Mommy Rhapsody (Mother's Day Opening 2010)

Spiritual Lessons from a Dysfunctional Family-Forgiveness

I think my family inspired the Jerry Springer Show. We were dysfunctional before they gave people TV shows for those sorts of things. It's almost like we were on the cutting edge of some big trend. Who could have predicted that the tables would turn and dysfunctional, messed up families would become the norm, rather than the exception.

Back when I was living in the thick of dysfunctionality, we tried to keep it a secret. Who knew there was so much money to be made in parading our pitiful existence before a national audience? But, wasted opportunities for making gobs of cash while exposing our most awful secrets isn't really my subject today.

If I had a reality TV show today based on my dysfunctional family I would focus on helpful life lessons learned from your dysfunctional family. I know, not many people would tune in and everyone would lose money. Dramatic, weeping victims get better ratings.

So, here's chapter 1 in Life Lessons Learned in a Dysfunctional Family:

The most important lesson that I learned was forgiveness. I won't share a lot of sordid details about how my formative years were spent, (except to refer to my opening sentence about Jerry Springer). As you can imagine a lot of people who are related to me did a lot of stupid things. We hurt each other physically, mentally and emotionally. We made fools of ourselves at work, at school and in the community at large. Some people pitied us. Others hated us. Everyone was ashamed of us. There are some who would tell me that I have every right to never speak to many members of my family ever again. But really, what does that accomplish?

Long ago I came to realize that I was born into a family of imperfect human beings doing the best they could with what they had to work with. God was not a part of our life back then, so we were all floundering around, trying to figure things out. Along the way some really awful stuff happened. Do I have reasons to harbor bitter grudges? Sure. Will I grasp hold of that pain and claim it as mine? No way.

What a waste my life would have been if I'd never found the power to forgive. How could I expect to be forgiven in return?

I guess forgiving those who hurt you--and still may not realize that they did--is one of the best ways to love as Jesus loved.

Lessons in an Indian village

I chose the photo for this blog for two reasons.

1. It is one of the most recent photos I have of myself.

2. It is a constant reminder to me of why national missions works.

I serve at Gospel for Asia. What sets our mission group apart is that we don't send missionaries in the traditional sense of a Western mission organization. We send national missionaries (some people describe them as indigenous missionaries). What that means is we equip the locals to read out to their own people. If you want to know more about this philosopy, you can read about it at www.gfa.org/about/why-national-missions-works/

When I met the woman in the photo I had an epiphany of some sorts about national missions. Here's what happened. I was visiting with a Gospel for Asia-supported missionary in western India. He lives in a village near a major city. I guess it could accurately be described as a suburb, but boy, was it different than the suburb I live in! This dear brother drove us out to the village where this woman lives. It's not very far from the village where his church is, nor is it more than 30 miles from that major metropolitan city I mentioned. But, it is light years away from both of them. Her village was a small, tight-knit place of probably less than 100 people. The people and their way of life are beautiful, albeit spiritually dark.

What bothered me the most during our visit to the village is that the woman in the photo tried to talk to me. She was very adamant and animated in her conversation, and I could tell that what she was saying was very important to her. Sadly I had no clue what her words meant. At the time she tried to srike up a conversation with me, our interpretor and the missionary who was leading us were involved in another conversation. So I did what all Americans do, I smiled and nodded my head. I felt totally useless.

When we arrived in the village that morning a group of this woman's fellow villagers gathered around our missionary host. They proceeded to have a very animated conversation. I so wanted to understand what they were saying to him. You see he has been visiting their village and praying with them. He already speaks the language, understands their culture and easily started a relationship with the people there. He has earned their respect and trust.

Me? Not so much. I realized at that moment why national missionaries are so important. Even if God put a burning desire in my heart to reach this village It would take me years to learn the language and by then, it might be too late for this woman. But she's hearing the Gospel thanks to the national missionary who already knows her language.

I do pray that she will choose to follow Christ and that I will get to see her again one day in heaven. Who knows, maybe we'll be next-door neighbors and we can sit down and have tea--Indian chair tea of course!

Finding Solitude in Suburbia

I just finished reading an amazing book called Death by Suburb: How to Keep the Suburbs from Killing Your Soul.

Honestly when I picked it up, I thought it would be a humorous Erma Bombeck meets Jerry Seinfeld take on serving God while living in the suburbs. Never did I imagine this book, with a picture of the perfect plastic family on the cover, would bring me to my knees asking God to forgive me for using Him as an accessory to my seemingly perfect suburban life. (I think I just wrote a run-on sentence!)

To me, the main premise of this book is summed up in this one passage:

"The suburbs tend to produce inverse, spiritual cripples. Suburbia is a flat world, in which the edges are clearly defined and the mysterious ocean is rarely explored. Every decision gets planned out, like the practice of registering at retail stores for one's wedding gifts. Only tragedy truly surprises.

In the 'burb I inhabit, many are the opportunities for Bible study, innovative worship services, helping the homeless, children's programs, small groups, and much more. Yet I can't shake the image of the inverse cripple with a bloated, tiny soul. Perhaps that's one of the effects of comfortable suburban living. Too much of the good life ends up being toxic, deforming us spiritually."

Each chapter of the book outlines a particular "Environmental Toxin" unique to suburban America (which really is more of a state of mind than physical address). The first toxin is "I am in control of my life." Goetz says the anti-venon to this particular toxin is the prayer of silence. Put simply, we need some solitude.

Let me just say that I stink at solitude. I am not someone who wants to sit and think deeply. Since I am an overly energetic person, I always thought I did my best thinking while the rest of my body was engaged in doing something else--painting, sewing, washing dishes, mowing the yard or riding my bike. In reality, I have fallen for the lie that by being busy and efficient I can control my own life.

