A little light hit a dark corner in my soul this morning. Maybe these words will do the same for you today. Listen:

Then came the day of Unleavened Bread on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed.

Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, "Go and make preparations for us to eat the Passover."

"Where do you want us to prepare for it?" they asked.
He replied, "As you enter the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him to the house that he enters, 11and say to the owner of the house, 'The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?' He will show you a large upper room, all furnished. Make preparations there."
They left and found things just as Jesus had told them. So they prepared the Passover. - Luke 22:7-14

It was just as He told them it would be.

"In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am." - John 14:2,3

It will be just as He told them it will be.

I'm not making this up...

If you and I have ever talked about books, you know I have always proudly proclaimed that I'm not much of a fiction person. Oh, I appreciate the classics, and have written a number of works myself fiction over the years (kids' stories, plays and skits), but I've not been grabbed by much contemporary fiction of either the CBA or ABA variety. Every once in a while, a brilliant book cuts through the chatter and silliness and reminds me that sometimes fiction is the best way of all to tell the truth.

Tosca Lee's Havah: The Story Of Eve is one of those books. Lee traces the story of Eve with some of the most lovely, stunning prose you'll ever find in a CBA title:

The adam tried to hold me, but I pushed him away. He pulled me gently back - now I could feel the tremor in his hands - and lifted the leaves from my face. Perhaps with a vestige of that understanding that needed no words - or of my guilt in all its multifaceted forms - he lowered it to my waist and tied it there, so that the leaves hung over those parts stained by our use of each other.

I wept to see our industry, so joyously applied in gifts and tokens, in experiments and invention, given to such purpose. When the adam had made a similar covering for himself, he pulled me to him, hard against his chest. He did it, I knew, not to comfort me but himself, as he lowered his head to my breast.

I held him in silence. We did not know the language for sorrow or apology. We had no words for forgiveness, for it had never been needed.

I met Lee briefly last spring at the Mt. Hermon writers conference, and watched her putting in long, hard hours editing the manuscript for this book as a publisher's deadline loomed. I could sense the intensity of the task before her - the intensity carried a spiritual dimension to it that overshadowed the nuts and bolts of line editing text.

When I read the finished product, I understood why.

Though we only have the essence of Eve's story in Scripture, those early chapters of Genesis are the launch pad for the story we all now find ourselves in. Lee's "fiction" somehow doesn't feel like make-believe at all. She told the truth about me, you, all of us, with her story - and I was left with a deep ache for which I had no words by the time I finished the book. Homesickness, perhaps...or maybe just a longing for redemption.

Even if you're a fiction hater, I highly commend this book to you. And if you've read it, I'd love to hear what you thought of it.

Post-election consolation prizes

In the wake of Tuesday's election, I have read and listened to plenty of response from Christians across the spectrum. And one of the things I'm hearing again and again, usually from people disappointed (or much, much worse) about the results is the phrase "God is sovereign".

This phrase is usually a part of some self-comforting speech that goes something like this: "Even though we're not at all happy with the way things went on Tuesday, and this country is going to go ______ (fill in the blank with "socialist", "fascist", "Muslim", "to hell in a handbasket" or "broke"), we need to remember that God is sovereign."

What I'm wondering today is why this phrase is used like it is some sort of consolation prize - or an attempt to comfort ourselves. Would those who've used the phrase use it if the election had gone their way? If they had, how would it sound as they said it? Sadly, I can remember elections or other civic events in the past when things have gone a different direction, and the same folks who're in mourning now have sounded eerily like a "noisy gong or a clanging cymbal" as they proclaimed their certainty that things were finally going God's way. "God IS sovereign! WE WON!"

Though I follow politics, I am re-evaluating my interaction with the process these days. The Internet Monk's post on this issue really captures some of my questions and concerns about civic responsibility and the kingdom of God at this point: http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/imonk-101-the-tactics-of-failure-why-the-culture-war-makes-sense-to-spiritually-empty-evangelicals.

I have one friend who has embraced the truth that God is sovereign for as long as I've known her - in profound ways, through times of plenty and times of terrible loss in her life. She doens't use the phrase as either a consolation prize or the slogan stamped on her winner's trophy.

