Mercy

The night before his first triathlon, Murphy and his Law were riding my brother’s bumper just to watch him sweat. He could barely take the tiny, almost purposeful, mishaps: the broken swim goggles, the triathlon gear haphazardly strewn about the dining room, the painful, resurfacing image of himself, splashing and flailing helplessly across Lake Shawnee while all the other triathletes glided gracefully past. He was a veritable mess, but all I did at first was remark sarcastically about his about his propensity for hearing about impossible things and doing them because someone said he couldn’t. He obliged my psychobabble jabbing with a smirk, and then admitted he needed a favor. He needed new swim goggles and he wanted me to go get them. Although I agreed to the task, he soon realized I hadn’t quite picked up on his sense of urgency. “Maybe I’ll get them myself,” he quipped, hoping this would make me feel bad about my dawdling. Suddenly I felt unnecessary. I wanted him to need me at least a little so I offered to go to Wal-Mart for racing snacks. He took me up on that one.

While he scurried about the kitchen, cursing at the unfortunate series of events, I pondered the idea of going with him. Maybe I could calm him down before the race tomorrow. The thought of him splashing around pathetically with no one to tell him he was okay at the end made me a little sad. On the other hand, what if what he really needed was to hit the ground hard, to crash into his own limits and feel the pain of over-commitment and under-preparation? I wondered what Mercy would do in this situation. And without actually asking Mercy what she would do, I offered to go with him, just to feel it out. He seemed relieved at the idea, but suggested that I probably didn’t want to get up at 3:00am. I couldn’t convince him that I did, but we both knew maybe it would make things a little better.

Soon I started thinking about the times Mercy has rescued me in her strange ways. Sometimes she lets me flounder and flop so I won’t crash quite so badly next time. And then there are times when, maybe out of pure pity for my ignorance, and she throws out a life raft and the circumstances tilt ever so slightly in my favor. Where a moment before I was running uphill with the wind in my face, suddenly I’m coasting on a downhill slope with a breeze coming up from behind. After my many run-ins with Mercy, I can tell one or two things about her character though. One of Mercy’s favorite things to do is be really nice when we don’t deserve it. This sort of behavior totally pulls the rug out from under our Pavlovian rug of rewards and consequences. It totally busts the if-then formula we learned about good and bad behavior back in grade school. Mercy chuckles to herself when we stare awestruck as kindness melts over us right after we just got into an argument with our spouse or lied to our boss about our vacation time or cut someone off in traffic. It’s when we are the most unloveable and mean and wretched that we are also most vulnerable to Love and Mercy sneaking up on us with their treacherous goodnesses.

I have to admit though. These means are quite effective. While I’m in the middle of kicking myself for being an ass, I’m completely unarmed when it comes to defending myself against Love. I am forced to realize that Kindness just tackled me for no reason except that she loves me, I guess, because I sure did not earn it. It seems to have this bizarre pleasure in making me very uncomfortable. But it works. Like the time I drank my grandpa’s whiskey in the basement with my cousins until I blacked out. I said all sorts of inappropriate things I wanted to deny except one of my cousin’s got it all on video. When I came to, my hair was being held back by one of my brothers, the other one holding me steady. That was the night I lost my right to be self-righteous about how much they drank and I didn’t. I woke up guilty, sunken and hungover, slumped into the queen bed in my bedroom at my parents' house. I sprawled there marinating in heaps of shame, my own Satan, my own voice accusing me. Soon I saw my old car, the "legendary" Buick LeSabre, pull up in front of the house. And I wasn’t driving it. When I inquired about the strange behavior of my vehicle, my mother informed me that my father had taken it out and cleaned it. And it was sparkly, as sparkly as an ’86 Buick LeSabre could be, with a full tank of gas and everything. It was horrible. When I knew what I really deserved was to be excommunicated, here comes Mercy, my Teacher, sidling up next to me with cookies and warm milk, taking me out of the cold, and erasing my latest black mark off the whiteboard. When Mercy wins, she kind of loses, at first, so I can win. I can’t say that I understand it fully, but all I know is, this is the only way we both get what we want in the end. I turn around, tearful, repentant and grateful, and she gets to welcome me home.

This is the sort of thing Mercy loves to do. This is why I am not Mercy. But I can’t deny she’s good at her job.

