Letter to Arielle

Your sister and you (in 2008)
knowing that I was going to take a picture.

Good morning sweetheart.

It dawned on me last night before bed that I didn't write on your wall yesterday - for the first time since we learned of your accident ... on October 22, 2013. 

But ... I know you don't mind, because it means that I'm starting to heal. Just a little tiny bit. A friend shared with me yesterday in a way I could understand inside my heart ... that you want me and your dad and your sister(s) and everyone - ALL who love you - to comprehend that you are supremely happy and safe and at Home where you now are. Deliriously happy... beyond human understanding. And that you still want us to be happy, to look after ourselves, to look after each other, to enjoy every day of our lives. Every. Single. Day. Like you did. 

Even when things were tough.

I remember how just a few weeks ago,I texted you as you were living in your car, like I did several times a day. That week, I was SO not looking forward to Thanksgiving. It had always been a family meal, with you sitting across from me at the table and stuffing you mouth as full as you could get it, as full of as many parts of the meal as you could get in there, until your cheeks were puffed out ... that I just couldn't get into the holiday now that you were homeless, running on empty all the time, waking up freezing every morning. :(  

I told you I was seriously considering cancelling Thanksgiving. 

You wouldn't hear of it.

"Oh Mom. Don't give up your Thanksgiving spirit. I'm here and I don't have much. But I'm still thankful for what I have. You and my family and friends. So don't give up on Thanksgiving. Please." Your attitude gave me the strength to at least do a chicken up and have someone over for a meal.

And now you are gone from us.

You KNOW that I ... we ALL ... miss you. You KNOW that. You have watched us as we've been broken, shattered because of losing you from this earth. But as we are learning even more how incredibly amazing you were while you were here, we're starting to see life, and people, the way you do. That's your legacy. What a tremendous gift! I wanna thank you, princess. So. Much.

Here's what we're learning.... SO far. 

It doesn't matter whether a person is "red or yellow, purple, green, black or white or in between" as we used to parody "Jesus loves the little children of the world". (And you'd roll your eyes, teasing us.) It didn't matter to you if someone was gay or straight, male or female or something else, overweight or rake-thin or anything in between, Christian or atheist or Buddhist, wore a 3-piece suit or a thong.  You accepted people. ALL people. You loved them - you loved us all - just the way we were: warts and all. 

You hated it when people took themselves too seriously, more concerned with appearances and protocol than they were about compassion and mercy, about celebrating who somebody was. You hated hypocrisy and condemnation; you'd gotten too much of it in your short life and you knew how that felt. Thank God there is no condemnation at all where you are. 

You gave of yourself until it hurt; you seriously went without ... to the point of giving up food, clothing, toys, money ... so that others could have. Over and over I am hearing the stories now. The lives you touched. The hearts you mended. Your deeds - done in secret - are now being proclaimed loud and long.

And now it's YOUR turn to be given to. For all eternity. Although ... I am pretty sure you'd find a way to give it all back. ;)

I saw a new post on your Facebook wall this morning from one of your old crew here - Anthony - his first time on your wall since the accident. He told you that he remembered how you were there for him after he had a bad motorbike accident last year ... an accident that made him unable to walk for quite a while. How you went to see him in the hospital ... and worked so hard to get him outside of himself (and his house) after he went back home and got into physiotherapy. 

That's so typical of you. 

You inspire everybody who knew you. You inspire me.
I only hope that someday I am worthy of the lessons you are teaching me.

Love,
Mom

The Acid Test

The term, "the acid test" has been around since the days of the early gold prospectors. They needed a way to determine if the metal they found was real gold or some other metal. So, they would mark the metal with nitric acid, which would melt other metals; gold, not so much. That term came to mean the way by which someone would know if something was genuine or not - from merchandise to someone's promises or beliefs. 

I got to thinking about this expression this morning as the face of this one person came into my mind, someone to whom some people react one way while others react the opposite way.

I first met Joseph in the late 1990s. He's an itinerant - a man who chooses to be homeless. He has a "home base" - the home of a relative in a different province - but he only goes there once in a while to catch up on his mail. Most of the time, no matter what the season, he walks and sometimes hitch-hikes from place to place.  He has a full beard, wears layer upon layer of clothing (because there's no other place to put it) and smells of spruce, wood smoke, and sweat. He makes no apologies for his appearance or his lifestyle. He sleeps in the woods, sometimes in a sleeping bag and sometimes not. 