Instead, the words are her expression of trust in her Savior. They aren't a reaction - they are a measured, surrendered response of trust. You can almost smell the sweetness of the offering of her life as she expresses these words. I heard them again in an e-mail from her this evening, in fact.

And the words reminded me again of the spirit with which they were properly meant to be expressed.

Random anecdote Tuesday

It's not too often we get an opportunity to have a do-over in life, but on Sunday afternoon, I had a chance to revise a reader's theater script I'd adapted from a Tolstoy short story almost 15 years ago. The script was published by Eldridge Publishing as part of a book of short readings and program ideas for Christmas. The new version is a definite improvement.

Which leads me to wonder if I will feel the same way in 15 years about what I'm writing these days. And I already know the answer.

* * * * * * * * * *

Someone climbed the steeple of the chapel at Trinity over the weekend and tied a big pirate flag to the spire.

* * * * * * * * * *

Hardly anyone is talking about gas prices right now. I have been watching prices come down, down, down for the last few weeks, but they are not a topic of conversation at all. I think people see the lower prices as a hiccup.

* * * * * * * * * *

This past weekend, each of my sons randomly commented in conversations with us that they missed having a cat. (Cats and student apartments don't usually go together.) My son-in-law and daughter are the same way. Not one of them is much of a dog lover.

We had an awesome cat named Mike who died in August. My kids grew up with Mike and his much-less loveable half-sister Phyllis. Mike was one of those fun, friendly cats that even cat haters liked. Just this morning, I woke up and looked for Mike, who liked to sleep outside our bedroom door. (That way, he could be in the know about when he could expect his next meal.)

In the middle of discussions about hermeneutics papers and illustration projects, it was funny to hear Ben and Jake both expressing the desire for a cat or two independently of one another.

* * * * * * * * *

The highlight of this absurdly long election season has been Tina Fey's impersonation of Sarah Palin. There haven't been very many truly funny moments over the last two years, but Fey's sardonic, spot-on take on Palin crossed party lines and brought some wonderfully uniting laughter to everyone who saw it.

I saw the first skit online early the Sunday morning after it aired. I was sitting alone, and laughed so hard I had tears running down my face.

The audacity of hope

"The candidate who is most positive about our future almost always wins elections."

Seems so obvious, doesn't it?

I heard a commentator mention this last night, and it got me thinking. In all the polling and endless analysis, all sorts of other things are measured. Rarely have I heard the media focus on a candidate's hopefulness as a cardinal virtue. (And talking about "hope" in terms of audacity, slogans or birthplaces doesn't count here.) A good political leader is the person who can actually see the sun coming over the horizon, just beyond the hill looming mountain-large, and can urge a majority of the populace forward toward the dawn.

The commentators observation got me thinking about the hope I claim to possess: found at the manger, the wedding feast, the cross, the empty tomb, and the upper room. Am I characterized by hope? Are we, the church? It is one of the three virtues (faith, hope and love) which remain and are over all.

Come to think about it, I think "possess" might be the wrong word here.

I've been a part of some churches where "hope" was what we said we offered, while the climate of the church was anything but. The people in the church weren't really buying what they themselves purported to be selling. Though we affirmed that our hope was in Christ, the culture of these congregations was frequently contentious, politicized and fear-driven. There are an awful lot of churches turned on themselves, always re-engineering and retooling from within, while simultaneously convincing themselves they were peddling hope for the hopeless in the religious marketplace. As if hope is a product, like Bud Light or Mac.

But I've known a few churches who have the audacity to embody hope. They preach the gospel both as a community and because a bunch of individuals in the church community are revolutionaries. They get that hope isn't a commodity. It's more like a virus. I've known people who've spent out their lives "infecting" the world around them with hope, kingdom carriers of the cure to those who are dying (here and now, and for eternity) without it.

"He told them still another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough." (Mt. 13:33)

Maybe they spend their lives in prayer and worship, a la Count Zindendorf.

Maybe they dig wells in Africa.

Maybe they are foster parents.

Maybe they write.

Maybe they minister to police or firefighters who need a friend.