PS: The good news for John: he participated in the triathlon anyway, despite all the obstacles, or in his case, because of them. He ended up with an excellent time and to his own chagrin, he will probably end up doing a couple more. And if I know him, he may not even train for them.

Weather and Curiosity

Today was the sort of day Kansans brag about surviving.  Some time this morning, the wind grew fierce, or at least it was moving a lot faster than I can run: approximately 40 miles an hour.  But if this was a campfire story, I would guess it was going at least interstate speed.  At least.  The sky was having serious mood swings; one minute it was grey and mopey, the next cheery and sunny.  A tornado watch sounded over the hospital intercom.  I probed the clouds with my eyes, trying to determine which one might drop a funnel.  The clouds didn't do anything interesting though; just kept rushing around, changing their minds.  Eventually I had to abandon my post and return my "real job".  Minutes before I left for home, the monsoon started.  I wasn't wet yet so I could appreciate the clean, fresh air smell, better than any dryer sheet.  Several women huddled near the hospital door.  I watched the downpour for a moment before I decided to surrender.  I rolled up my pants, took off my new shoes and went for it.  And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I thought I was heading for the fray, the rain began to lift.  I secretly knew God wanted to help me preserve my new black patent leathers.  He did make the first clothes, after all.  The Saab made it through a few high water spots on the south side of town where, I hypothesize, the city doesn't pay to drain the water because its the "lower income" neighborhood.  Just a theory.  Josh came home an hour or so after me.  I must add that he arrived bearing a beautiful Acme bouquet and raspberry sorbet with gummy bears on top.  The man speaks my language.  He wasn't home for an hour before the hail came, the kind that sounds like shattering glass when it makes contact with the air conditioning unit.  The sky is unhappy looking, rumbling deeply to show us how serious it is.  I'm wondering when my nightstand lamp will blink off with a power outage.  The tornado watch is still in effect, but so far, no sirens.  

All this weather got me wondering though: where does wind come from?  When I ask questions like this, I can't help but assume that everyone else remembers this answer from kindergarten, but I was home-schooled in kindergarten and we didn't learn things  like that.  Besides, I grew up in Oregon so the only things they teach in school are how to grow organic things, how to vote Democrat, and how to tell the difference between a Volkswagen and a Volvo.  Naturally, when I have five year old questions like this one, I Google it.  WikiAnswer came up as an option so I clicked on it, not expecting a meterologist's response but not expecting a third grader either.  I got the third grader.  Here was my WikiAnswer: "Wind is a result of changing temperatures.  As you may know, warm air rises.  When it does, cooler air rushes in to take its place, thus causing wind.  I think..."  You think?  Sheesh.  How am I supposed to write my science paper on that?  I continued my search and found this handy diagram.  It's actually fairly helpful, I mean, for those of you who don't remember how God makes wind from your kidhood.  To give credit where credit is due, click HERE to go to the site.

Change: it's not just for Obama

So in the past week we left two churches. Not on bad terms, really. No name calling or bad blood. But it was time something changed. And since we were asked to leave both times, we are taking this as God moving us. The Watch will now have a stronger presence on the two campuses here in Manhattan, which I feel is God-motivated. And now, our Sunday mornings will consist of a small group of people meeting in our living room, listening to God and waiting on Him as Jesus' followers did when they were told to wait for "power from on high". I see us telling stories of the miracles of healing and provision God has worked in our lives, as we have already begun to see. Oh God, we just want to do what you do and go where you go. I've been feeling a longing for both of these things: for The Watch to be on the campuses and for a space to just seek God as we feel we should with no other plans or obligations. I want to soak this season up, to lean into the change, even though I don't know what's coming.

I'm asking God to give us more of the fear of the Lord so we can have wisdom and understand the season we are living in. Also so we can see Him and worship Him rightly. We also need the fear of the Lord to conquer the fear of man as Christianity becomes more and more marginalized and less tolerated. The fear of the Lord creates a straight path for us. It gives us discernment and clarity when the world is in panic and chaos. It allows us to be pillars and safe havens for those who are fearful, who don't know God. They will desire the peace that guards our hearts. God, pierce our hearts with the fear of the Lord. Let us walk in the fear of the Lord and in Love, as Jesus did. I know I've avoided the sobriety it brings, but now that I have tasted it, I see that the fear of the Lord is good. It urges me to obey. It allows me to see God as a holy King, one who I want to love AND serve. It brings me to a place of consecration and holiness I could never achieve on my own. Lord, as Solomon asked for wisdom and you granted it to Him, I ask for the fear of the Lord to fall upon your church.