It's intriguing to see the reactions of different people to this man. The first time I saw him, I was a receptionist at a church office. He walked into the office one day in 1998. My immediate impression was that he was a homeless man in his mid-fifties, in need of a bath, a good meal and a change of clothes.  There was something about him, though - something in his eyes, which contradicted what my sense of smell was telling me. My boss at the time, a wonderful pastor, caught sight of him and came out to greet him warmly. I decided to watch him, talk to him, and get to know him a bit better. 

Taken at Picadilly Circus, London.
Thanks to photographer Mantas Ruzveltas
for this photo, "Homeless Man" - obtained at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Over the course of the next week, as he used the woods behind the church to sleep in (with the pastor's permission of course!) I learned that he loved his life, that he enjoyed country and western music (well, nobody's perfect), that he was a diabetic, and that he had the most gentle, humble character you would ever want to meet. I instinctively knew that if I ever needed anyone to look after my preschool children, I could trust him implicitly to guard them with his life. 

I began to look forward to his visits; he was always so full of joy, so content with his chosen lifestyle, so grateful for every bit of help offered to him, and so accepting of others. About once or twice a year he would show up, stay a few days and then move on. Whenever he did, he'd stop for a church service on a Sunday morning. He'd usually sit at the back, close to the door, so that he could slip to and from the washroom unnoticed. It was there that I noticed the varied reactions to his presence. They were much like my original impression had been - except that they were a bit more (how shall I put this nicely? oh never mind) "in your face."  Some reactions were downright visceral; they were clearly repulsed by this man and got as far away from him as possible. 

Many of these people are the first to attend prayer vigils and go to spiritual retreats, talk about the glory days, and tell others exactly what they believe. 

But Joseph is the acid test  -  his very existence challenges people and he isn't even aware of it; he just is who he is. Yet the challenge hangs in the air, "Do you really believe what you say you believe?"

A few months ago, as winter melted into spring, I found myself wondering where Joseph was, if he was still out there tramping the roads and touching lives with his uniqueness. 

And then one Sunday morning recently, I saw him - sitting by himself in the back near the door. His hair and beard were more gray; his face was more gaunt, but it was him. He was beaming, basking in the simple but profound pleasure of good music and shelter from the rain. When the service was over, I rushed over to where he'd been sitting, but he was gone. Disappointment settled on me like a wet blanket. I made my way back to my seat and began to pick up my purse and other items.

Then I turned and saw him, not ten feet away! He'd been in the washroom (most likely) and was coming up to the front to talk to the pastor and ask for a drive. My eyes misted over; what a beautiful soul. I shook hands with him and was delighted that he remembered me - his grip was a little weaker, but still firm. He was wobbling a bit with age and the ravages of life on the road - but it was the Joseph I remembered. His eyes were still as bright, and his smile as ready as it always was. 

Given the rainy day, the pastor asked a young man (a student interning at the church) to drive Joseph to where he needed to go next - across town - and I wondered if yet another generation would come to appreciate the inner beauty of this simple man ... and pass the acid test. 

I sure hope so.

This far - no further

Lately I've been struggling with boundaries.  

Not so much with where they are - I am slowly getting a comfort level there - but how to set them .... and how to enforce them .... is the thing that's been occupying my attention the last few weeks.  

I know I have to set these boundaries, and the hardest ones to set are those that must be put up for the first time with people (especially members of one's family-of-origin, be they natural or extended) who not only don't have ANY boundaries of their own, it seems to be part of their religion to cross over others' borders too - and stomp all over the tulips while they're there.  So (this is a given) I know for certain that they won't understand. I used to think exactly as they do now.  I know that they will wonder just what the big deal is.  And that they'll judge me - and tell everyone they know how cruel and ungrateful I'm being, to get them to judge me too, so their own treatment of me seems justified.  I KNOW this. Yet I am feeling compelled to tell them why I'm setting that boundary, how disappointed I am that they wouldn't have had the good sense to know not to "go there".  How wrong their crossing it is.  How much it hurts.  And yes, a large part of me wants to stick it right back to them.


I can't lie about it.  But it doesn't make their trespassing on my emotional property any less wrong.  And here I sit.  And I question.  And I pray.  And I wonder.  