Maybe they study. Or sculpt. Or act. Or scrub toilets. Or open their homes.

Not to obtain hope, but because they hope - not wishful thinking, but true confidence in Jesus - and simply can't help but be carriers of the kingdom in all they do.

What matters RIGHT NOW

Last year as my mom was dying, I was amazed at how very small the world became for her. There were no more trips for her to the nail salon or flea market, no need for the part-time job or her library card, no interest in the subdivision gossip. There was touch. Presence. Prayer. Only a couple of nurses, my sister and I, and brief visits from 2 of her good friends. And in the end, like a telescope tightening its focus to a single point, death shut out the sound and light and temporary-ness of this world entirely.

This is the lesson I keep coming back to in this current season of extreme busyness in my life. Most of the busyness could be shut down in an instant. The tasks, the deadlines, the meetings and daily urgencies keep the world big and frentic and noisy, a distraction. A faux abundant life.

I discovered the nature of true abundance in that bedroom as my mom was dying. A conversation with a friend. The sight of my children's faces. My husband's laughter. My grandsons. And a single moment, maybe driving on the highway, where eternity breaks in. It's thatclose.

Jesus is thatclose.

Every which way but that way

This is not the chart. See below.

I once read an article with a very arresting visual about child development. The chart in question overlaid graphs tracking an individual child's physical, social and academic development. The article's writer made the point that it's optimal for a child if the lines tracing the various areas of his or her growth run fairly close together. Of course.

I remember the single image of a chart for a super-bright, standard height kid with really terrible social skills. The lines looked like three rays aiming at different planets in the solar system. There was no hope they'd ever meet in this or any other universe. The article's author said in so many words that what fills the gap when a child's growth is wildly out of sync is stress.

I can add a hearty AMEN to this observation. I had the privilege of watching it up close and personal in one of my kids. This kid was very, very smart, and wrestled mightily, loudly and with titanic rages for the first half of his growing-up years with social and relational stuff. A few people helpfully suggested that he'd grow out of it if Bill and I just made sure to stay the course with him, be consistent, and pray. The chart actually helped me understand that my son wasn't growing out of anything at all. He was growing into someone. His Creator's gift of adolesence and the work of the Holy Spirit fused those divergent rays into something beautiful and brilliant.

This week, I had a couple of conversations that yanked this out of my memory's file cabinet. Good people, who want to love God well, who found themselves living a different word order and punctuation of the following imperative, found in Deuteronomy and quoted by Jesus:

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.

This is kind of what I heard in these conversations:

Love the Lord your God with all your mind. Full stop. And the rest of that stuff, too.

So I work at a university/seminary. The intent of the education offered there is for the whole person, but there is a strong and particular focus on the life of the mind there, as there should be. This week was mid-term, a time of high stress for lots of students. I'd expect to hear stress this week in particular.

What I'm hearing though, is a different kind of stress than that. I'm hearing the stress that fills the gap when response to God - heart, soul, mind, strength - compartmentalizes, then diverges.

I've seen it in myself, and I recognize it in these friends.

I am not sure what to say, or exactly how best to pray. Any thoughts?

Shameless grandmother pride

Just a couple of new pictures. Indulge me...

Grandpa and Gabriel, during our apple-picking excursion. All of the apples were off the trees, so we technically didn't pick apples. We picked them up off the ground.
It looks like Lio is screaming his brains out, but he's just making a face. Flex your face muscles and try making this face right now. Now, show it to someone else and tell `em Lio sent you.

Is there anything sweeter than a sleeping newborn?

Thank you, Lord, for these two beautiful grandsons.

The Blue Parakeet: A review

A pet parakeet wanders the yard of author, blogger, North Park University professor, birdwatcher and Cub fan Dr. Scot McKnight. The other backyard birds were terrified of the bizarre blue visitor's quick movements and strange birdsong.

The parakeet made its home in and around the McKnights' suburban yard most of the summer, and McKnight watched as the birds' social order gradually changed: "Instead of being shocked by the odd sounds and sudden flights of the parakeet, they gradually became unfazed...When it flew to the feeder, they joined it - not because they were hungry, but because they wanted to be near the blue parakeet...one time I saw about thirty sparrows surrounding the blue parakeet on the neighbor's garage."

