What does it mean for you to be free? With July 4th coming up, my mind is on freedom. I realize that the way I understand freedom has changed through the years, particularly as I've spent time with the story of the Exodus from Egypt. At its heart, it is the ultimate story of freedom. Under the leadership of Moses, a motley group of fugitives who lacked virtue and courage is transformed into a free people. And through their story of bondage and redemption, we can learn a lot about what it means to be free for ourselves.
Moses didn’t merely break the chains of God’s people; he organized them into a nation and he gave them laws. Their freedom was not a freedom from rules. It was a freedom from being forced to follow the rules to entering into a covenant where they promised to serve God. This meant a complete upheaval of their world view, so, of course, it was a painfully difficult transition for them to make.
Moving from slavery to freedom is never easy. As appealing as a life of freedom may be, it means coming to terms with a paradox. The paradox of the Exodus, and of all struggles for freedom, is the way that people, at the same time, are both willing and unwilling to put Egypt behind them. They yearn to be free and then once they are, they yearn to escape their new freedom.
For as long as God’s people wandered in the wilderness, they whined and complained about their new life. An entire generation had to pass away because, in their hearts and minds, they were still living in Egypt. Rather than embrace the new way of life God had given them, they continued to react to the old life they knew in Egypt. In effect, they remained in bondage to their past.
The Hebrews thought that freedom meant being released from the rules of their oppressors, rules they had always resented, so they could now do whatever they darn well pleased. But the freedom God offered them didn’t mean that they were going to live without rules. For that’s not freedom at all, but another kind of bondage -- a life without discipline, without order, without love for God or others or themselves.
There’s something in the Exodus story to be said to us as God’s people about the freedom God offers us. We aren’t forced to follow the rules. God’s not going to zap us if we step out of line. But God gives us the law as a gift. And when we embrace that law, we can live in freedom.
It’s like this… Some people liken the law to a twenty foot high electric chain link fence with barbed wire on top. You have no choice but to live within the limits of the law. Not a whole lot of freedom in that. But that’s not how it is for us as God’s people. God’s gift of the law is like a simple railing that guides our way. We can step over that railing or slip underneath it if we choose. But if we want to live the good life God intends for us, we’ll stay inside the railing, because that’s where the good life is. That’s the kind of freedom God wants for us.
When the Israelites were living in Egypt they wanted to be free. For them, being free meant being relieved of the rules that oppressed them. It took escaping that slavery for them to realize that true freedom comes with rules. But not rules they were forced to follow. Rules they recognized as a gift. And in their freedom they were no longer slaves of the Egyptians; instead, they became servants of God.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Red Light!
I almost ran a red light last night. I was looking for a street that was a little hard to find and when I locked my eyes on it, that’s all I could see. I wasn’t thinking about something as irrelevant to my quest as a traffic light. What stopped me was the person in the passenger seat who yelled out, “Red light!” Whew! Another car was coming through the intersection and we surely would have collided.
Then, something bordering on the absurd occurred. My friend told me that he was sorry for his outburst. I assured him that I was thankful he had spoken up. But I understand why he felt it was necessary to apologize. No one likes a backseat driver, even if they’re sitting beside us in the front seat. And so, he held his tongue for as long as he could. But then the time came when he had to speak and speak he did.
It got me thinking about how hard I work at allowing people to live their own lives without imposing my little judgments on them. It’s not that I don’t have feedback to offer, but most of the time I will keep it to myself because I don’t want to be perceived as judgmental or, even worse, controlling. I know how much I hate receiving unsolicited advice from others. It makes me bristle and sometimes I’ll lash back. However, usually I just shut down and stop offering further information to that person because I don’t want to hear what they’ll have to say about it. It’s a relationship killer. But so is allowing someone you love to destruct before your eyes without speaking up.
The Bible talks about “speaking the truth in love”, which I think is one of the hardest things for me to do, especially if it’s a hard truth. There is always a risk involved. You could offend the other person and potentially ruin a relationship. Sometimes that happens. But what is the alternative?
The key for me is motivation. Is the truth I speak motivated by spite, or a need to control? Then I probably oughta put a sock in it. But if I have examined my motivation and it comes from a place of love for the other person, I have to speak up. One of the mottos I try to live by is, “I’d rather speak up and maybe be kicking myself for it later than remain silent and maybe be kicking myself for it later.” When you love, speaking the hard truth is a risk worth taking.
I can usually tell when someone is sharing a hard truth with me from a place of love. It may not always be graciously received, at least initially. But I know the difference between a person who wants to run my life and one who wants to love and support me while I’m finding my way. The former is resented and the latter is gratefully appreciated.
