Boots for Sandals?

There are times when following Jesus is effortless.  I watch church eagerly, I'm reading my Bible anxiously (the good kind), I'm eating well balanced and my solitude is right on target.  I feel connected to God, to my soul, to my growth, to the good things in my life and all that's bad is manageable and not overcrowding me.

Life is good.

These are the times when I am wearing my sandals.

Let me explain.  Just a few moments ago I was thinking about the difference between the times I feel bogged down and the times I feel light in my spirit.  Both times I am walking with Jesus but one of them is definitely harder.  When I said the words "bogged down" I pictured the bog not far from my home.  It's a living, breathing patch of land, different from a swamp but still so cool to walk on.

When you grow up around the area where glaciers formed the hills, you have an appreciation later when you learn about God creating the Earth.  The only Bog left on the earth that does what a bog was created to do is less that twenty minutes from where I live.  This summer I'm going to go there again and see the wonders of what God made.

So what does that have to do with sandals?  It's the explorer in me.  Of all the vacations I've taken, every mountain climb has included a pair of hiking boots.  Rugged boots that stabilized my feet so that I wouldn't twist my ankle.  Sure footing on rocks and sand.  Hard jagged rubber that didn't slip on the boulders as I crossed over and slid down to the other side.  There's a certain weight to hiking boots that give me confidence that I have a good pair on my feet.  They fit my entire foot a certain way and when they're laced up they have a firm grip and won't let go.  

A sandal is much different.  My sandals have velcro across the top and behind my heel.  They, too, are sturdy, not at all floppy.  The top of my foot is exposed to some sun.  If it's too hot, I'll end up with a tanned foot outlining where the sandal was.  I will not hike in a sandal.  Even though the sandal is sturdy it is not designed to hike.  It doesn't hold my foot in place enough in rocky terrain nor does it cover the entire foot for complete protection from all the elements or insects.  I could easily trip with the sandal and if that happens at the wrong part of the trail, it could be curtains for me.

Jesus wore sandals as did the disciples.  Moses wore sandals.  God asked Moses to remove them in front of the burning bush.  I think it takes more faith to wear sandals in my life rather than boots.  Maybe boots can give me protection from the very bad stuff but I don't need them all the time.  I can wear sandals and enjoy a lighter life.  Enjoy a life like Jesus lived.  

Jesus was perfect but he did not have a perfect life.
He experienced ridicule, sadness, liars, betrayers, scoffers and abusers.
He didn't sin in any of it.

Trading in my boots for sandals.
I think it's worth a try.

Beyond the Physical Pain

The all familiar migraine that rolls around my head.  From my temples to the back of my neck then up into my forehead.  I close my eyes and rest my body hoping to find relief.  I pray to God but this time I'm abandoned like a thief.  

Those last words aren't true, I know that for sure.  Knocking on Heaven's door doesn't guarantee what I want - even a cure.  Heaven's gate is where my Savior lives with God, His Father, Divine.  It would be much better if I changed my attitude and accepted His will for mine.

Yes, the pain and the numbing in my head, they hurt and are bothersome something fierce.  The pain in my back reminds me standing up straight is a gift every time there's a pierce.  And when I see my Savior on the cross and think of the pain He endured???

I see a crown of thorns and nails like railroad spikes.  Could I have endured HIS pain?

So when I get on the soapbox in my head about how hard a physical life I've had.  All I have to do is look at the cross where Jesus hung.  His body was beaten bloody from a scourging he received.  His head had a crown of thorns pressed into it until it dripped blood.  He was forced to carry his own cross no matter how many times he fell under the weight of it.  He was whipped until he got up and was spat upon by onlookers who lined the road to Calvary.  At one point a man was told to help Jesus carry his cross.  We are not told much about this man but somewhere from point A to point B this man believed Jesus to be the Messiah.  Reaching Calvary with two other thieves, Jesus was made to lay down on the cross.  When each nail was pounded into his flesh he cried out in pain.  When his body was finished being nailed to the cross, it was pulled upright and landed with a thud into the hole in the ground and Jesus cried out in pain, again.

And then Jesus did something that I don't do often enough.

He looked beyond his pain, beyond his circumstances, beyond anything else that could have been a distraction.  Jesus had a mother.  Mary.  He knew Mary would need a son to look after her.  Someone he trusted to take his place.  Who better than the disciple he loved?  (John)

I'm ashamed to admit this.  When I'm in pain most of the time all I'm thinking about is me.  How do I get rid of the pain, how do I medicate the pain, what can I do to alleviate the pain and is there anything I can do to prevent the pain from recurring?

Those are great questions and are appropriate most of the time.  But then I have to ask myself this:  

Am I using the pain to get attention?

Am I using the pain as an excuse to get out of doing something?

Am I NOT telling anyone about the pain so that I don't get the medical care I need?

And then.....

Who can I reach out to that needs a little Jesus love?

Something to think about.

Bill Cosby, PhD

I grew up in a house where Saturday morning cartoons were the highlight of our week.  It kicked off our weekend.  Our parents were still sleeping so I climbed onto the counter to get the cereal boxes and bowls, dug around for spoons and I carefully poured the milk since I was the oldest.  We'd sit in front of the little TV in our pajamas, hair not brushed and then we'd be transported into cartoon land.

Our living room had a built in bookcase which now, looking back on it, was a very nice one.  My dad's phonograph was mounted into it as were his speakers.  He and my mom's records were neatly stacked on the bottom right shelf.  I remember them pulling out records and playing them whenever they were working around the house or we had company.  I can still remember some of the artists they listened to.

