Individual

"For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him..."--2 Chronicles 16:9

Are you ready for this?

I don't like the word "diversity".

*gasp*

It leaves a horrible aftertaste in my mouth, like medicine mixed with strong cherry flavor. Soon after you swallow it, the fake cherry wears off and only the bitter dregs remain.

And the dregs say, aren't we all diverse? What is diversity, other than a means by which to group people, label them, and sort them? "Hey, we've got six people on our team, four are orange, and two are green. That won't do. We need a purple person."

So everyone sits around grinning foolishly at the purple person. They think, "Hey, check out how enlightened we are, how sophisticated and open-minded. We found a purple person."

And the purple person stares back and thinks, "Am I here just because I'm purple?"

Dr. Martin Luther King fought a bigger battle than diversity. God chose him to be the right man at the right time, as God always does. MLK Jr. is one of my personal "heroes of the faith". My favorite quote of his is, "I dream of a day when my children will be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr understood: God judges individually. God tells us that He honors the individual. No matter our color, race, culture, or nationality, we all must give an individual account of our lives when we die. Even when God judges nations, and individuals pay the ultimate price for that judgment, we are all given opportunity to face our God alone.

When you know that, where does "diversity" fit? If you believe that every one of us is made in God's image and deserves love, kindness, and compassion, "celebrating diversity" is redundant--and a bit simplistic.

More and more, I feel our society has become collectivist rather than individualistic. All these years after the Civil Rights Movement, and we still sort by color, race, nationality, income level, region, heritage, birthplace.

Where does the sorting inevitably lead? "These people need this, and these people need that. These people are okay, and these people are not." It's so prevalent that in today's New York Times, a Supreme Court Justice says that she supported Roe vs. Wade because she thought it was a means to control populations that we "didn't want too many of".

Wow. Look in the eyes of the children above, and tell me which one God "didn't want too many of".

Though the comments of that Supreme Court Justice do NOT represent the purpose of the "diversity" movement, lumping individuals into groups results in that kind of rhetoric. It reduces the individuality of every single one of us. It renders us worthy or unworthy not by our own merit, but by associations over which we have no control.

God sees the individual. God honors the individual. His eyes roam the earth, keeping track of nations and cultures, but looking right into every person's heart. He remembers how He knit you together in your mother's womb. He knows the trajectory of your life, from start to finish.

He doesn't love you for your skin color or race, for nationality or culture. He loves YOU. That love, that amazing love, reaches far beyond "diversity".

Bend

I sneak away to walk the trail. And I must see what's around each bend.

The summer is heavy, fertile and full. The sky above is a translucent blue bowl in which, if one looks carefully, God plays hide and seek with downy rippling clouds. You won't see Him, but if you close you eyes you can hear His whisper in the rustle of the leaves.

I must go 'round the bend, deeper into the forest, and the next bend and the next. My daughter says, "We've gone too far, Mom. We don't know where we are."

I sigh. The next bend remains a mystery; I'll never know if it was the most beautiful meadow on God's creation, or a gorgeous view from a rolling hill, or a secret lake with a surface like pane glass.

That's why I write, to find the hidden trail 'round every bend I'll never travel; to make what could be come alive in my imagination. Someday, if God wills, my words will take others down the path with me.

I hope that, in my words, they'll find their own trails--their own secret, compelling bends.

Buffet

I think Americans have become diners in a buffet line of Jesus' teachings. We approach the offerings: "Oh, how delicious! How many there are!" But we don't take it all. We pick and choose what we'll keep and what we'll leave.

"Hey....check it out," we say. "That stuff Jesus said about the poor, I'm all right with that. I mean, I feel bad for people who don't have money, ya know?" So we set compassion on the tray.

"And look! The meek shall inherit the earth. Heck, I'm pretty meek. I don't even have an IPhone. I'll take that one too." On the tray it goes.

"Cool! Jesus healed the sick. My eczema gives me fits in the summer--stinkin' humidity. It itches at night and drives me crazy. I'll take a big dollop of that healing stuff."

"Oh....wait. What's this about taking up a cross? Isn't that what Jesus died on? Does that mean I have to die too? Ummm....yeah, I'll come back for that."

"Oooo, love your enemy. But when your ex-boyfriend starts dating your cousin, forget 'em both. I hate 'em. And really, who could forgive that? I gotta get over it first. Then I'll take the whole love your enemy thing."

"Wait. . .the world is going to hate me? Hate me? That's horrible! No one should hate me! I'm a good person! Two years ago...well, maybe three...I gave to that homeless shelter at Christmas. Plus I go to church sometimes, and you know, I was baptized when I was a baby. The world hates me--I don't think so. No thanks to that."