It seems to me that people in community ought to be able to yell “Red light!” to one another when necessary, whether that community is as small as two people sharing a car, or as large as billions of people sharing a planet. It’s the loving thing to do, isn’t it? We don’t silently sit by and let people we love run red lights.
Then, something bordering on the absurd occurred. My friend told me that he was sorry for his outburst. I assured him that I was thankful he had spoken up. But I understand why he felt it was necessary to apologize. No one likes a backseat driver, even if they’re sitting beside us in the front seat. And so, he held his tongue for as long as he could. But then the time came when he had to speak and speak he did.
It got me thinking about how hard I work at allowing people to live their own lives without imposing my little judgments on them. It’s not that I don’t have feedback to offer, but most of the time I will keep it to myself because I don’t want to be perceived as judgmental or, even worse, controlling. I know how much I hate receiving unsolicited advice from others. It makes me bristle and sometimes I’ll lash back. However, usually I just shut down and stop offering further information to that person because I don’t want to hear what they’ll have to say about it. It’s a relationship killer. But so is allowing someone you love to destruct before your eyes without speaking up.
The Bible talks about “speaking the truth in love”, which I think is one of the hardest things for me to do, especially if it’s a hard truth. There is always a risk involved. You could offend the other person and potentially ruin a relationship. Sometimes that happens. But what is the alternative?
The key for me is motivation. Is the truth I speak motivated by spite, or a need to control? Then I probably oughta put a sock in it. But if I have examined my motivation and it comes from a place of love for the other person, I have to speak up. One of the mottos I try to live by is, “I’d rather speak up and maybe be kicking myself for it later than remain silent and maybe be kicking myself for it later.” When you love, speaking the hard truth is a risk worth taking.
I can usually tell when someone is sharing a hard truth with me from a place of love. It may not always be graciously received, at least initially. But I know the difference between a person who wants to run my life and one who wants to love and support me while I’m finding my way. The former is resented and the latter is gratefully appreciated.
It seems to me that people in community ought to be able to yell “Red light!” to one another when necessary, whether that community is as small as two people sharing a car, or as large as billions of people sharing a planet. It’s the loving thing to do, isn’t it? We don’t silently sit by and let people we love run red lights.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
What's the Matter with Men?
Last night I was with a group of single women my age and we started buzzing about our favorite topic: men. I was noticing that we seldom have much good to say about them and have been wondering why. I’ve known any number of genuinely good men in my life, but these aren’t the guys I generally discuss with my girlfriends.
With this particular group of four women, we were comparing notes about internet dating. Two were relatively new to it and were dealing with the disappointment and deception that often accompanies meeting someone online. Because I spent years dating men on the internet, I could fill volumes with my stories. But I’m not pursuing this anymore. (In fact, I’m not particularly pursuing men, as I’ve learned to live a very full life without them and don’t feel the need I once did.) So, in our little group, I was the one who had been there and done that. Then, the fourth woman recently met her future husband through the internet. I suppose, if that is the goal of internet dating, as many believe it is, then hers is the story of success. However, I wouldn’t say that my time spent with internet dating was for nothing. I met some great people along the way, had some unforgettable adventures, and grew to understand myself in a way I wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s a part of my journey, and all is well. But back to the question at hand…
Why do single women enjoy bashing men? Here’s what I’m thinking. I know this is a generalization, but I suspect it may have something to do with the fact that we can’t imagine why we should have to be in the position of seeking a man to begin with, so we’re already a little angry about the whole thing. We take our manlessness quite personally. And rather than feel crappy about ourselves, we’d rather put the crap back on them. “So, what’s the matter with these men? Can’t they recognize what an amazing woman I am? There must be something seriously wrong with them!”
Once, when I was experiencing one failed relationship after another, I heard that our relationships are only as healthy as we are and unhealthy people will attract unhealthy people. I don’t know if this is true but it was enough for me to entertain the possibility that maybe the reason why I kept ending up with men who weren’t quite right was because I wasn’t quite right. I didn’t need a man; I needed a therapist. (Okay, so he happened to be a man.)
Relationships are so darn complicated; I don’t pretend to understand them. But one of the things I’ve concluded through the years is that the biggest obstacle any relationship must overcome is seldom found in the other person. Most often, it’s within us. And until we get our own act together, we’ll never be satisfied with any other person because we’re expecting them to do something for us that we need to do for ourselves. Jerry McGuire’s declaration that “You complete me” is just plain wrong! No one else can complete us.
On the other hand, I know that none of us is ever complete, or whole. It’s our life’s journey to grow toward wholeness. And it really is a gift to have someone who can walk beside us to support us and cheer us on along the way. That’s the gift that relationships bring, and if you’re fortunate enough to have people in your life who do that, you are truly blessed. If that includes someone whom you deeply love, you are doubly blessed.
