I don't really distinguish between miracles and science. To me, science (especially medical science) is miraculous. The more i learn about science, the more i appreciate God's sense of design, His plans and attention to detail, His desire for us to connect to one another.
Take body donations, for example. We can donate so many different body parts after we die: organs, skin, even corneas. While alive, we can donate blood, platelets, plasma, bone marrow, stem cells, and even kidneys. Think about it: we all get two kidneys at birth, but we really only need one to survive. We get a spare, so that we can give one away if someone needs a new kidney.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because nearly seven years ago, a group called Be The Match visited my campus. I was a college sophomore at the time, and had given blood a handful of times before. My blood giving was sometimes interrupted by my tattoos, but i gave whenever i could. But this was something entirely new.
Be The Match was asking people to join the national donor registry. They collect DNA samples to simplify the search process when someone needs bone marrow. You fill out a form, swab your cheek, and they email you a few times a year to keep you in the loop about what the organization is up to. I signed up immediately. I heard from them about a possible donation once, but mostly they left me alone.
Until about a week before my birthday.
A 39 year old man with leukemia was a match for my DNA. They can't and didn't tell me anything else about him. I told them i was still interested in donating, and we started the process. So far, i've signed a consent form and reviewed my medical history over the phone. I'm scheduled for a physical at the beginning of January, and will begin injections of filgrastim to increase the stem cells in my blood. The only real side effect to this is flu-like aches. After five days of injections, i'll be hooked up to two needles. One will draw stem cell-y blood and pass it into a machine which will filter out the stem cells, and the other will put the blood back. I've been told to expect slight soreness and extreme exhaustion for a day or two following this procedure.
After that, it's all over. Within a week, i'll be back to normal. I may or may not be asked to donate again.
I don't ever plan to have kids. I like kids a lot, especially up to the age of about four, but i don't have any desire or need to have them myself. Like when you see someone wearing a cute outfit that looks great on them but isn't at all your style: i'm happy for you that you have a baby and that you are happy with your life choices, but i'm all set over here, thanks.
But this feels a little like what i imagine it feels like to find out you are going to have a baby. To realize that your body has this amazing potential to create and sustain life; to understand that your body is going to give life to another person; to know that you will give up some measure of comfort and control, will experience pain, will give up time for doctor's visits and injections and long phone calls about your medical history; and to know that at the end of all of it, someone will receive life because of your sacrifice, is almost unbearably awesome. I am nervous about the pain. I am nervous about the stress. I am nervous about the time commitment. I am beyond thrilled to be able to do this.
I can't stop telling people about it. I realize that it's a little inelegant to do so, that it's like bragging about how charitable i am, but i can't help it. I am so in awe of the science involved (i'm getting five injections to MAKE MORE STEM CELLS! and then i'm GIVING STEM CELLS TO A PERSON SO THEY CAN LIVE!), and so thrilled to discover the power and potential of my own body. I am so glad to be able to help someone who needs it. I want so badly for more people to donate whatever body parts they can, whenever they are asked to do so, because why wouldn't you?! Who doesn't want to witness a miracle? Who doesn't want to BE a miracle?
It's a birthday miracle for me, and a Christmas miracle for this man and his family. It's science and research and medicine and technology. It's prayer and a willingness to sacrifice and serve. It's biology and chemistry. It's communication and contact. It's cotton swabs and needles.
We are all stardust. We are all stem cells.
Showing posts with label miracle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miracle. Show all posts
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Friday, January 25, 2013
Exodus 7-40, Leviticus 1-24
The schedule i set up for my Bible reading (back in May) really has me powering through the Old Testament. Which is fine with me; i've read the books of the Law approximately seven times in their entirety, and i was in a weekly Bible study on Leviticus last semester, so i feel like i don't need to take that much time with it.
Also, i need to be honest: i'm kind of in a dry spell right now, spiritually.
Faith goes through seasons, just like everything else in life (to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven), but Christians are sometimes made to feel guilt about being in one season or another. I've heard preachers saying that every day should be full of joy, that we should be overflowing with joy in Christ, that we should be so full of the boundless love and grace and mercy that we have received that nothing can bring us down.