Image "Businesswoman Asking To Stop"
courtesy of imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

How much should I tell them?  How do I tell them?  Do I tell them ANYTHING?  I write stuff so ... should I write to them?  Hmmm... any of the rare times I've ever written to someone before about something similar - it wasn't pretty.  The fangs and claws came out - on both sides.  It was pretty ugly.  I hesitate before doing that again.  

Maybe I should just be quiet and not "go there" myself.  Say nothing, but refuse to play that game - and then when they ask about it ... keep it not only simple, but short.   Yet there's this big, empty ... whatever... out there which begs, no, demands to be addressed.  The call of that thing is so strong, perhaps irresistible.  Or is it really "out there"??  Maybe it's actually "in here" - maybe it's just my own desire for self-justification.  Or maybe, as people in the recovery circles I hang around in say, it's "the codependent crazies."  That desire to gain the upper hand, to change the other person's behavior - even though I know for sure it won't - and will probably make it worse...!  

One of the things I learned in a course many years ago just popped into my head.  The course was on decision-making - and I remember the instructor saying, "The decision to do nothing is still a viable decision.  Sometimes a problem needs to just stew for a while - as uncomfortable as that is - and come to its own conclusion." 

That is the only option for me right now that has any semblance of peace attached to it.  Everything else is rife with turmoil.  So - once again I turn the whole situation - and myself - over to God, asking Him to relieve me of the bondage of self-will run riot, and to make me an example of what happens in a heart totally in love with Him.    

Marketing? the Faith?

I was reading a friend's blog and she was talking about a couple of men coming to the door to proselytize their religion.  Of course they called it sharing their faith.

Some of these door-to-door folks can be quite ... persistent.  I wonder if they're trained not to take no for an answer (or not to walk away until someone gets angry and yells at them, thus scoring a "win" by being persecuted.)


Somehow that reminds me of a brief stint I put in as a telemarketer several years ago.  Yes.  I was desperate.  Yes.  I hated the job.  And yes, I did sell stuff people didn't want to people who probably couldn't afford it.  That's why I hated it - and I quit as soon as I possibly could.  I think I lasted about 3 or 4 weeks actually.  Ughh!

In my telemarketer training, I was told that as long as a sales prospect (note, they are not people, they are prospects) had an objection, a reason for turning down the incredible offer-of-a-lifetime, we "had" them - for there was a scripted answer to every possible objection.  The only statement a telemarketer can't refute is "I'm not interested.  No, no reason.  I'm just not interested.  Goodbye."

Huh.  There's food for thought.

But I digress.  I was also thinking that sometimes we as Christians have bought into this whole "marketing" thing, to our own detriment and that of the cause of Christ. Maybe it's not telemarketing but it is marketing the gospel, making it palatable, pushing and pushing until people hate to see us coming.  (Last night my daughter answered the phone after the 8th time from it ringing with an 800 number on the caller ID; she yelled in frustration into the phone, "QUIT CALLING!!" We all cheered when she hung up!)  

We Christians, especially those in leadership but also those of us (and I can be this way too) who just can't seem to let God be God - do ourselves and the world a great disservice.  We seek the best platform, try to find the right program, buy into the right gimmick - and basically use the world's marketing methods to do something that (according to the Bible) God's Spirit is supposed to do: convince people of their brokenness and bring them to Jesus.  We treat human beings outside the church (at best) like sales prospects ... and forget that they are really people: people who have real lives, real circumstances, real feelings.  All we need to do for the world (and even for that, God is the One who enables us, for without Him we can do nothing) is love God, love each other and love the hurting ones without judging them.  

Melody Beattie says in her book, "The Language of Letting Go" - (©1990 Hazelden) as she speaks about letting go and letting God lead and guide in our lives, "We will know when to go, to stop, and to wait. We will learn a great truth: the plan will happen in spite of us, not because of us." (February 11 reading)

It's so simple.  At least that's what the Good Book says. We quit doing God's job for Him and let Him be God in our own lives, let Him love us, let Him love others through us. That will naturally spill out into the lives of those with whom we come in contact and change the world, one life at a time.  

Each one, reach one - with love.  God will take care of the rest.

Shoulds and Oughtas - Let the Walls Come Down

Remember the festive spirit that was present when the Berlin Wall came down?

The crowd cheering and roaring, the symbol of their captivity and oppression toppling before their eyes? it's a scene one doesn't easily forget. Some were yelling their heads off, some were throwing rocks at the wall, some were weeping, their faces in their hands. All great reactions to the tearing down of a thing that had been there all their lives, something that held them back, something that separated some of them from their loved ones, something that represented imprisonment, inhumanity, persecution, limitation.