Can such a person be found on the internet? Why not? But I have observed that such people are seldom planned in our lives and we can’t search them out. They surprise us like an unexpected gift that turns out to be just what we’ve always wanted even though it never occurred to us before that we wanted it.
With this particular group of four women, we were comparing notes about internet dating. Two were relatively new to it and were dealing with the disappointment and deception that often accompanies meeting someone online. Because I spent years dating men on the internet, I could fill volumes with my stories. But I’m not pursuing this anymore. (In fact, I’m not particularly pursuing men, as I’ve learned to live a very full life without them and don’t feel the need I once did.) So, in our little group, I was the one who had been there and done that. Then, the fourth woman recently met her future husband through the internet. I suppose, if that is the goal of internet dating, as many believe it is, then hers is the story of success. However, I wouldn’t say that my time spent with internet dating was for nothing. I met some great people along the way, had some unforgettable adventures, and grew to understand myself in a way I wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s a part of my journey, and all is well. But back to the question at hand…
Why do single women enjoy bashing men? Here’s what I’m thinking. I know this is a generalization, but I suspect it may have something to do with the fact that we can’t imagine why we should have to be in the position of seeking a man to begin with, so we’re already a little angry about the whole thing. We take our manlessness quite personally. And rather than feel crappy about ourselves, we’d rather put the crap back on them. “So, what’s the matter with these men? Can’t they recognize what an amazing woman I am? There must be something seriously wrong with them!”
Once, when I was experiencing one failed relationship after another, I heard that our relationships are only as healthy as we are and unhealthy people will attract unhealthy people. I don’t know if this is true but it was enough for me to entertain the possibility that maybe the reason why I kept ending up with men who weren’t quite right was because I wasn’t quite right. I didn’t need a man; I needed a therapist. (Okay, so he happened to be a man.)
Relationships are so darn complicated; I don’t pretend to understand them. But one of the things I’ve concluded through the years is that the biggest obstacle any relationship must overcome is seldom found in the other person. Most often, it’s within us. And until we get our own act together, we’ll never be satisfied with any other person because we’re expecting them to do something for us that we need to do for ourselves. Jerry McGuire’s declaration that “You complete me” is just plain wrong! No one else can complete us.
On the other hand, I know that none of us is ever complete, or whole. It’s our life’s journey to grow toward wholeness. And it really is a gift to have someone who can walk beside us to support us and cheer us on along the way. That’s the gift that relationships bring, and if you’re fortunate enough to have people in your life who do that, you are truly blessed. If that includes someone whom you deeply love, you are doubly blessed.
Can such a person be found on the internet? Why not? But I have observed that such people are seldom planned in our lives and we can’t search them out. They surprise us like an unexpected gift that turns out to be just what we’ve always wanted even though it never occurred to us before that we wanted it.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Living a Lie
It’s hard to live a lie. I learned that in second grade. I hated it that I was the only kid in my class who didn’t have a middle name. It made me feel weird, like I didn’t belong. Well, one day we were reading a story about a girl named Nancy Ann and the teacher said to me, “Nancy Ann! Why that’s almost your name.” “That is my name,” I told her. “My name is Nancy Ann Kraft.”
And there it was – the big fat lie. Now I was going to have to live with it. A couple months later my mom came to an open house night at the school and after she got home she told me that she had seen a lot of my work displayed on the walls. Then she laughed, “You know, you’re the only one in your class who doesn’t have a middle name and you’re the only who had to write a middle name on everything she did.” It was true. In the upper right hand corner of every paper I turned in that year I wrote, Nancy Ann Kraft. I couldn’t wait to be in the third grade with a new teacher so I wouldn’t have to keep writing my middle name all the time. Yes, it’s hard to live with a lie.
Have you ever told a lie that came back later to bite you in the butt? They tend to do that. So, why do we lie? Is it because we’re afraid? Or so we can hide? Or to protect ourselves from being rejected? Often it seems that it’s easier to lie than it is to tell the truth, at least in the short run. But lies have a way of catching up with us and we usually learn that, in the long run, we would have been better off telling the truth to begin with.
The greatest challenge we face in the time we spend on Earth may be the challenge to stop lying and live authentically as the people God created us to be. We were created in the image of God. Why is that image so often hidden behind the false self we present to the world?
At an early age we’re taught to pretend we’re someone else, someone who is more acceptable to the people around us. We learn that if we want to be loved, we should be quieter; we shouldn’t whine so much. We should be smarter, more athletic, better looking. We should like the same TV shows our friends like. We should say we’re feeling fine, even when we aren’t. We should control ourselves when we’re excited. The list of shoulds could go on and on. And while we’re learning to follow all the shoulds that make us more acceptable to people we want to love us, somewhere along the way, we lose sight of who we really are. We’re so busy trying to please other people that we obscure the person God created us to be.