I have a friend who suffered from clinical depression and was told to pray more and deepen her faith, and that Christ would fill her with joy.
Because nothing balances the chemicals in my brain like yet another fucking chorus of "Our God Reigns".
This semester, my Bible study is focusing on the non-fuzzy images of God. We're looking at the Jesus who hurled racial slurs at a woman who asked for His help, the Christ who withered a fig tree because it wasn't bearing fruit, at the God who ordered the slaughter of babies, the God who sent lying angels to prophets so that people would die. We're looking at Hagar, who got pile after pile of rancid shit dumped on her, and was ignored by God, except for when He was telling her to go back and take more abuse.
Last week, i went to a writing retreat where Benji talked about how the Church doesn't have sad songs. The Bible has psalms of lament, where we talk about how life sucks and we don't know why God won't rescue us. But in modern Christian contexts, the best we get is "Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well with my soul." We don't make room for doubt, for sorrow, for anger. We must be happy.
In our Bible study, Benji said that theology should be "a testimony for conversion". In other words, what we say about God should make people want to know Him for themselves. This does NOT mean that you should walk up to strangers in the parking lot of a rest stop in New Jersey, hand them a tract, and tell them that God wants to save them from their sins (this happened to me over Christmas vacation). What it means is, the things you believe about God, the things you know about God, the things you say about God, should be compelling and attractive.
That doesn't necessarily mean that you should tell people that everything with Jesus is sunshine and roses. Even Jesus didn't say that (the Son of Man has no place to lay His head, He came to turn families against each other, people are going to hate you and treat you terribly, etc.) If i asked someone about their religion and they said, "It makes everything happy forever!", i would run away.
Some day, someone you love will die. If it hasn't happened already, it will. My grandmother is dead. My great aunt is dead. One of my friends is dying. My parents will die. My cousins will die. My siblings will die. My spouse, my kids, my co-workers, my pastor, my professors, my favorite musicians, the students i teach. Everyone i know and love will die some day. I will die. And maybe i'll go before some of the people i know and love and won't have to be there when it happens, but that just means that they will have to mourn my death.
People die. It's a part of life. And it is good and right to mourn them. We may be able to draw some comfort by thoughts of them in a happy afterlife, or by knowing that their pain and sickness are ended, but the reality is that they are dead in a box in the ground, rotting away. They will never again laugh with you. They will never again cry with you. They will not see you grow old. You will not see them grow old. My friend who is dying is in his 20s. I will never dance at his wedding, never meet his children, never tease him for his grey hairs. And it is good and right to mourn this.
And there's a whole lot of other shit in life, too. People get sick and injured. Children get raped. People get fired. Hearts get broken. Spouses cheat on one another and lie about it. Houses burn down. Cancer exists. Homelessness exists. Malnutrition, starvation, poverty exist. Do you ever think about how fucked up it is that we have social workers? We have people whose job is to make sure you are taking care of your kids, and to remove them from your care if you are not. They make sure you are going to rehab. They make sure your kids are going to school. They make sure that there is food in the refrigerator and that you are not doing drugs or having sex in front of your toddler. Because there are SO MANY people who cannot take care of their own lives and the lives of their children that we have entire undergraduate, graduate, and postgraduate programs devoted to training other people to take care of them.
There is a whole lot of shit in life, and it is right and good to mourn it. It is right and good to be angry over it. It is right and good to respond with negative emotions to these things. There are only two ways to completely remove yourself from all negative emotional response: heavy doses of psychiatric medication and death. Meds can also dull or remove positive feelings, and death is, well, death. A religion that promises that everything will be sunny all the time always is either lying or deluded, and either way you shouldn't drink any kool-aid they offer you.
I'm still reading my Bible. I'm still praying. I'm still having spiritual conversations with people, still writing about my feelings, still processing. I'm still a Christian. I'm still a doubter. Recently, someone asked me the question i've been fearing: what's the point of religion? Bad things still happen to good people, and there are good people who are not Christians, and even some good people who don't believe in any God at all, so what are you getting out of it?