McKnight contends that the Bible is full of "blue parakeet" passages - shocking, surprising, provocative passages that fly into our lives, squaking and singing and challenging our cozy backyard religious status quo. The central question of this book: "How do you read the Bible? What happens to you when you encounter blue parakeet passages in the Bible will reveal all you need to know about how you read the Bible."

The first half of The Blue Parakeet: Rethinking How Your Read The Bible offers readers a great discussion about the overarching Story of the Bible, as well as a thought-provoking exploration about the ways people often read the Bible (Morsels of Law Morsels of Blessing and Promises, Mirrors and Inkblots where we look for images of ourselves in the Bible, Puzzling Together the Pieces to Map God's Mind, and Maestros, those who read the Bible through the lens of a single character). He invites readers to push past some of the old categories many of us have experienced, particularly in evangelicalism:

I grew up with a specific kind of approach to the Bible, and it has taken me a long time to develop a more complete understanding of the Bible. I grew up with what might be called 'the authority approach' to the Bible. Simply put, it works with these words: God, revelation, inspiration, inerrancy, authority, and submission...I believe this is an approach that fosters a relationship with the Bible.

Deep inside I knew there was something wrong with framing our view of the Bible like this. It took me years to put my finger on it. Perhaps I can say it like this: When I read my Bible, the words 'authority' and 'submission' don't describe the dynamic I experience. It is not that I think these words are wrong, but I know there is far more to reading the Bible than submitting to authority.

Even those who claim to read the Bible literally aren't wearing tunics of mixed fibers while stoning false prophets. The Blue Parakeet's user-friendly discussion about how we discern how to obey God's words is the heart of the book. This conversation about the discernment process leads into the second half of the book - an exploration of what Scripture has to say about the role of women in the church. McKnight's choice of this issue serves to illustrate the principles he's laid out in the first half of the volume.

McKnight begins by telling the story of his experience teaching at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School from 1983-1995. (Let the reader note: my husband is a TEDS grad, and the school is my current employer.) During the years McKnight taught at Trinity, the "role of women in ministry" issue was a highly polarized, emotional and frequently-divisive front-burner affair at the seminary. Those on all sides (which is pretty much another way of saying "both sides") of the issue claimed that their interpretation and application of the blue parakeet texts about women was THE ONE which best captured God's intent and direction on the issue. I loved McKnight's courage in talking about the way he navigated the turmoil at TEDS, and appreciated his thoughtful, faithful analysis of what the New Testament both reports and commands about women's role in ministry. The book concludes with a couple of great appendices, and some interesting first-century thoughts about women.

This 235-page book is written for a popular audience, and McKnight's warm writing style and touches of humor transform what is usually dense, academic subject matter into the kind of material that everyday Christians like you and I can apply...and which will transform us, if we let it, into people that welcome blue parakeets into our own backyards.

Happy birthday, Lio!

Early this morning, our second grandchild, Lionel Ilan (LEE-o-nel EE-lahn) Valenzuela-Lozano was born. Here's a few pictures of this beautiful little guy's birthday:

Shock absorbers

One of our former pastors (that's a depressing phrase, but I digress...) had a catchy little way of summarizing spiritual growth. He would tell the congregation that as they followed the Lord, the bumps in the road wouldn't get smaller, but their shock absorbers would get bigger. It was a folksy metaphor to explain how our growing faith and maturity are increasingly able to absorb big honking trials/challenges and stabilize quickly.

While his axiom wildly oversimplifies the complexities of walking through a long, dark difficult trial (chronic illness, death, prodigal spouses or children, financial loss), there is a nice dollop of truth in his words.

Many of us are navigating some roads with potholes the size of Lake Erie named Wall Street, Main Street and Watching My Real Estate Investment Evaporate Into Thin Air Avenue. We may end up on an unpaved road taking us to a destination we never dreamed we'd be traveling in these next months and years. Each time we exercise dependence on our God here, now our shock absorbers get a little more resilient. We navigate uncertain terrain while our soul's GPS is directing us homeward on Christ's narrow road.