To grow in our relationship with God is to become more and more authentic before God. And here’s the part that makes it work. We know that God is all about grace, that God loves us just as we are. So, we don’t have to work to make ourselves more acceptable to God by pretending to be someone we’re not. In fact, just the opposite is true. The way to live in relationship with God is to let go of all pretenses so that we can grow into the people God created us to be.
We don’t have to lie about who we are. We don’t have to pretend we never have doubts. We don’t have to deny our failures and our struggles. We don’t have to hide the truth about our sexual orientation or identity. Nor do we have to hold back from sharing the unique gifts God has given us. We don’t have to show restraint when we’re overflowing with God’s love.
Not only does a life of authenticity feel a whole lot better than living under the burden of lies, but by living as the people God created us to be, we give honor to our Creator. Can there be a better way to live than that?
And there it was – the big fat lie. Now I was going to have to live with it. A couple months later my mom came to an open house night at the school and after she got home she told me that she had seen a lot of my work displayed on the walls. Then she laughed, “You know, you’re the only one in your class who doesn’t have a middle name and you’re the only who had to write a middle name on everything she did.” It was true. In the upper right hand corner of every paper I turned in that year I wrote, Nancy Ann Kraft. I couldn’t wait to be in the third grade with a new teacher so I wouldn’t have to keep writing my middle name all the time. Yes, it’s hard to live with a lie.
Have you ever told a lie that came back later to bite you in the butt? They tend to do that. So, why do we lie? Is it because we’re afraid? Or so we can hide? Or to protect ourselves from being rejected? Often it seems that it’s easier to lie than it is to tell the truth, at least in the short run. But lies have a way of catching up with us and we usually learn that, in the long run, we would have been better off telling the truth to begin with.
The greatest challenge we face in the time we spend on Earth may be the challenge to stop lying and live authentically as the people God created us to be. We were created in the image of God. Why is that image so often hidden behind the false self we present to the world?
At an early age we’re taught to pretend we’re someone else, someone who is more acceptable to the people around us. We learn that if we want to be loved, we should be quieter; we shouldn’t whine so much. We should be smarter, more athletic, better looking. We should like the same TV shows our friends like. We should say we’re feeling fine, even when we aren’t. We should control ourselves when we’re excited. The list of shoulds could go on and on. And while we’re learning to follow all the shoulds that make us more acceptable to people we want to love us, somewhere along the way, we lose sight of who we really are. We’re so busy trying to please other people that we obscure the person God created us to be.
To grow in our relationship with God is to become more and more authentic before God. And here’s the part that makes it work. We know that God is all about grace, that God loves us just as we are. So, we don’t have to work to make ourselves more acceptable to God by pretending to be someone we’re not. In fact, just the opposite is true. The way to live in relationship with God is to let go of all pretenses so that we can grow into the people God created us to be.
We don’t have to lie about who we are. We don’t have to pretend we never have doubts. We don’t have to deny our failures and our struggles. We don’t have to hide the truth about our sexual orientation or identity. Nor do we have to hold back from sharing the unique gifts God has given us. We don’t have to show restraint when we’re overflowing with God’s love.
Not only does a life of authenticity feel a whole lot better than living under the burden of lies, but by living as the people God created us to be, we give honor to our Creator. Can there be a better way to live than that?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Can't You Just Work Around My Junk?
When I was at a former church I did campus ministry, and every year we’d take a group of college students on a mission trip somewhere. I’ll never forget the year we went to Washington DC. We worked with a group called “Hearts and Hammers”, which sent work crews out to do house repairs for people who didn’t have the means to do it for themselves. We went to the home of a woman I'll call "Mrs. Black." She wanted us to paint some walls in her house.
Words can’t adequately describe this woman’s house. From the outside it looked like a typical bi-level, suburban home that was about 20 or 30 years old. But as soon as you opened the door, you knew that there was nothing typical about this house. The first thing that caught our attention was the odor. This woman had 17 cats who roamed throughout her house at will and, to my recollection, there was no litter box.
There was trash, everywhere. Her dining room looked like the inside of a dumptster: McDonald’s cups, pizza boxes, milk cartons, you name it. I couldn’t see the table or the chairs, stuff was piled so high. In her living room there was nowhere to sit, with junk mail from years past, newspapers, magazines… piles everywhere. As we walked through the house, it was all like that. A mountain range of garbage, most of it defiled by her herd of cats.