Jesus, ready your Bride. Prepare her heart. She is not ready for your return. She does not long for you. She is not lovesick. But she will be. Your Bride will be presented to you without spot or blemish. We can count on this. So in your mercy, prepare our hearts now, before the trials come. Let us volunteer to be weak now so in the face of trial, our hearts will not fail us. You are the strength of my heart and my portion forever. How you love us, Jesus. How we long to love you more.

Eternity on our minds, in our hearts

Josh and I have been in turmoil about some of our current relationships and who we should walk with, how we should live in the season the world is in right now. We feel that the times in the earth are shifting, that things are happening that look strangely similar to what Jesus said would accompany the days of the end. Earthquakes, wars and rumors of wars, nations rising against each other...most of us have heard references to what Jesus said. But I encourage you to read it again. Read Matthew 24 for yourself, in light of our present global situation. This is not a call to fear, but a call to Love. Sometimes I feel afraid for what could happen, that Christians may lose their religious freedom in the United States, that we could undergo persecution or pressure to be "tolerant". But I know that in that kind of environment, God will pour out His Spirit, as He said in Joel 2. We can expect the unprecedented movement of God, in miracles, signs and wonders, in a consecration of Jesus' bride, to prepare Her to belong only to Him, and not to be distracted or unsure of where Her true affections lie. God is drawing out the ones whose hearts are truly His. In this season, I feel the yearning of Jesus, calling His church to be set apart, to be lovers first and not just people full of good or productive activity, to seek the face of God and wait for Him, and to be prepared to stand up to anything, never denying the one who loves us and gave His life for us. I don't want to deny Him. I don't want to walk away. I don't want to be ensnared by the opinions of others who might call me narrow-minded for saying that Jesus is the way of Love, He is the ONLY way to God. Why is that such an insult to me? Why am I afraid to be called a bad name by people when I have the name of a HOLY God on my forehead? God, forgive me. Father God, please keep us close to your Son. Don't let us walk away. Don't let us live in fear, but in Love. As David said to Father God in Psalm 63, "My soul follows close behind you; your right hand upholds me", let this be true of me, and the whole church.

This is the body of an email Josh sent me today. It stirred me:

"Why do we not speak with that same simplicity, that same urgency and that same absoluteness [about eternity]? Perhaps we do not believe it as absolutely as Paul did, nor do we live as if we believe it. We are simply not that occupied with the things that are eternal, and therefore we are unable to persuade men. We need to press mankind to come to terms with eternity, even though they will accuse us of being dogmatic, narrow-minded and intolerant, and yet that will be enough to intimidate many of us to silence. There is nothing more embarrassing and intimidating to the modern Christian than to be considered narrow and dogmatic. It did not, however, intimidate Paul. Eternity is not a narrow concept, and the world needs to be disturbed by people who cannot contain themselves, who are beyond the issue of taste, politeness and good manners, who burn with the reality of eternity, and who take every opportunity to express the things that are Divine." -Art Katz, Apostolic Foundations

I think that if we really believed that eternity was breaking in upon us, we would (and should) speak with such conviction that it would seem like narrow-mindedness that we're so definitive. The problem with a toned-down, "everything will pan out" eschatology is that you really don't have to do anything about it. It's simply a doctrine you believe--you only agree with it in your head. This sounds very Western Christianity to me, and it's exactly the mindset I'm trying to break out of. If Jesus is coming soon, things must drastically change."

Independent Study Portfolio

Valuable websites and links:
Visuals:
Brain cross-section diagram
http://www.schizophrenia.com/sznews/archives/005410.html

Neurophysiology
http://porpax.bio.miami.edu/~cmallery/150/neuro/neurophysiology.htm

Neurotransmitters: functions and treatments
Neurotransmitters
http://faculty.washington.edu/chudler/chnt1.html

Advances in Biology and the Treatment of Depression http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/553319

Role of serotonin in ADHD/Treatment
http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/565830

Motivation and Learning
http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2006/05/060504070834.htm

Memory: Stress and Trauma

Where the fight came from

Today I met a little girl in pink on the street corner, waiting shyly for the bus. I knew before I asked that she was in middle school because I liked her, and because she smiled at me even before I said hi. I asked about the construction across the street. What I really wanted was a way to just check in with her, make sure she was okay all by her little pink self with all those construction workers nearby. She said she went to Eisenhower Middle School and practically told me her address, to which I responded by practically telling her mine, just so we could both feel that the world was safe. I told her something like what I felt God wanted me to say to her in our tiny moment, that He loved her and thought she was wonderful. My words were kind of boomerangy, coming back to me without seeming to take root. She thanked me nicely and called back as I left that it was nice to meet me. So maybe something stuck.

