Brutal Honesty

I was getting ready for church yesterday, and it being Easter and all, I was trying extra hard to look nice. I’ve gone round and round in my head trying to figure out why exactly this is, and I could give you all the usual answers I give myself, but none of them make sense so I’m not going to get into it. Let’s just say I wanted to look good and leave it at that.


If you know me, or have known me for any amount of time, you will know that I don’t usually wear makeup. I probably should, but I still haven’t come to the conclusion it matters all that much in the grand scheme of things, so I don’t. To be honest, the processes of putting it on and taking it off seem to be more work than the effect is worth so it’s just easier to not wear it at all. Then there’s no shock when people see me early in the morning or late at night because I always look the same. It’s perfect. And when I do wear makeup, I look that much better. This system works well for me so I’m sticking with it.

But back to yesterday. I had just finished putting on my makeup (including eye shadow and eye liner, which almost NEVER happens) and when I felt it was complete, I turned to Max and said, “How do I look?” I have learned over the years that if I want true and brutal honesty, I should ask Max, but I didn’t think that part through before asking. He looked me over and said, “You look good. Except here,” and he used his index finger to motion to the area under his eye.

Before I could defend myself, my God-given dark circles, and the fact that I had already applied concealer to them, he said, “You look like you’re trying to be one of those Goth teenagers. You really should cover up the dark part under your eyes.”

“Thanks, Max.”

While I'm sure there are several lessons to be learned here, I took away two.  First, don't ask if you don't really want to know the truth.  Second, you've got to have a real sense of security as a person to be the parent of a kid like Max. 

I'm still learning...

The Woman Bleeding

Touching the tattered
cloak of Him
Who brings healing,
through faith and wounds.
How close must she be
to brush the robe
Of the One who passes by?
How long to wait
for Love to come through,
for Power to change
hurt into Healing?
Lay your face in the dirt…
reach open hands up…
fingertips rub, anticipate…
for death to pass…into Life.
Bleeding begins, and ends,
And Eternity remains.

Limits on love and sacrifice

We’ve been back from vacation for almost a week and Bill has been suffering from an “illness” since we’ve returned. He has been put on several medications to cure him of the illness and while I believe they’re working, they’re also taking their sweet time. While he waits for healing, he has been in a significant amount of discomfort. Every evening he laments the irritation of symptoms and every evening I say, “I’m sorry you feel so badly,” and I mean it. I truly am sorry he’s hurting. After I told him as much the other night, I sat and asked myself, “How sorry are you? Would you take this illness from him if it meant his healing?” And I felt a little proud to be able to say, “Yeah, I would.” I thought if I could take the pain away from him, I would, and that made me feel pretty good about myself. But then suddenly another question arose in my mind, and I don’t think I was the one asking it. The question was, “What if he didn’t care that you took it? What if he completely disregarded your sacrifice for him? Would you still take it?” Can you guess my answer? I realized in that moment that no, in that case I wouldn’t take it for him. In order for it to be worthwhile to me, he would have to recognize what I did for him and truly appreciate it. Otherwise forget it.

And then it hit me: that’s exactly what Jesus did when He died for the world. I was overcome for a moment while I lay there in bed, realizing how unworthy I was and am of Jesus’ sacrifice. I was filled with sorrow as I understood my own limitations of love and sacrifice, and oh so grateful when I recognized, even if incompletely, His limitless love and sacrifice. It was just a moment in time when I understood a little more what He has done for me. The idea that while I was still a sinner, Christ died for me (Romans 5:8), took on a deeper meaning. Even though He knew I wouldn’t care for a long time, and might never fully understand the depth of His sacrifice, He did it anyway. Even though He knew the greater portion of humanity would reject Him, He still willingly went to the cross and died, for all of humanity.

As we enter this Holy Week and as we remember Jesus’ death, burial, and glorious resurrection, take a moment and consider what it meant for Him to die for us, fully knowing we would never truly appreciate what He did.

Doesn’t it make you fall even more in love with Him?

Our Trip to the East Coast

We just returned a few days ago from a trip to the East Coast.  We began our travels last Thursday morning at 3:30 am.  We caught a flight out of Grand Rapids at 6am and landed in Baltimore around 7:30.  We quickly caught the commuter train to Washington D.C. and were finding our way through the Metro system by 8:30am.  We wandered around the National Mall and checked out the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History before our hotel room was available at 2:30.  Needless to say, we were exhausted by that point and all ready for a nap.  Well, all except Max of course.  He only naps when ill, and not all the time even then.