The students had to leave the house and put on surgical masks so they could breathe. And they were upset. When they offered to help clean her house, Mrs. Black refused, insisting that what she wanted us to do was some painting. This was absolutely absurd!
Finally, we convinced her that we wouldn’t be able to paint because we couldn’t get to the walls. Reluctantly, she let us clean, and we went at it for days. We left a much different house than the one we had entered. But after we drove away the last day, we all wondered how long it would take for the place to look again the way we had first found it.
I still think about Mrs. Black from time to time. I’ve come to realize that I have more in common with her than I would like to admit. I come to God, asking him to help me out with some light painting, thinking that’s all I really need. But there’s so much trash cluttering my life that he can’t do much of anything with me because he can’t get to me.
As a Lutheran, I’m big on grace. I know that I can’t save myself from my own self-destructive ways; only God can do that. But I wonder if maybe there’s a big part of me that doesn’t want God to do his work in my life. Because that would mean opening myself up to the very real possibility of having my life transformed. And that’s scary for me. It would mean letting go of the way of life I’ve come to know. Even if it’s not really working for me, it’s familiar, it’s safe. I know what to expect.
So, rather than risk opening myself up to God’s Spirit working in my life, I continue to fill my life with all kinds of unimportant stuff. I pile it up all around me, hoping that it will make it all the more difficult for God to come to me, and maybe in the process, nothing will change. I can be the same person I’ve always been, well-insulated from the one who has promised me abundant life.
Yes, Mrs. Black and I aren’t all that different. But God doesn’t drive away and give up on me the way our mission team gave up on her. And that makes all the difference.
Words can’t adequately describe this woman’s house. From the outside it looked like a typical bi-level, suburban home that was about 20 or 30 years old. But as soon as you opened the door, you knew that there was nothing typical about this house. The first thing that caught our attention was the odor. This woman had 17 cats who roamed throughout her house at will and, to my recollection, there was no litter box.
There was trash, everywhere. Her dining room looked like the inside of a dumptster: McDonald’s cups, pizza boxes, milk cartons, you name it. I couldn’t see the table or the chairs, stuff was piled so high. In her living room there was nowhere to sit, with junk mail from years past, newspapers, magazines… piles everywhere. As we walked through the house, it was all like that. A mountain range of garbage, most of it defiled by her herd of cats.
The students had to leave the house and put on surgical masks so they could breathe. And they were upset. When they offered to help clean her house, Mrs. Black refused, insisting that what she wanted us to do was some painting. This was absolutely absurd!
Finally, we convinced her that we wouldn’t be able to paint because we couldn’t get to the walls. Reluctantly, she let us clean, and we went at it for days. We left a much different house than the one we had entered. But after we drove away the last day, we all wondered how long it would take for the place to look again the way we had first found it.
I still think about Mrs. Black from time to time. I’ve come to realize that I have more in common with her than I would like to admit. I come to God, asking him to help me out with some light painting, thinking that’s all I really need. But there’s so much trash cluttering my life that he can’t do much of anything with me because he can’t get to me.
As a Lutheran, I’m big on grace. I know that I can’t save myself from my own self-destructive ways; only God can do that. But I wonder if maybe there’s a big part of me that doesn’t want God to do his work in my life. Because that would mean opening myself up to the very real possibility of having my life transformed. And that’s scary for me. It would mean letting go of the way of life I’ve come to know. Even if it’s not really working for me, it’s familiar, it’s safe. I know what to expect.
So, rather than risk opening myself up to God’s Spirit working in my life, I continue to fill my life with all kinds of unimportant stuff. I pile it up all around me, hoping that it will make it all the more difficult for God to come to me, and maybe in the process, nothing will change. I can be the same person I’ve always been, well-insulated from the one who has promised me abundant life.
Yes, Mrs. Black and I aren’t all that different. But God doesn’t drive away and give up on me the way our mission team gave up on her. And that makes all the difference.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Northern/Southern Living
I moved to Charlotte in 1998 after spending my whole life in the North, living in fun places like Michigan, Ohio and North Dakota. Most of those years were spent in Ohio; I was Buckeye born and Buckeye bred. However, I can assure you that when I die, I will not be Buckeye dead. I love North Carolina and suspect I may be here for the duration now. Of course, no matter where I have lived, it's the people who are a part of my life that I always treasure the most. That’s what I appreciate the most about where I live now, and it’s definitely what I miss the most about where I used to live. But, beyond the people, there are some things that I really miss about living in the North, as well as things I love about the South. Here are some that come to mind, in no particular order.