This afternoon as I lay in my cozy bed, my body trying to convince my mind to nap, I prayed that God would "get her". I learned that little prayer from my mother. Now it is mine. These seem like such aggressive words from my shy but sturdy mum, I first thought, but then I remembered one incident that showed her spitfire. The neighbor boys in the house next door were perpetually nasty to my brothers and I growing up. They might've been mean to Holly too, but most people can't find it in them to mock a toodling three year old. Anyway, on more than one occasion the neighbors found ways to send John, Mark or I sprinting indoors, teary, shouting tiny threats, but really just wanting the comfort of our mother. One day mom had enough. She marched over to those neighbor boys' mother, fists clenched at her side, and she told her exactly what was going on and what she thought. And the neighbor mother yelled back, but my mom held her ground, just like that. If we had listened to metal back then, I would've been chanting Twisted Sister after her: "We're not going to take it! No, we ain't gonna take it. We're not gonna take it anymore!" But I didn't have to. Mom did the hard work, the standing up for the little sad, scared ones.

She usually does that, in her quiet way, but sometimes, when necessary, in a loud way. I'm proud of her, because she is way bigger than she thinks she is, and is making a bigger splash in eternity than she knows. I always want her to write a book and tell her story, to stand on a stage and let the universe, or a woman's book club, know how much of a hero she is and how much she has overcome. They would ooh and aah at her grit and tenacity, and go home and start a revolution. But she quotes Henri Nouwen almost every time I bring up this idea. "Sometimes God calls us to smallness." She means it. As long as I can remember, she's been a silent conqueror, one with a sign outside an abortion clinic, inviting woman entering to choose motherhood instead. Or quietly but fiercely forgiving the massive wounds inflicted on her before she was big enough to defend herself. Or for me, an ear instead of a mouth when I had a problem. She's a real soldier - that must be where my brother in Iraq got his cajones, and where I got my Joan of Arc ferocity at the smell of injustice. From my mother, I've learned to fight and pray and listen. And I think those all fall under the category of love, when we do them at the right time. And Love is the greatest command. It always wins in the end.

Wars and rumors of wars

With all my free time, I've been reading the news about an hour a day or so. Not the most uplifting way to spend my time, but I crave global knowledge. At the moment, it seems there is war somewhere on five out of seven of the earth's major land masses. There is fighting in Lebanon, Israel, China (the terrorist attacks), Georgia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan... It's truly incredible. I remember Jesus talking to his disciples about events that would take place in the earth before his return to earth. One of the things he told them is that there would "wars and rumors of wars" in the world, and this is certainly the case at the moment. I was politically aware before I could count my age on two hands. I grew up in a house that openly discussed politics and prayed for world affairs at dinner. I'm not a veteran at life or anything, but from what I can tell, conflict on the earth's surface has only been escalating throughout my lifetime. And significantly in the past few years.

Fortunately, God doesn't leave us holding the newspaper and praying for survival. In Joel 2 God calls his people to return to him with fasting and weeping and mourning. For even though we (as a nation, as a people) do not deserve his mercy, if his people return to him with their hearts and not just their behavior, our gracious and merciful God may relent from bringing his full judgment. He said also that he will pour out his Spirit on all flesh, "your sons and your daughters shall prophecy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions..." This is certainly good news for us. The Holy Spirit came upon the disciples and gave them power. They waited for the Holy Spirit and he came. With his power, the disciples became apostles. Bodies were healed, souls were restored to God, churches were planted, cities were transformed. This is what we have to look forward to, but in an even larger measure. God is certainly pouring out his Spirit upon people in these times. But when Jesus comes again, I don't want to just be a good and faithful servant. I want him to call me his friend. This is my true desire.