Today was one of those days when I thought of those shock absorbers. A book proposal sitting at a publisher for nearly 6 months - including an encouraging e-mail a few weeks ago inquiring whether the work was still available - today netted a no. It was a really nice, encouraging no, but the no was the shape of a pothole. Ouch. ouchouchouch.

But I can feel the rebound in my heart: "My heart bursts its banks, spilling beauty and goodness. I pour it out in a poem to the King, shaping the river into words..." (Ps. 45:1 Message).

In Your time, my King...and for Your glory.

Boing.

Courage? Or Cowardice?

Is this courage or cowardice?

Issue A arises inside an organization. The issue is more than a purely academic one; the way A is resolved will set the organization's direction in the future. There are sound opinions on both sides of the issue, and is was possible at the beginning of the debate to work toward a thoughtful synthesis of those opinions. But a few key individuals drew immovable battle lines early in the discussion instead of going out for coffee to talk through their differences. There is no middle ground. Everyone in the organization seems to be taking sides.

A leader (let's call him Mr. X) is watching from the sidelines as the rhetoric between his coworkers grows more intense. He has an opinion, but his instincts toward self-preservation and his love of a steady paycheck cause him to keep that opinion to himself at the organization's meetings and throughout the battle of e-mails and memos about the issue. A sizeable percentage of the organization's members are being hurt by the war of words, and the entire organization seems to be emotionally paralyzed by A. Mr. X tries to quietly encourage some of his underlings by sharing his opinion about A with them, but never "outs" himself to his coworkers. He's like Switzerland - an oasis of neutrality - at staff meetings.

Mr. X gets a way better job offer as the battle reaches its zenith, and he leaves with the organization's blessing for much greener, safer pastures, where his career thrives. The radioactive nature of the debate aroound A eventually causes several key individuals to leave the organization. Mr. X follows the gyrations from afar.

It's now more than a decade since Mr. X left the organization. He still works in the same field, and interacts with some of his former coworkers on a professional level. He's a communicator, and writes about his experience at the organization a decade ago around A. He describes the battle, and celebrates by name a couple of individuals who expressed courage back then. But mostly, he points at himself, expressing great regret at his choice to remain silent, rather than entering the battle. He isn't sure he could made much of a difference in the entrenched positions his coworkers chose, but he's sure he could have made a big difference in the lives of those underlings who might have been looking to him for leadership on this issue.

I've written myself about some of my own unfortuate church situations - and I haven't always gotten those messes right in the midst of the battle, either. I am grateful for the wise hindsight that comes from time away from the situation, time in the Word and a ravenous desire for God's healing. I've been told that the transparent words about the messes both around me and inside of me have been helpful to others experiencing the same kinds of issues in their own lives. Are we only supposed to write about the things we get right? Are we only supposed to tell hero stories, or do we need to hear stories about broken, sinful people who turn A (or B, C, D or Z) into the hill they're willing to die on so that others can figure out how to navigate their own A's?

I've heard a few people say that Mr. X's post-mortem account of A seems cowardly. What do you think?

If only I could sing like Julie Andrews

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens... Just the kind of images you can count on if you purchase greeting cards at Big Lots, and they certainly made their way into the lyrics of the classic Sound of Music songbook.

I wouldn't put wet flowers or mewling cats into my own Fave Things list. It'll be very obvious as you read my list below that I'm no songwriter. But I am grateful for (almost all of) the gifts below:

- Chopped chicken liver from the deli at Sunset Foods.

- A Sunday afternoon nap after church. I wish I could take one every day.

- The sight of the faces of my kids and my son-in-law.

- The sight of my grandson's face.

- A glass of wine shared with my husband.

- Movie night.

- Silence.

- Sore stomach muscles because I've been laughing and laughing and laughing.

- A new book to read (right now, I have two: an advanced reader's copy of Scot McKnight's Blue Parakeet and Margaret Feinberg's The Sacred Echo.)

- A song on a CD passed on to me by a student at Trinity. Don't know the title, but there is a line in there about honeydew melon and pumpernickle bread that is genius. The image crawled into my skull and took up residence this weekend.