THINGS I MISS ABOUT THE NORTH
1. Tea. I mean real tea. The first time I went to the Waffle House I ordered tea with my waffle. They brought me sweet tea. In the North, they know what tea is. It’s hot and unsweetened. If you want it cold, you ask for it "iced" and if you want it sweet, you sweeten it yourself. Enough said.
2. Major league baseball. Yeah, I know they have major league baseball in the South somewhere. I understand there’s a team in Atlanta. But if you live where I do and want to go to a game, you have to make a weekend of it. I want a major league baseball team that I can go to see play in the evening and then return home at a reasonable hour to sleep in my own bed. Is that asking too much? (Sure, I could do that with NASCAR, which is in my backyard, but that’s not a real sport.)
3. Lemon meringue pie. I can rarely find this in restaurants down here and when I do, it’s just not right. There are three main parts to a good lemon meringue pie. There’s the crust, the filling and the meringue. At least one of those parts always seems to be wrong.
4. Fast food. By fast food, I mean food that is served shortly after you order it. That’s how they do it in the North. In the South, the only difference I’ve noticed between fast food and non-fast food is that I wait for fast food while sitting in my car.
5. Apple cider. Real apple cider. You know, the non-translucent kind that tastes like squished apples.
6. The possibility of having a white Christmas. In Cleveland, Ohio, the probability is 40%. In Charlotte it is 0%. The last time they had a white Christmas in Charlotte was in 1947.
7. Snickerdoodles. Actually, I’ve met several people in the South who know how to make wonderful snickerdoodles. And they all come from the North.
8. Root beer stands. Loved going to the root beer stand on a scorchingly hot summer day and getting a frosty mug of root beer with 5” of foam on top. Haven’t seen one since I’ve moved here.
9. Mulligans. Best cheeseburgers anywhere I’ve been are in Canton, Ohio. I’ve been looking for something close since moving to Charlotte and have come to the conclusion that I’d be more successful searching for the Holy Grail.
10. A short grass mowing season. As I recall, in the North, mowing the lawn was a summer activity. In Charlotte, it is not a seasonal activity; it is a way of life.
AND, THINGS I LOVE ABOUT THE SOUTH
1. Banana pudding. I didn’t know what banana pudding was until I moved south. In the North it is banana flavored instant pudding. Down here, it involves real live bananas and vanilla wafers. Some people bake it with meringue on top. My friend Dick Little tells me you can tell an authentic Southern restaurant if it lists banana pudding as one of the vegetable sides. (He also converted me to Duke’s as the only legitimate mayonnaise in the world.)
2. Okra. No, I’ve not gotten into livermush or grits. (Livermush is one of a long list of foods I’ve never tried but am certain I don’t like. And grits, well I did try one once, and that was enough.) But okra is a winner with me. I don’t do it fried. To me, once you batter fry anything, it tastes like fried batter. I love the squeaky-spongy way okra feels when you chew it and wouldn’t think of cooking up a pot of vegetable soup without throwing some okra in it.
3. Corn season. Yeah, they have corn in the North, but you can’t go to a vegetable stand and buy fresh, locally grown corn, picked in the morning so there’s still dew on it, until nearly August. It starts in June here.
4. Y’all. English is so much more precise when we can differentiate between second person singular and plural. When I speak to a crowd and say “you”, people can assume that I’m not talking to them, but some other “you.” But when I say “y’all”, there is no question that y’all best listen up.
5. The Waffle House. Some of you know that this was one of the reasons I moved here to begin with. Love their waffles, cooked extra crispy. The first couple years I lived in Charlotte I went to the Waffle House on Independence Blvd. every Friday and sat at the counter watching the cook. How did he ever keep track of all those elaborate orders coming at him at once, without writing anything down? It was very humbling to realize that there was no way in hell I could ever cut it as a cook at The Waffle House.
6. Fraser Firs. They definitely make the prettiest Christmas trees. In the North they are rare and cost an arm and a leg. In the South they are the norm.
7. Spring color. Spring comes early in the South. And it takes your breath away. I know they have flowers and blooming stuff when spring finally arrives in the North, but…
8. Being able to take morning walks all winter long without freezing my fanny off.
9. Fresh peaches. The kind where you bite into them and the juice drips down your arm, past your elbow and would go all the way to your armpit if you didn’t stop it.
10. Putting kindness before honesty. People in the south are basically kind. And they highly value kindness. If you want the brutal truth, they’re not all that reliable. But if you’ve done something really stupid and you want to feel okay about yourself, they’re good to have around. Although, I have learned that sometimes Southerners may disguise their contempt for individuals with kind words. For example, in the North they might say a person is ****ed up. In the South they say, “bless her heart”, which pretty much means the same thing. But it sounds so much kinder.