On both sides of the wall before it came down, people went on with their lives and while they were doing so, some if not most of them probably justified their lifestyles. On the west side, people knew some of what was going on, on the other side. They'd heard the gunshots, they'd harbored those who had escaped, and they knew there were probably thousands of people on the other side of that wall who desperately wanted to get out but were afraid to try. Yet the ones in freedom were powerless to do anything to get them out. The decision had to be made by the people on the east side.

On the east side, there were those completely satisfied with the status quo, espousing the rhetoric of the government of the day. Others couldn't stand the oppression and risked their lives to leave. Few made it; the others were held up as an example of what happens to those who try. But there were still others (and dare I say these were the majority) who didn't want to risk life and limb to escape - yet they wistfully looked at that wall and wondered what life would be like if they were ever to be able to see on the other side.

I am going out on a limb here and saying that in many ways, the modern church is like living on the east side of the wall before it came down. Regimented, oppressive, judgmental, protectionist. Those who dare try to get out of that mold, the mold expected by the religious powers that be (I say religious deliberately), find themselves ostracized, stripped bare and crucified by the same people who say they espouse the teachings of Christ. But mostly, there are hundreds if not thousands of people who see the limitations, who despise the rules and regulations, and don't dare try to escape because they see how the ones who try to break free are treated. They want to be free. They hate what the church has become. Yet they have nowhere else to go. They know that only Jesus has the words of eternal life, and they are afraid that by "quitting Christianity" as one lady put it recently, they'll lose the only reference point they'll have, and will endanger their eternal soul. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The good news is that long ago, before we ever got in this horrible predicament, Jesus DID tear the wall down. The Bible tells us that the dividing wall that kept us from God was torn down when Jesus died on the cross. The veil of the Temple, six inches thick and several hundred pounds, that stood between the holy place and the most holy place - representing separation from God - was ripped from the top to the bottom as soon as Jesus cried out, "It is finished!" (From the Greek tetelestai, which means "accomplished" - in the sense of an unbreakable contract being fulfilled.) Did you get that? From the top to the bottom.

God Himself tore down the wall.

Relationship with Him trumps rules and regulations, the shoulds and the oughtas. It is about this life of intimacy, this life lived every moment in the Spirit of God, that Jesus said, "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink! He who believes in Me, as the Scriptures said, 'out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water!' "

He comes to live inside of us when we claim Him as our personal Rescuer - the only way for us to approach a holy God. He forgives us. He makes us pure before Him. He loves us unconditionally. Passionately. Deeply.

The more we realize this, the more our gratitude overflows back to Him. It changes us on the inside...and overflows into a two-way love-relationship with Him: a oneness that can ONLY happen through the Spirit of God. Such a life can only be lived from the inside out, flowing from our trysting, our intimacy with Him. We love Him, the Bible says, because He first loved us. So, in response to His great love, our "return" love bursts out toward Him, overflows all over us and all over the lives of those with whom we come in contact.

In the context of that kind of intimacy, we don't need to "try" to live the Christian life. It's not something we have to put on like someone would put on a sweater. It is the inner glory, the love and the joy and the peace that clothe us from the inside, where He lives, where He loves us beyond our ability to comprehend, where we can't help but love Him back.

The question that gets us from behind the wall to where He waits for us is this:
Do we trust Him?

Are we willing to let go of everything we've leaned upon, all the s'postas and the gottas, all the stress we unnecessarily place on ourselves (as if it were up to US to save, heal, fix, and rescue everyone) - and give ourselves unreservedly with complete abandon ... to Him and Him alone? to turn our will and our lives - all of it - over to His loving care? Warts, failures, hurts, anger, pride, resentment, bitterness, fear, insecurity and all? just as we are?

It truly is a leap of faith. I'm not talking about "leaving the church." I'm talking about "embracing Christ" - walking in intimate relationship with Him.

I won't lie to you. It's a scary step. But His question still remains, perhaps as yet unanswered. "Will you trust Me?"

With that question hanging in the air, turn up the volume and listen to this story about a "Cosmic Cowboy" told in the 1970s by a man named Barry McGuire. Hear the call of Jesus in it: "Will you trust Me?"

Isn't it time? He's the only way out.
Go ahead ... jump.