One evening, my dad asked the three of us into the living room because he had something he wanted us to listen to.  I couldn't have been more than ten years old.  He really played it up because we were amped up with excitement.  He'd put a record onto his phonograph and was getting ready to play it.  I had no idea it was going to take my imagination on a journey of being scared and then laughing so hard.

It was a record where Bill Cosby tells the story about the Chicken Heart.  The Chicken Heart that ate up New York City.  My dad dimmed the lights and we were kneeling against the back of the couch so that we were facing the speakers.  My mom was there, too, and I seem to recall she was a little hesitant about us hearing this story.

I listened intently and yes, I got scared up to the point of the mashed potatoes and then I started laughing.  I think my sisters had the same reaction.  We ate mashed potatoes a lot so picturing that as a way to deter monsters made complete sense to us.

As I've grown up, that memory brings warmth to my spirit.  It's one of the few I have with my Dad being less drunk.  There was no violence afterward.  We were a "normal" family.

I've had copies of that album on cassette.  It's called "Bill Cosby - Wonderfulness."  It's my favorite out of all the other ones.  Here's the Chicken Heart monologue:

Transition,

I know these days he's being accused of rape and other sexual allegations. As a survivor of sexual abuse I know how hard it is to give voice to what's happened to you.  Still, there are a few things that are really bothering me:

1. Why has it taken so long for people to come forward?
2. Why is everyone coming forward all at once?
3. The Prosecutor isn't filing any charges so now what?
4. Why are people protesting his shows?
5. If he did commit these acts and is in denial, I know when he stands before God, it will be brought into the light because God brings all sin out of the darkness into the light.  God alone will judge him.

It's my hope that everyone who is personally affected by any of these allegations receive the professional help they need so that they can have some sort of closure from all of this.  It's a big mess and one that needs to be cleaned up quickly and thoroughly.  

My heart goes out to all of you.

Somewhere In America

A friend posted this video on Facebook.  I was so enthralled that I watched this about five times in a row.  I was captured by the confrontational honesty of how they spoke what I have not found the words to give a voice to.  The rhythm and passion with which they speak is moving and convicting for it's not just poetry of someone else's beliefs.  It's their gut level frustrations and they communicate it effectively, without compromising their integrity.

I applaud their courage, their hard work and I pray God continues to put them in front of audiences who can help them make a difference in the lives of those whose stories are the ones they are telling.

                       Belissa Escoloedo, Zariya Allen, Rhiannon, McGavin

Perhaps You've Seen Them

Perhaps you've seen them and not given it a second thought.  After all, they are unkempt, dirty and digging in the trash can.  Some of them hold out a cup shaking it so you can hear the noise of coins clanging together.  Others sit huddled in a corner with everything they hold dear in a black garbage bag making no eye contact with anyone.

In case you haven't guessed it I'm talking about our homeless citizens.  I live in a suburb of Chicago that does not have much of a homeless population.  We have a very giving community that stocks our food pantry throughout the year and our township stays on top of all the programs that people who are under resourced can apply to.

Funny.  Even the words, "Under resourced" are used instead of the word "poor."

Across much of northern America the blustery arctic air that we've been happily not experiencing arrived with a one two punch Sunday night.

Here's what I wrote as my Facebook status today:

"Living in the Chicagoland Suburbs, my heart is always troubled for the homeless who cannot get into shelters or get meals. Those of us in our comforts have no clue what our brothers and sisters, saved or unsaved, do in order to survive each day. With our below zero wind chills last night, I found myself asking God to somehow keep those who were exposed to the elements warm. It's such a powerless feeling knowing there's little I can do to help. But when I think of how God tended to Elijah's needs through his angels, Jesus' needs through his angels and the Israelites' needs through manna and quail, I know he will supply their needs. And maybe, just maybe, one by one, they will hear the gospel message and receive Jesus as their Savior!! That kind of warmth in their spirit will always be with them."

In my younger days, I would walk downtown Chicago with books of $5 McDonald Gift Certificates.  That's when five dollars could buy you a lot. I would wait and discern who to give them to.  To this day I remember a woman I named Mary.  Mary was sitting on the cold cement with her body bent over in the corner of a train depot.  She was wearing a black coat, black hat and she had one knee pulled up to her chest.  Her bag of belongings was next to her left arm.  I tried to get her attention but she never moved.  Instead of trying again, I placed the gift certificates as close as I could to her so that she could reach them and nobody else could steal them.  I've prayed for her each time she comes to mind - that God would draw her close to Him and she would find Jesus and have a life that is safe and whole.

Another encounter involved being with a friend of mine.  The only thing I can remember is being in Chicago at an apartment building.  There was a man sitting outside the building with a cup asking for money.  I had an amount in my pocket that I thought was too much to put in the cup so I walked past him to my car.  That's when God did the tap tap on my shoulder.  He reminded me whose money it was.  I walked back to the man, put the money in the cup and said it was from his Heavenly Father.  As I turned and walked away, I could hear the guy get excited.  Truth be told, I, too, had a big smile on my face.

God wants us to care for the poor and tells us the poor will always be among us.  There are so many ways you can help.  Get connected to your church's outreach programs or find out how to serve in your local community.

There's nothing like giving a helping hand to someone who cannot give it back.  It's humbling.  It's honoring.  It's Jesus with hands and feet.