched a small town parade (the highlight of said parade being a young boy wearing a superman outfit, strapped to the roof of a car at an angle, and in all seriousness holding out his arms as if flight. Second place, a man dressed as Marilyn Monroe), we hung out in the village for a while looking for some lunch (sat in the Wild Mile Deli for a while waiting for service which we never got), and then we came back home to get some relief from the heat. Took off later for a bbq with Art and Joy and Barbara, later standing on the porch with coffee we watched a HUGE thunderstorm on the horizon. We lit some sparklers for the girls, we drove home looking for fireworks to watch.... and now here i sit. Listening to the BOOMS echoing off the mountains and missing my old home town.


We try to make it seem as if we belong here and yet we really didn't know what to do with ourselves. We learned where NOT to stand for the parade, we learned where NOT to eat after the parade, we learned where firework displays might be showing but that the really good one starts at 11:00 which doesn't work for little girls who are dead tired and are asking to go to bed.


We used to know what to do. We'd make food at home, open our doors and welcome in any and every one, set up a chair or two in front of our house and watch the parade - bags filled with candy - clowns from Astoria, horses, firetrucks, logging trucks, and usually some old cars. We'd walk to the park, Joe would sing the national anthem, throw an axe or two, we'd go get lutheran pie and talk to everyone, walk back up to our house where people are sitting around on the lawn, on the porch, in our house, eating food, visiting, talking, and being together in a community of trust and familiarity. Later that night we'd carry a few chairs across the street, set up on the corner, and look a bit northwest for the one and only show in town - over the river. knowing that everyone else in town is looking at the same firework display and ooohhhing and aaaahhing in synchronicity


This is what i miss... i miss knowing what is expected. i miss the park full of old cars, the familiar faces that are slowing turning red in the heat. i miss people just showing up with a watermelon or a salad or chips and adding to the already full table full of party food. i miss just being myself, and being a hostess of sorts to the myriad of people that we came to know as our friends.


i realize that some 4th of July in the future we'll realize that we are at home, and we'll know what to do, and we will have some sort of tradition that we've been doing forever and all will be fine. I may still be sitting here in this same chair, listening to the booms... but i'll be ooohhhing and aahhhing with lots of other bigforkers, looking at different fireworks, in all sorts of directions, and i'll find that community of trust and familiarity.

i'm looking forward to that future synchronicity.