THINGS I MISS ABOUT THE NORTH
1. Tea. I mean real tea. The first time I went to the Waffle House I ordered tea with my waffle. They brought me sweet tea. In the North, they know what tea is. It’s hot and unsweetened. If you want it cold, you ask for it "iced" and if you want it sweet, you sweeten it yourself. Enough said.
2. Major league baseball. Yeah, I know they have major league baseball in the South somewhere. I understand there’s a team in Atlanta. But if you live where I do and want to go to a game, you have to make a weekend of it. I want a major league baseball team that I can go to see play in the evening and then return home at a reasonable hour to sleep in my own bed. Is that asking too much? (Sure, I could do that with NASCAR, which is in my backyard, but that’s not a real sport.)
3. Lemon meringue pie. I can rarely find this in restaurants down here and when I do, it’s just not right. There are three main parts to a good lemon meringue pie. There’s the crust, the filling and the meringue. At least one of those parts always seems to be wrong.
4. Fast food. By fast food, I mean food that is served shortly after you order it. That’s how they do it in the North. In the South, the only difference I’ve noticed between fast food and non-fast food is that I wait for fast food while sitting in my car.
5. Apple cider. Real apple cider. You know, the non-translucent kind that tastes like squished apples.
6. The possibility of having a white Christmas. In Cleveland, Ohio, the probability is 40%. In Charlotte it is 0%. The last time they had a white Christmas in Charlotte was in 1947.
7. Snickerdoodles. Actually, I’ve met several people in the South who know how to make wonderful snickerdoodles. And they all come from the North.
8. Root beer stands. Loved going to the root beer stand on a scorchingly hot summer day and getting a frosty mug of root beer with 5” of foam on top. Haven’t seen one since I’ve moved here.
9. Mulligans. Best cheeseburgers anywhere I’ve been are in Canton, Ohio. I’ve been looking for something close since moving to Charlotte and have come to the conclusion that I’d be more successful searching for the Holy Grail.
10. A short grass mowing season. As I recall, in the North, mowing the lawn was a summer activity. In Charlotte, it is not a seasonal activity; it is a way of life.
AND, THINGS I LOVE ABOUT THE SOUTH
1. Banana pudding. I didn’t know what banana pudding was until I moved south. In the North it is banana flavored instant pudding. Down here, it involves real live bananas and vanilla wafers. Some people bake it with meringue on top. My friend Dick Little tells me you can tell an authentic Southern restaurant if it lists banana pudding as one of the vegetable sides. (He also converted me to Duke’s as the only legitimate mayonnaise in the world.)
2. Okra. No, I’ve not gotten into livermush or grits. (Livermush is one of a long list of foods I’ve never tried but am certain I don’t like. And grits, well I did try one once, and that was enough.) But okra is a winner with me. I don’t do it fried. To me, once you batter fry anything, it tastes like fried batter. I love the squeaky-spongy way okra feels when you chew it and wouldn’t think of cooking up a pot of vegetable soup without throwing some okra in it.
3. Corn season. Yeah, they have corn in the North, but you can’t go to a vegetable stand and buy fresh, locally grown corn, picked in the morning so there’s still dew on it, until nearly August. It starts in June here.
4. Y’all. English is so much more precise when we can differentiate between second person singular and plural. When I speak to a crowd and say “you”, people can assume that I’m not talking to them, but some other “you.” But when I say “y’all”, there is no question that y’all best listen up.
5. The Waffle House. Some of you know that this was one of the reasons I moved here to begin with. Love their waffles, cooked extra crispy. The first couple years I lived in Charlotte I went to the Waffle House on Independence Blvd. every Friday and sat at the counter watching the cook. How did he ever keep track of all those elaborate orders coming at him at once, without writing anything down? It was very humbling to realize that there was no way in hell I could ever cut it as a cook at The Waffle House.
6. Fraser Firs. They definitely make the prettiest Christmas trees. In the North they are rare and cost an arm and a leg. In the South they are the norm.
7. Spring color. Spring comes early in the South. And it takes your breath away. I know they have flowers and blooming stuff when spring finally arrives in the North, but…
8. Being able to take morning walks all winter long without freezing my fanny off.
9. Fresh peaches. The kind where you bite into them and the juice drips down your arm, past your elbow and would go all the way to your armpit if you didn’t stop it.
10. Putting kindness before honesty. People in the south are basically kind. And they highly value kindness. If you want the brutal truth, they’re not all that reliable. But if you’ve done something really stupid and you want to feel okay about yourself, they’re good to have around. Although, I have learned that sometimes Southerners may disguise their contempt for individuals with kind words. For example, in the North they might say a person is ****ed up. In the South they say, “bless her heart”, which pretty much means the same thing. But it sounds so much kinder.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
No Matter What I've Done
I was a young mother and a young pastor in my first call. My daughter was four and my son Ben was 18 months old. Life was hectic in those days, trying to keep up with a busy parish and a home with two very active little ones.