How stupid is that?

So what happens to all of us people who are overcommitted and too busy for a little solitude before our Savior?

"One day you arise and discover you wouldn't know if God was at work even if there were handwriting on your wall. You have no capacity for seeing God."

Ouch.

I can travel a few miles in any direction from my house and worship in a modern-day cathedral (we call them megachurches today), but I can't see God because I'm too busy. No wonder everything seems out of focus.

In Death by Suburb, Goetz also bursts my bubble on what real solitude is by explaining what it is not. It's not a time that you schedule in your calendar to hear directives from God. It's not like one of those meetings where you meet with your boss to update him on your projects. There is no sense of obligation on God's part to show up and say anything to us.

Goetz quotes theologian Henri Nouwen's startling discovery on solitude:

"It's not easy to sit and trust that in solitude God will speak to you--not as a magical voice but that he will let you know something gradually over the years."

I'm with Goetz when he says "It's that 'over the years' part that bothers me. I really don't have time for that."

(Can I get an amen from anyone on that?!?!?)

So if solitude is not a time to listen for God to speak, then what is it?

"The life practice of solitude, then, is the opposite of my expectations of escape and rest or an immediate ushering into what I think is God's presence. It is more a discipine or struggle than it is of serenity. It's no formula for controlling my outer world or how I feel. It's the ongoing guerrilla war to loosen my choke hold on creating and gathering to myself the life I think I need. I don't pursue giving up control; I pursue the practice of solitude."

So I don't need to escape my overcommited suburban existence to find solitude? I just need to recognize the futility of being in perpetual motion and trying to make my life comfortable. Is that possible? I'll keep you updated.

The Joy of Reading Dead Guys

I thought I had already died and was surely in heaven when I slipped in the door of Powell's Bookstore in Portland, Oregon. This eclectic, funky bookstore takes up an entire city block and is several floors containing rows and rows and rows of reading material. Being a writer--and a voracious reader--I wanted to sublease personal space in the store.

In addition to the books, Powell's had some really fun things for the bibliophile at heart. One of my favorites was a T-shirt that said "I read dead people." I love that T-shirt!

Well, it's true that many book lovers have an ongoing love affair with dead authors. During the last two years one of my favorite "dead guys" to read has been C.H. Spurgeon. I was introduced to this British reverend by my former pastor. And wow, am I glad to make the acquaintance. Spurgeon's Morning and Evening was my devotional book for 2009. I soaked up every sentence of that book and my thirst was still not quenched. Imagine how happy I was to find a copy of Spurgeon's Daily Help at a deep discount book sale right after Christmas. (The fact that all the really good books sell for next to nothing is something I'll have to address in a post one day).

So it was with great anticipation that I opened Daily Help on January 1 to begin another year's journey with this great British preacher (who, by the way, received his education as a journalist). What I found blew me away. Here's the entire entry for January 1.

We will be glad and rejoice in Thee. We will not open the gates of the year
to the dolorous notes of the sackbut, but to the sweet strains of the harp of
joy. "O come, let us sing unto the Lord: let us make a joyful noise unto the
rock of our salvation." What heavens are laid up in Jesus! What rivers
of infinite bliss have their source, ay, and every drop of their fullness in Him!
Since, O sweet Lord Jesus, Thou art the present portion of Thy people, favor
us this year with such a sense of Thy preciousness, that from its first to
its last day, we may be glad and rejoice in Thee.

So my first thought on reading this was, what the heck does dolorous mean and what's a sackbut? (dolorous means marked by misery or grief and a sackbut, according to Websters, is a medieval type of trombone). So, imagine a trombone playing a funeral dirge and a harp plucked by an angel. I'll take the angelic harp any day.

So, now I get it, we are asking the Lord to be our joy.

My favorite part of this entry is the last sentence, which I would sum up like this "You are everything to me Lord. Help me to remember how important my relationship with you is and please Lord, allow this very thought to fill me with overflowing, beautiful joy every day of this year."

But, of course, it took a dead guy to say it so eloquently.

How do you get from there to here?

So how does one go from working as a journalist, then a marketing copywriter to serving as a missionary? Well, that's my testimony.

At the beginning of the last decade I was writing newspaper articles with the term Y2K in them, and thinking the world had gone mad. Within 18 months I was one of the first casualties of the decline of the newspaper business, so I tried my hand at marketing writing, which was really a nice gig. The pay was much better, and owing to the fact that I chose to ply my skills in the marketing department at a bank, the hours and holidays were much nicer than journalism.

But was I content? Hardly. God continued to nudge me (okay, he was kicking me in the pants) telling me He had something else in mind for me. I knew I was being called to full-time ministry and I was terrified. I went back to journalism 101 and started asking God the 5 Ws and H questions (who, what, when, where, why and how). At the end of this lengthy question and answer session, I had learned two important things:

1. God knows what it means to be long suffering. I should have clearly been getting on His last nerve with the second question.

2. Serving God was going to be an amazing adventure.

He led me to Gospel for Asia, an international organization which has been sharing the love of Jesus with the people of South Asia for 30 years. I started serving with the ministry in October, 2006.

Full-time Christian work is quite a bit different than journalism and bank marketing, and that's a very good thing! It is amazing to know that what I write each day has the power to change the life of the person who reads it, as well as the person whom the story is about.

Want to read some of my stuff? Go to www.gfa.org and look at the "news" tab. Sign up for the weekly email updates. Check out a copy of SEND! magazine on the site.