Holy Saturday

I was re-reading some of my older posts and stumbled upon this one. I wish that I still had words like this to say, but instead I'll just re-post old words and hope they resonate. Ideas of rejection and redemption.. I think that's fitting for a Saturday stuck between the death and the rising.

Rejection and Redemption

In Donald Miller's book "Searching for God Knows What" he espouses several theories attempting to explain this human behavior that we do. One is related to the memory that he has as a child of seeing a circus act and the circus people all sitting around talking to each other. He talks about how, even in the circus-- a cult of freaks and weirdos-- there is a hierarchy, some acts that are seen as more valuable than others. Even among the rejected, there is a sense of order about who is better than another. At one point he says, "One writer said that what we commonly think of as love is really the desire to be loved. I know this is true for me, and it has been true for years, that often when I want somebody to like me, I am really wanting them to say that I am redeemed, that I am not a loser, that I can stay in the circus, that my act redeems me."
I have been thinking about this rejection idea a lot in my life not only here lately, but off and on for the past year. It absolutely astonishes me how much it hurts, and how damaging it can be to my future-- making me do these weird things and behave in bizarre ways-- all because I have once been told either in word or deed, "I don't want you."

Even now, as I write those words, they burn my eyes to read them.

There are times when people can reject us without intentionally meaning to hurt, even. Isn't rejection inherent in choice? When someone is choosing a best friend, a mate, the captain of the quiz bowl team, who to give the secret password to, isn't the value in that choice (if you are the one chosen) that you were selected, above others? Everyone can't be chosen. Some get told, "I don't want you".

But it wasn't until the other night that I was sitting in the dark trying to sleep, that I think I caught a new glimpse of this idea of redemption- in the light of rejection. Somehow in God's game everyone gets chosen. No one is rejected. No one is told, "I don't want you." All get redeemed- and redeemed with something of great worth, according to 1 Peter. Redeemed by something that is incorruptible- the blood. Through the rejection of Jesus we are accepted.

In Psalm 3 David says that the Lord is a Shield protecting him, His glory, and the lifter of his head. Now I don't understand the glory part- as much as I've studied it and tried and tried to understand. I partially understand the shield part- that the Lord protects us, even though this does not mean that danger does not come our way, or that we will always be spared from pain, but the lifter of the head- this part is really cool. Back in David's time beggars would sit outside the gate and beg from the people as they entered the city. But if someone came over to them, and lifted their head, it was symbolic that that person would take care of them for the rest of their life- they would no longer have to beg. Here David is saying, "You, God, have pulled me from my status as a beggar, and have promised to take care of me. You are my glory, you protect me, and you provide for me." In essence, "You have told me that I have worth."

In Ez. 16 there is also one of the craziest allegories of the Bible (in my humble opinion). God tells Israel that they are like a baby who has been thrown into the field and is wallowing in its own blood, because no one wanted it. Through the story God fulfills many different roles in this child's life- provider, comforter, and eventually husband. God finds the discarded child in a field and tells her that she has worth.

How interesting it is that the cuts of rejection are often some of the deepest, and yet the threads of redemption are what hold together the gospel message.

Any work past 4 on Friday should be illegal

I mean, really. It's like 4:06, and I don't think I've done anything productive since like 11 this morning. Work past 4 on Friday should be illegal.

So instead of working, I have to type furiously on the computer in hopes that others around me will think that I'm working. So here I go, tap, tap, tap.

Today is my last day of work. In less than four days my husband and I will pack our little home up and head for the snow.

Without a job.

Without friends.

Without one of our cars.

Yes, you read that right. We are now downgrading to a one-car family. No, this is not some altruistic attempt to feed into Al Gore's ego and cut carbon emissions. Adam called my Thursday and said, "well there's water in the Engine of my truck". Now I never claimed to go to car repair class, but I am pretty sure that that statement is not one that you want to hear right before you drive hundreds of miles. So I guess his dad is going to tow it back to Tennessee and maybe fix it. Again.

It seems like trusting God is a lot easier when it all makes sense.

well, I'll stop rambling now and find something else to waste time with. Hopefully this is an attempt to start blogging again. I signed up for a facebook account today. That, blogging and answering phone calls are all in my resolve to become a better long distance friend. Maybe someday it will work.

I SWEAR, I almost died

I am putting this on here for two reasons:
1) Maybe it will remind me how to blog
2) I almost died

So I'm on my way to Florida with some friends. On the way down, in the car, one of my friends says something about being scared of sharks. I say something brilliant back along the lines of "You know, I've never really been scared of sharks, because I don't think that shark attacks are real... I mean, I know their real, I just don't think that I would ever be close enough to a shark in real life to be scared."

Fastforward to the next day. It was a bright sunny morning and me, this same friend, and another friend all went down to the beach to play in the water. We're standing around just talking and laughing, and then a guy comes over and kinda nonchelantly is waving his hand about something. Now I must explain something at this point. In a circumstance like this, normally you might be imagining wild waving of the hands and large, grandiose body language.

Don't.

Image the opposite. Like I'm coming over just to let you know that I'd like you to see the sand castle my daughter just made...when you have a minute. So then--again not in a worried, "this- could- be -the -end- of -your- life" kinda way, rather in a "I -thought- you- just- might- want- to- know" way--he says,

"there's a shark"

again, notice, there are no capital letters. No exclamation points. Just a little FYI. A flesh eating amphibian is in the water near your leg. In case you are interested.

He also points a little (not an exaggerated point) to the water RIGHTBY my leg. And sure enough. Shark. about to have a Kara-leg sandwich.

I almost died. And I didn't even have a surfboard to hit it with.

The story is a little exaggerated. I think it was like a nurse shark, and I bet it might not have bitten me. Hard.

But I did almost die.

Blogaversary

I want you all to know (the one person that might stumble here and read this) that my 2 year blogaversary is coming up- March 22.

I also want you to know that I'm back, after a little hiatus. I think the hardest part about coming back is wondering what to say. Where to start. Should I even try to backtrack, or should I just start where I am..today?

I wish that I had something deep to share, but I have decided that if I wait until I have something deep to share, it could be a long time before I start blogging again. I don't promise regular blogs, but I do promise to blog.

Welcome back.

How do the Amish morn?

I have to admit that I haven't cried about the news in a long time. In days when boys and girls are dying- multiples at a time- every day, news about Iraq are read more like stats from a football game. But yesterday on my way home, I cried hearing about the shooting in Pennsylvania. So many things about this story bring tears to my eyes. I morn for the families of the students, for the community, for the teacher. I morn for the fact that people can walk into a school and kill innocent children. Right after he dropped off his own. Execution style. How could anyone think that these children deserved to be executed. A one room schoolhouse. Siblings together. Brothers leave, sisters stay.

I cried for these families. I also cried for the fear of the state of the world. For all the children sitting in classrooms around the country scared of every stranger that enters the building. For the teachers who didn't know they were being called to such a dangerous occupation. For the fear of my unborn children sitting in classrooms yet to come.

But how do the Amish morn? A report on NPR stated that though they reject many modern advances such as television and radio, the Amish receive help from the mental health community. There were psychologists onhand yesterday as the community gathered together. They were concerned about their own families. They wanted to know what to say to their children.

They also wanted to know what they could do for the victim's family.

They wanted to take his wife and children food.

They wanted to take the wife of the man, who was not Amish, who had just killed their children food.

They had already forgiven him and wanted to know how they could help them.

How do the Amish morn? They hug their children. They cry.

And then they forgive.