- Memories: tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my mom's death. My heart has been leafing through the photo album of the events leading up to her passing. I am grateful for the peace with God she discovered in the days before her death.

- The incubation stage of a possible writing project.

- The parables. They continue to undo and remake me.

- Prayer.

- The scent of summer merging into autumn.

- My morning commute. (Just kidding about this one.)

- Clean laundry.

- Grace.

What are a few things on your list?

Union...yes!

"66% of you have the spiritual gift of 'helps'."

I once heard a church consultant confidently state this statistic. The consultant said it with the kind of certainty that convinced quite a few people in the room that he was telling us something that any four-year old would know. Well, any four-year old who worked for the dude's church growth firm, that is.

To this day, the smugness of that comment still echoes in my head. It sounded like he was telling us that most of the people in every church were nothing more than worker bees, and the rest of us (who didn't have the gift of helps, since we were 'leaders') were tasked with the job of giving them the blue colllar grunt work to do so we could devote ourselves to Leading. Capital L, because we were the management.

Oh, he didn't quite put it that way, but this was the implication. And where on earth he got this absurd statistic is beyond me. It's sure not in Scripture, and I'm not sure you can apply metrics to something we're supposed to be giving away (to God and to others) anyway.

Every time Jesus talked about the kingdom of God (such as here, here, and here, just to name a few), He painted a picture of a completely different kind of culture. I know we know those words, but I hear too much of the of us defer to the kind of language that should be reserved for labor union organizers to describe the way the church must work. It is violent and hurtful, and turns people into commodities instead of the dearly-loved children God calls us.

Our gifts don't belong to us (and that includes 'helps'). They belong to our brothers and sisters:

"Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good" (1 Cor. 12:7).

Is that how you've seen spiritual gifts exercised in your church, small group or among your Christian friends?

And another question: Do 2/3 of the Christians you know have the gift of helps?

Worth some reflection....

This post is well worth some of your pondering time.

It's 1500 all over again, this time with ipods

I'm currently reading a book penned by Washington Times religion Julia Duin called Quitting Church: Why The Faithful Are Fleeing and What To Do About It. It's a very well-written book with a surprisingly personal spin, given Duin's journalist credentials. It doesn't break any new ground, but pulls together stats, trends, and bits of her own story in a winsome, readable manner.

Though I haven't finished it, here's what I discovered in what I've perused so far: I've read almost every single book, study and article Duin references in this volume. I've got a kind of ongoing literary lament going on the subject of the church.

And I always circle back to the same sad reality. The church is alienating more people than she's embracing. There are so many people who've exited the church, never to return. They love Jesus, and they are the "big C" Church/Bride of Christ...but are weary of what the institutional church offers and demands of them. I am, too.

There is a need for a new reformation, but it won't be anything like the Big Reformations that rocked the church 1500-1000-500 years ago. I wonder what will come of this current tired and shallow unsettled practice in the western church, and what this new reformation will look like.

Any thoughts?

What's growing in my garden?

Maybe it's because I've been reading the book of Job as part of my devotional reading. Maybe it's the cumulative effect of my life experiences. Maybe it my current awkward growing pains as I'm trying to learn my new job. Or maybe it's because I'm firmly planted smack-dab in the middle of mid-life and my newly-emptied nest.

No matter what the reason, the melancholy cry of Psalm 39 has captured some of emotion of my soul:

I said, "I will watch my ways and keep my tongue from sin; I will put a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence."
But when I was silent and still, not even saying anything good, my anguish increased.
My heart grew hot within me, and as I meditated, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue:
"Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life.

You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life is but a breath. Selah
Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro: He bustles about, but only in vain; he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.

"But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.
Save me from all my transgressions; do not make me the scorn of fools.
I was silent; I would not open my mouth, for you are the one who has done this.
Remove your scourge from me; I am overcome by the blow of your hand.
You rebuke and discipline men for their sin; you consume their wealth like a moth—each man is but a breath. Selah
"Hear my prayer, O LORD, listen to my cry for help; be not deaf to my weeping. For I dwell with you as an alien, a stranger, as all my fathers were.
Look away from me, that I may rejoice again before I depart and am no more."