We spent 3 days in D.C. going to several of the museums, checking out the memorials, and even got a tour of the White House gardens.  The weather wasn't great, but we still had a great time.  We caught the train back to Baltimore on Sunday morning where we met up with my parents, brother, sister-in-law, and nieces.  We spent the afternoon wander around Inner Harbor and touring some historic ships that are docked there.  We went to the National Aquarium in Inner Harbor on Monday and then had dinner with my cousin and her family.  Tuesday was our last day in Baltimore and it was pouring down rain, so we spent the day at the Maryland Science Center.  I've been to several science centers and I must say the one in Baltimore is one of the best I've been to.  Bill, my parents and I all got sucked into the exhibits as much if not more than the boys.  It was a great day, and a great vacation all around.

We planned our trip so that we wouldn't need a car, which was fun and surprisingly very easy.  I liked it too because it made me feel like I belonged there.  I love urban life.  I truly wish I lived in a major city.  Bill loves it as well and if it weren't for our kids, we might move to Chicago or D.C. or some other major metropolitan area.  But I always struggle a little when I'm in the city because there is so much obvious need.  Baltimore had a huge homeless population and that caused a bit of angst for me.  I think I struggle so much because I want badly to help in a greater way than I can as a visitor - we gave away all of our leftover dinners to homeless folks we encountered, but it isn't enough.  I wanted to let them know there is another way - you don't have to live like this - but then I realized I'd just be blowing hot air as far as they were concerned.  I didn't live there and I had no real understanding of the resources available to them.  It made my heart hurt to know that I have the answer, but I'm not sure they want to hear it and I'm not sure I'm in a position to give it.

Does that sound crazy?  Would it have helped for me to run up to the couple we gave our leftover seafood to and say, "Jesus loves you and wants to set you free from your life of hopelessness"?  Is having the answer and giving it enough?  Maybe I should have done just that, but somehow that doesn't seem like that is the whole answer.  I don't know.  Am I putting too much emphasis on my part and not enough on the saving grace of Jesus? Again, I don't know.

I do know there's a lot of pain out there and I want to help in the process of healing it.  I feel a bit unable to truly make a difference in the location I find myself, but then I realize there are plenty of hurting people all around me.  They don't have to be homeless or addicts to need the healing and restoration Jesus gives. But seeing people in the same state I was in 11 years ago really does a number on my heart.  Maybe someday I'll be in a place where I can help those hurting folks, but today I'll purpose to be a light and bring the healing of Jesus to the hurting around me here and now.  Is that enough?

I don't know.

Duped

I was sadly duped last night. Some might even say deceived, although I’m not sure either word truly fits the offense. I don’t know if it was intentional, which is why I’m having a hard time defining it. Maybe just loose manipulation…

Let me set the stage for you: It was a cold but sunny evening so Max and Charlie were outside playing ball with our neighbors Daniel and Gideon. They had been out there for some time when Max rushed in to use the bathroom. I was sitting at the dining room table, staring at the computer and looking for words in my head.  When he was finished with his business, Max sidled up to me and asked, “What are you doing?” He thrives on moments like this, when he has me all to himself. He will pretend to be interested in watching ice melt if it means alone time with Bill or me. But I didn’t consider that reality when I answered I was working on more haiku poetry. He immediately began to read it aloud, counting the syllables to be sure I was adhering to the 5-7-5 form of the haiku. (I really want to go into more detail about this topic, but I must resist. The reason will become clear in the end.) I was not surprised by his immediate checking of my work, as he tends to be extremely black-and-white in his dealings with me. If there is a rule, I’d better be following it or he will call me out EVERY TIME. (Where does that characteristic come from? I wonder…)

He was suddenly struck by a line in one of the poems: “Twisting branches reach for it,” and told me he could write pages on the picture that line conjured in his mind. I told him he should, to which he promptly asked if I would write down what he said. And so we created a little prose poem together, and for a moment I was dwelling in my own little corner of heaven. Here I found myself sharing one of my passions, poetry, with my son, watching him find pleasure as well as his own creative voice in it. I fought hard to conceal my delight for fear it would somehow scare him back into his hole, much like Punxsutawney Phil upon seeing his shadow on Groundhog’s Day. So I silently squealed with joy as we sat and shared poetry.

And then it got better because Charlie showed up.  Upon seeing that Max and I were sharing something, he immediately wanted to joined us. “With pleasure!” I screamed within, and went on to explain in detail the form and function of a haiku poem to my 6-year-old, and how this line (which I read to him) had given Max inspiration to write his own poem. He seemed to be listening, and I was abiding in sheer bliss.