So we return to the table with our tray full of desserts. We've taken all the pudding, which is gentle and good, full of calcium and soothing--after all, nothing Jesus said was wrong or bad. But in refusing to consume the whole meal, the whole Truth, we've missed the nutrition our soul needs so badly.

In other words, we have a form of godliness, but deny its power. We stand at the buffet line of Truth and decide what we can handle, what we can stomach. Everything else we leave at the buffet.

A decade or so ago, I stood at the buffet line and decided to go for the all-you-can-eat special. Formerly a buffet-picker, formerly a woman near Jesus but not dependant on Him, I looked at the buffet, closed my eyes, and said, "I give. My way isn't so hot after all. Load up the tray."

When I got back to my table, guess what I found? A dollop of pudding, a bit of creamy jello. And a whole big bunch of Brussels sprouts and pork chops covered with pineapple. "Ugh," I said. "This?"

"Even so," said the Spirit. "See that big ole heap of humility? You have to make yourself the least of these. See that bowl that says you must love Jesus more than you love your own children? We'll have to get there too, one bite at a time. And that part about the world hating you? You're going to have to start speaking out--even if it means you're not so well-liked anymore."

Clunk. That was my forehead on the table.

But when I looked up, I was surprised to find I wasn't alone. A group of like-minded Christians sat with me. Imagine my amazement when I discovered they weren't all Church Ladies with pursed lips and snotty tones, but real people who laughed hard, cried hard, and prayed hard. Oh, and who liked to shop for shoes every once in awhile.

Better yet, I had other company. The Spirit never left. He spoon-fed me at first. Like a gentle parent he cajoles, refutes, guides, teaches, encourages, disciplines and cheers. Loving your neighbor not so tasty today? Ask forgiveness, then try again tomorrow. Cross a little heavy? Imagine telling Jesus, on the day of reckoning, that you needed that pedicure instead of working the blood drive you'd committed to work.

Dig in, baby. The food's just fine.

You think the entire meal of Christianity is easy? It's not. If I told anything less, I'd be a hypocrite. I'd be holier-than-thou. And I'm not.

But Jesus' bountiful feast is not to be missed. It's the richest, most real experience you will ever have. It's abundant joy, rich thanksgiving, ripe gratitude, delicious immediacy.

It's eternal.

And in the end, your joy is complete when you discover this: What matters most to you is the one thing no one can ever, ever take away. It bears repeating: to love Jesus, to go "all in", is to know that what matters most to you is the one thing that no one can ever take away.

"Even so," says the Spirit, and He smiles. "Load up that tray, missy. Time to get to work."

Brussels sprouts, liver and onions, or bars of dark chocolate. I know God's nutrition is best for me. I tuck my napkin under my chin, hold my fork and knife on the table, and grin.

I'm all in.

Infatuation

This morning the story spoke to me. It said, "Nope. Do it this way instead."

In the middle of ponderous editing, the story came back to life. The characters reintroduced themselves to me, and the writing felt like joy again.

When I first starting writing, about a year and a half ago, it was all joy. It was like meeting a new love for the first time, like the first infatuation: blush, stare, tremble.

Like all honeymoons, it wore off. Oh, I still love to write--very much. But some days, it's more work than joy. More discipline than impulse.

Today, the story breathed. My fingers could barely keep up as the characters spoke, the plot unfolded, and the theme beat with insistence. Though I know the rediscovered infatuation-feelings won't last, I'm grateful that they spring to life again from time to time.

Readers, how long does the infatuation last with a new story? Do you have to discipline yourself to write, or do you long to do it everyday? Or does your level of motivation depend on circumstances, time, etc?

Liberty

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."--Declaration of Independence, July 4th, 1776


The words are profound and timeless.

Liberty.

It is God-created, God-ordained, and vital to the human condition. It is in God's image. More than instinctive animal, more than a collection of cells, humans have a soul that transcends time and place.

Our souls yearn for liberty.

America used to shine liberty's beacon the world over. Yet our individual liberties are dwindling. Tyranny is introduced in small amounts, like dusting arsenic in a pound of sugar. First, a flurry. Then a teaspoon. Then a tablespoon. Serve the population half a cup, and they don't feel so good. When they're sick, offer the remedy--but at a price. The price is that we must buy into the system; we must become a cog in the wheel.

It can be the ultimate power trip, to have authority over another. Authority requires care and God's help, yet our representative government is quickly sliding into a collection of some fine men and women, and an increasing number of self-interested, agenda-driven politicians. Our Representatives vote on legislation they don't read, let alone allow us to read. Case in point: last Friday's House of Representative vote on the Cap and Trade bill, the largest tax increase in the history of the United States of America. It is based on debatable research, shaky science, and an agenda the majority of the population does not support.