Though this Psalm will probably never be on the Top Hits list, along with Psalm 23, 91 and 139, it captures the longing for God in the midst of discipline and soul-despair.

Lest you infer I'm depressed, let me tell you nothing could be further from the truth. I am more aware than ever of my own limits, the fierceness of the opinions of others, and the truth of my finiteness of my life on earth. It is an anthem of sorts to pray David's prayer today: Lord, my hope is in You. As I do, I learn what David knew, even in the midst of his excruciating circumstances - Hope grows in the soil of a stripped-down life.

Kickin' it @ skool

Scenes from the start of the school year:

I walked into work this morning and saw two girls sitting a few seats apart from one another in the otherwise empty chapel. They weren't speaking to one another. They were just sitting companionably in the dark, in the silence.

Intense conversations, everywhere. All the time.

It will be sad when it snows because 98% of the students will have to stow their flip flops until spring. The other 2% will wear them even in a blizzard.

More than a few students have reported that the first week of classes has made them feel like crying. Those darn syllabi - with all the course assignments and expectations, meant to guide them through their learning journey - can feel like travel directions for a semester-long Bataan Death March.

I had a delightful conversation with an upcoming chapel guest. Way, way back in the early 1980's, I worked at what was then National College of Education, now known as National Louis University. I discovered that the gentleman scheduled to speak in our chapel in a couple of weeks was the president of National College of Education when I worked there. I didn't interact much with him back in the day since I was a lowly financial aide office person there, and there wasn't much call for me to chat with the president in my paper-pusher role. This week's conversation was a fun "small world" moment.

I have mangled names and details in ways I never have before. There's a lot of information competing for air time in my head, and I am feeling as clumsy mentally as I usually do physically. I'm tripping over data, and stumbling over words. I hate this feeling. Hate it. There's not a syllabus involved for me (except the "get the hang of this job as soon as possible" one), but I've had a few teary moments this week, too.

Prayer with others is a regular part of my days.

And one scene from last week's start of school for my grandson:

First day of kindergarden - and he somehow ended up on the wrong bus for the trip home. An hour after his scheduled arrival, after a series of phone and dispatchers' calls, a frustrated, flustered bus driver finally dropped him off. This one still puts an ostrich-egg-sized lump in my throat a week after it happened.

Notes from Transition Road...

The last week and a half has included:

- Moving my youngest son Jacob into his first apartment in a brand-new town for him, where he'll begin classes this week. He doesn't know a single person there. I'm praying...

- An early-labor scare from my daughter; she's due October 10.

- A very steep learning curve last week in my new job, as well as the challenge of rustling up the equipment I'll need to do the job. Oh, and I'll have a learning curve with the electronics (when they appear, which seems as though it might finally be happening soon) as well. Three new student services this weekend, in the can. Not without behind-the-scenes drama, but they went off publicly without the drama showing.

- A three-day retreat with 120 student leaders and staffers which included (worst part) a whipped cream pie in my face. Sort of a youth group hangover moment on someone's part. I learned that trying to re-blow-dry rinsed hair that still has whipped cream in it will give you a hair helmet that'll take many shampoos to eradicate. Best part of the retreat was getting to meet so many really interesting, creative, passionate people - and I'm looking forward to seeing what God does with those seedling relationships this year.

- A disoriented cat. Phyllis' life-long partner in crime, Mike, died about 3 weeks ago. I still miss him, and 14 y/o Phyllis is just now figuring out that he is gone. Also absent from her odd cat world is her bud Jacob.

- An empty refrigerator. Haven't been home long enough to go grocery shopping.

- A very patient husband. That one never changes.

- An itch that won't go away. No, it's not the big, honking spider bite on my hand (a souvenir of the retreat). It's the itch to write. I'll be patient. The time will be here once again, soon enough.

- The final descent toward the one-year mark of my mom's passing. One year ago, my sister and I learned my mom had been hiding her breast cancer for 2 years, and was terminal. The final month of her life (from 8/22/07-9/22/07) was the most dramatic experience I've ever had - and I've had a few.

- Olympic watching. Synchonized diving? And one heckuva elaborate closing ceremony. It looks like every person in China was in that stadium, singing, dancing and flying through the air on wires.