In response to their inquiries and requests, we started looking at my other poetry. I quickly offered to read them, and they just as quickly agreed to hear them. I came upon the poem A Gray Morning in March and preceded the reading with an explanation of where and when I wrote it. They posed more questions, mostly in terms of specifics relating to day and time, which to me seemed insignificant but I answered anyway. And then I read the poem aloud, slowly and using every bit of inflection I could muster. When I finished, I said, “Did you have pictures in your mind while I read?”

Charlie’s face dropped just a bit as he looked at me, his eyes beginning to glass-over, and with all sincerity and defeat said, “I don’t really listen so well.”

Max quickly followed with, “Me either. I don’t listen so well either.”

Charlie then motioned to the screen, pointing to the space between the first and second sections and said, “I heard you up to here. I couldn’t pay attention after that.”

It was then that I realized I had been duped. That while their interest may have been sincere for a moment at the start of our time together, somewhere along the way they recognized an opportunity and took it. They saw their chance to play on my love of poetry for their own self-gratification. They kept me talking and reading and going through detailed explanations so they could stay up just a little longer. But this plan only served them so well for so long.

What they failed to realize was the depth of this love their mother had for poetry, and ultimately her own self-gratification. They had no idea how deep this infatuation went, and while they felt pretty secure wading up to their knees in her babble, as they got waist high in it, they knew they were in trouble. When it rose to their necklines, they used the only life boat available to save themselves– the truth. They bailed out, and my heavenly plugged was pulled.

I laughed as I looked at my little manipulators, fully aware of the fact that they learned from the best. I laughed as much at them as myself in that moment. As I leaned over to kiss each one on the head, I exhaled the long-awaited and overdue words, “Go to bed.”

Intermediary

Not standing on edge
Or sulking on precipice
In Fall, and decay

My Boy Growing

You’re 8 and ¾, almost 9. You’re growing fast; your brain is beating your body in the race, and although you’re the smallest in your 3rd grade class, you’ve got one of the biggest personalities. You are learning new things everyday, about the world around you, about your family, about yourself, and about where you fit into everything. You have big ideas and you want to share them all. You believe, deep down in your gut, that your opinion is the most important. I believe the same about mine, which makes for some messy headlong crashes at times. We argue every day and while I’ve determined I won’t continue, somehow each day you manage to engage me once again. I plan for forced stand downs, like the US in the Cuban Missile Crisis, and you, unlike Cuba, are not fazed by the size of your opponent. But we’re working on it.


I realize you’re trying to figure things out, what’s important and what’s not, what deserves a fight and what isn’t worth the effort. Sometimes I forget that while I see no real value in some of the issues you chose to debate, they are extremely important to you. Please forgive me when I fail to recognize the largeness of your world, even when it seems small to me. And I will do the same when you assume as much about mine. I know you don’t understand why I limit you in so many ways. Oh that I could make you understand…I place some limits to protect, and others to preserve, and still others to balance who I believe you’ll be someday. And I fail, too. You already know it, but I want you to know that I know it too.

There’s another side to you, too; a softer side. This side of you still wants to lay your head on my shoulder when we watch movies together. This part of you wants me to laugh at your jokes, as silly as they are, and hear all the important information you tell about the happenings on the playground. This side is the one that still on occasion asks if you can sleep in my bed when Dad is away. This side still takes my hand when I reach for yours in a busy parking lot or store. This is the side that you’re trying to give up, but don’t really want to yet. This is the side that wars with that independent part of you, the part that wants freedom and space and opinions. This softer side wants to hold on to my arm when we pray together at night. This side longs for my approval.

These warring worlds in which you live make life difficult. As hard as it is to believe, I understand the struggle and I know the pain that it can bring. Soon the more independent part will have the louder voice, and you’ll want to lie close to me less and less. This louder voice will tell you to keep daily happenings to yourself, that I won’t understand, or care. (And please forgive me for the times I communicated as much.) The part of you that needs to be free will continue to resist me, and I will keep working to hold you somewhat close, even when you push away.

But for now, for now I will remember that there is still a softer side. I will quietly celebrate that you still take my hand when I hold it out to you. I will try not to notice that sometimes you don’t take it right away – I will simply be glad you take it at all. And I will purpose to not hold on to it too tight, because I know you won’t be 8 and ¾ forever. 9 is just around the corner, and so very soon you'll be grown.