My husband and I were going out that night to an international potluck. We were running late, as usual, and were trying to get our act together. We needed to give the kids a bath before we left and we needed to prepare something to take to the potluck. My husband took bathroom duty, and I started cooking. The counter was cluttered with dirty dishes and I didn’t have time to deal with them. So I just scooted them aside and made myself a small work space as well as a space for the wok to heat. I poured oil into the wok to heat it up while I began wrapping egg rolls. I was so frazzled that I wasn’t paying close attention. And I did something that I knew I should never do. I left the cord to the wok hanging over the kitchen counter.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw little Ben trotting into the kitchen buck naked. He had escaped from his father. And I stood about two yards away as I watched his chubby little hand tug on the electric cord to the wok. It happened so fast, but I remember watching it like it was in slow motion. There was nothing I could do. Hot oil landed on his head and ran down his back.
Well, this was just the beginning of the nightmare. One thing led to another and we spent years in hospitals dealing with the devastating results of this burn. Of course, while we were going through all of this, there was no disputing one critical fact. It had been my fault. It was my carelessness. There was no rationalizing my way around it. I was Ben's mother, the one who was supposed to protect him from anything bad happening to him, and look what I had done.
I was overwhelmed with feelings of guilt. How could Ben ever forgive me for this? How could my husband forgive me? Most significantly, how could I ever forgive myself? How could I ever get past it?
There was only one way. By the grace of God. By knowing the loving forgiveness of God, I also came to love and forgive myself. And I can tell you that there’s no other way I could have made it. In my struggles, I just couldn’t let go of the guilt. But as I prayed and worked through it, I kept coming back to the grace of God.
Finally, I had to ask myself-- If God can forgive me, why can’t I forgive myself? Do I think I know more than God? I realized that God’s grace was even greater than the difficulty I had receiving it. I could beat myself up all I wanted, but God was gonna keep on loving me anyway. It was one of those life-changing experiences for me as God’s grace became so real.
I know that God loves me, no matter what I’ve done. And that by his grace he makes me a new person. He’s able to transform my life through my struggles and take me to a place I never knew before. It’s happened in my life over and over again. Despite my limitations, God doesn’t give up on me. He comes after me with his grace. Just as he comes after you.
My husband and I were going out that night to an international potluck. We were running late, as usual, and were trying to get our act together. We needed to give the kids a bath before we left and we needed to prepare something to take to the potluck. My husband took bathroom duty, and I started cooking. The counter was cluttered with dirty dishes and I didn’t have time to deal with them. So I just scooted them aside and made myself a small work space as well as a space for the wok to heat. I poured oil into the wok to heat it up while I began wrapping egg rolls. I was so frazzled that I wasn’t paying close attention. And I did something that I knew I should never do. I left the cord to the wok hanging over the kitchen counter.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw little Ben trotting into the kitchen buck naked. He had escaped from his father. And I stood about two yards away as I watched his chubby little hand tug on the electric cord to the wok. It happened so fast, but I remember watching it like it was in slow motion. There was nothing I could do. Hot oil landed on his head and ran down his back.
Well, this was just the beginning of the nightmare. One thing led to another and we spent years in hospitals dealing with the devastating results of this burn. Of course, while we were going through all of this, there was no disputing one critical fact. It had been my fault. It was my carelessness. There was no rationalizing my way around it. I was Ben's mother, the one who was supposed to protect him from anything bad happening to him, and look what I had done.
I was overwhelmed with feelings of guilt. How could Ben ever forgive me for this? How could my husband forgive me? Most significantly, how could I ever forgive myself? How could I ever get past it?
There was only one way. By the grace of God. By knowing the loving forgiveness of God, I also came to love and forgive myself. And I can tell you that there’s no other way I could have made it. In my struggles, I just couldn’t let go of the guilt. But as I prayed and worked through it, I kept coming back to the grace of God.
Finally, I had to ask myself-- If God can forgive me, why can’t I forgive myself? Do I think I know more than God? I realized that God’s grace was even greater than the difficulty I had receiving it. I could beat myself up all I wanted, but God was gonna keep on loving me anyway. It was one of those life-changing experiences for me as God’s grace became so real.
I know that God loves me, no matter what I’ve done. And that by his grace he makes me a new person. He’s able to transform my life through my struggles and take me to a place I never knew before. It’s happened in my life over and over again. Despite my limitations, God doesn’t give up on me. He comes after me with his grace. Just as he comes after you.
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