- Peace that passes reason, in the midst of all of it. The nearness of God.

Are you going through some life changes right now too?

The box

As part of my 3-4 times a year update to those on my e-mail list, I sent the the following post. Read on to the end to find out the suggestions I got from those who responded to my question. I sweetened the deal by offering readers an opportunity to win one of two $15 Starbucks gift cards if they responded. Here's what I wrote:

The other day, I went hunting in our garage and noticed a mystery box that has been moved from house to house without ever being opened. (Raise your hand if you, too, have a box or three like this lurking in your basement, attic or garage!) I pulled it from the shelf, dusted it off and set it on the gritty garage floor. What was in it?

The plain cardboard box didn’t yield many clues. When I’d first packed it, I’d taken a few seconds to scrawl “Fragile” across its belly before taping it securely. The box has logged basement time in at least a couple of houses and an extended visit to the loft of a friend’s goat barn before it found its way to a neglected shelf in our garage.

I toyed with a loose corner of yellowing packing tape as I pondered tearing into the cardboard time capsule. The box has been using valuable real estate in our garage like a silent squatter and giving us nothing but wasted space in return.

Words I’d whispered years ago came rushing back to me. The words, a kind of a prayer, may have been uttered when I first packed this very box: “I’ll know I’ve finally arrived home when all the boxes are unpacked.”

Now, this last, forgotten box was before me. The words of Scripture came, throwing a shaft of light on the lid of the tired old box: “Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Mt. 6:20), “Hearing My words and putting them into practice is like a wise man building his house on the rock” (Mt. 7:24).

Whatever was in the box is not the stuff of eternity.
This world is not my home.

I returned the box to its spot on the shelf.

Unopened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So…what would you do with the box? Open it to see what’s inside? Drop it off unopened at the Salvation Army? Put it to the curb on garbage day? Burn it? Gift wrap it and give it to a distant relative next Christmas?

Send me your suggestions at mishvl(at)yahoo.com telling me what you’d do with this unopened box.

Here's how the 23 reponses broke down:

Open the box: 11
Open it, then donate whatever's in there to charity: 2
Hi Michelle/no opinion: 7
Don't open it: 1
Throw it away: 1
God told me you should send it to me: 1

Here is what the Starbucks gift card winners each said:

As long as you are rest-assured that The Box doesn't contain something along the line of great-great-great grandmother's glass dreidel collection I'd say either 1. do something really, really wacky like put it on ebay 2. find a white elephant party to go to (hey - it's already wrapped!) 3. 1 Corinthians 3:11-15 Object Lesson (i.e. a really big bonfire) or 4. keep it on your gritty, garage shelf, packed and unopened, as a steadfast reminder that the day is soon approaching when you'll finally arrive home. Who knows... God willing, it may follow you there. :-)

Winner #1

About your box. I already know what is in it, I put it there.When you moved, you DID unpack it, and you left its remains on the curb. I came by your driveway, collected it, filled it and taped it back up. Then while you were gone at a recent seminar near Batavia, I snuck into your garage and stuck it on the shelf, sprinkling it with dust.You see, I collected notes from everyone you have helped over the years in your ministry. They are all crammed in there - some written in pen, marker, crayon. One lady even wrote with a slate gray eye pencil because I caught her off-guard doing her makeup in the bathroom mirror at Sears. The ones from kids are the cutest!

Every now and then we all need encouragement that we are moving in God's goodness and will, especially during times of change. A big box of thank you's might just be the ticket.Now, the problem with your collection is this: you can't ever open the box. The deal I made with God was that He would help me collect them all, give me the names and whereabouts of the 'helpees' so to speak; on the condition that you never see the details. He said you would want it that way because it would help you remember it is Him, not you, doing these awesome things.So, as long as the box stays unopened on your shelf, that is what it will contain. But the minute you start seeking words of praise from man, and crack the top of the box, the notes will be transformed and will appear to be ordinary household items.So if it were me, I'd keep the box. Unopened. Just for those days you might wonder.

- Winner #2

So what am I going to do with the box?

I'm going with the lovely advice of Winner #2, and leave it on the shelf.