No matter. The government knows what is best for you. Those of us who disagree should be ignored, as we only seek to maintain the "status quo" (Nancy Pelosi, June 26th, 2009--after passage of the Cap and Trade legislation).

Promised transparency becomes subterfuge. Representative government becomes oligarchy.

And so, the destruction of liberty begins.

I pray for our nation daily. While I'm often overwhelmed by concern, it seems many Americans can't be bothered. We're too busy carpooling shopping golfing reading watching tv movies internet school work napping eating out partying mourning Michael Jackson swimming cooking driving laughing oblivious oblivious oblivious oblivious.

Our apathy must be overcome, lest we morph into the famed Benjamin Franklin quote: "Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both."

Those words bring poignancy to the Declaration of Independence. How tenuous is liberty! How quickly and easily it can be eroded beneath our feet! Our prescient founding fathers surely recognized this.

But it's not too late. We are strong when united, willful when provoked. We are a nation of patriots, philanthropists, achievers, intellectuals, lovers, fighters, winners. We are a nation strong in our foundation, secure in our strength. We are a nation founded on God's principles. Many of us love and follow Him still.

Do you love liberty? I respectfully urge you to get involved. Call your representatives. Remind them that you are their boss. Let them know that you are watching, and that you care.

Happy Fourth of July, and God bless you. May our heavenly Father, the Author of Liberty, continue to bless America.

Perfect

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."--James 1:17

Life is simple in many ways.

Everything good is from God.

The air filling your lungs. Your heartbeat. The heat of your skin, the blink of your eye.

The scent your husband leaves on his shirt--the one that makes you close your eyes and say "mmmm".

Perfect.

All good is from God.

The squeal of your children as they run outside, chasing each other in mirth. The little O of their mouths as they sleep. The fact that you can wake them up in the morning and, in a dream, they tell you they love you.

Perfect--and from God.

A June evening when the air is soft and scented. A January snowstorm when the air is sharp and insistent; when it makes you appreciate the warmth of your house and the comfort of your bed. The early morning, when the birds sing up the sun. The middle of the night, when the world sleeps and you do, too, if the writing muse hasn't tapped you on the shoulder.

Perfect. And straight from God.

Every meal. Every laugh. Every kind word. The green grass, soft and somehow tickly under your feet. Dark chocolate. Cold water. Crispy vegetables in your salad.

Perfect.

I fail in so many things. I don't ask for forgiveness as much as I should. I show irritation when my response should be grace; I hurry through obligations instead of searching for opportunity.

But I remember to thank God. I must thank Him a hundred times a day. Seven times seven times seven to the seven hundredth power would never be enough.

Every heartbeat, every breath.

Every morning, every night.

Perfect.

Thank you, God.

Blessed

"...but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments."--Deuteronomy 5:10

I am blessed by my father's love.

My mother, by word and example, taught me womanhood. My father could never teach me what it is to be a fine man, but by example he taught me how to recognize and respect one. It is a gift beyond price.

A fine man loves God. My father was unchurched as a child and found faith as an adult. I admire any Christian who, being raised outside of the faith, has a heart willing in later years. My dad's faith is strong and true, quiet and steadfast, and shines a powerful witness for God.

A fine man works for his family. My dad provided for us without a word of regret. Never did he question his responsibility, but considered providing for us a privilege. He valued the gifts of God and faithfully saved his money, but also spent it to bring us sustenance and joy, taking us out to dinner and on vacations when times were good, taking us to the park when they weren't.

A fine man puts family first. Making his wife and children priority came second-nature to my dad, who spent his days at work and his evenings and weekends at home. He took the training wheels off, ran behind the bike and let go, cheering us on. He piled us into the sedan for trips to the drive-in. He hired all-day sitters on occasional Saturdays, so he could take my mother out for shopping, dinner and a movie. One at a time, he'd take each of his children on an early morning bike ride in the summer. We ended at a local diner, where we ate eggs or pancakes. I don't like eggs and pancakes, but I they tasted good on those mornings with my dad.

A fine man learns and laughs. My dad has an amazing ability to recall information, and has spent adulthood learning outside of school. A voracious reader, his interests are varied. He converses easily with others because he finds common interests with diverse groups. My dad also loves a great joke, and usually has a new one for me whenever we meet.

A fine man teaches. Oh, does my father teach. Trained as an educator, he taught high school math for several years before going into business with my grandfather. But my father teaches still; it comes naturally to him. He teaches by word and deed, but mostly by example.

Though my human mind can barely comprehend a thousand generations, I know that my dad's love for God has blessed the next generation, and the next after that--his grandchildren. I know God's word is true and His promises sure. I know my father will face His Lord and hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

I love, honor and respect my father and husband. I cherish and adore the latter because of the former, who taught me all about men of honor.

A fine man raised me. A fine man loves me.

I am blessed indeed.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.