I told him i didn't know. I don't know why i have faith. I don't know what i'm getting out of this whole religion thing.
This is true and not true. I can't point you to the pile of gold i've amassed because of God's financial blessings on my life. I can't point you to the perfect job He provided for me. My brother may be alive, but he's lost a leg and a year of his life and lots of memories and joy and God may have brought him miraculously out of his injuries but God still allowed him to be injured in the first place. I can't give you a bulleted list of reasons to follow God. I can't show you tangible things that God has done in my life. I believe that i have experienced miracles, but they all come with caveats (my brother's miraculous recovery wouldn't have been necessary if God hadn't let him be blown up in the first place).
But if you're in religion for what you're getting out of it, you're missing the point. I can tell you things that i've "gotten out of" my relationship with my boyfriend, but i'm not with him because he buys me nice presents or takes me out to eat or listens to me complain. I'm not with him because of what i'm "getting out of" the relationship. If that was all i wanted, i'd be dating someone with more money and time to lavish on me.
I'm with my boyfriend because i love him, and he loves me. I'm with God because i love Him, and He loves me.
I'm still mad at Him for a lot of the stuff in the Old and New Testaments. I'm mad at Him because of my brother, and because of the shooting in Connecticut, and because of people who say that God hates fags, and because of poverty and cancer and AIDS, and because i don't have enough money to student teach and buy everything i want from Amazon, and because my parents are divorced and shouldn't have been married in the first place so maybe i shouldn't even be alive, and because Republicans keep trying to take rights away from women and non-whites, and because of earthquakes and tsunamis and war and oppression and starvation and mental illness.
But being in a relationship means experiencing a whole range of shifting emotions, sometimes even many emotions at once. And my God lets me work through that stuff, even when that means i yell at Him or don't represent Him well to others or regard my personal devotional time with Him as a chore.
So i guess what i'm "getting out of" this is a love greater and freer and fuller and more compelling and empowering and gracious and overwhelming and gentle and sweet than any love i have ever known. It's a love that enables me to love better. It's a love that makes me better. It's a love that withstands my anger and weariness and confusion. And i don't know how to say any of that in a way that makes other people want to know God too, but i guess that's something that He and i can work on.
Also, i need to be honest: i'm kind of in a dry spell right now, spiritually.
Faith goes through seasons, just like everything else in life (to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven), but Christians are sometimes made to feel guilt about being in one season or another. I've heard preachers saying that every day should be full of joy, that we should be overflowing with joy in Christ, that we should be so full of the boundless love and grace and mercy that we have received that nothing can bring us down.
I have a friend who suffered from clinical depression and was told to pray more and deepen her faith, and that Christ would fill her with joy.
Because nothing balances the chemicals in my brain like yet another fucking chorus of "Our God Reigns".
This semester, my Bible study is focusing on the non-fuzzy images of God. We're looking at the Jesus who hurled racial slurs at a woman who asked for His help, the Christ who withered a fig tree because it wasn't bearing fruit, at the God who ordered the slaughter of babies, the God who sent lying angels to prophets so that people would die. We're looking at Hagar, who got pile after pile of rancid shit dumped on her, and was ignored by God, except for when He was telling her to go back and take more abuse.
Last week, i went to a writing retreat where Benji talked about how the Church doesn't have sad songs. The Bible has psalms of lament, where we talk about how life sucks and we don't know why God won't rescue us. But in modern Christian contexts, the best we get is "Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well with my soul." We don't make room for doubt, for sorrow, for anger. We must be happy.
In our Bible study, Benji said that theology should be "a testimony for conversion". In other words, what we say about God should make people want to know Him for themselves. This does NOT mean that you should walk up to strangers in the parking lot of a rest stop in New Jersey, hand them a tract, and tell them that God wants to save them from their sins (this happened to me over Christmas vacation). What it means is, the things you believe about God, the things you know about God, the things you say about God, should be compelling and attractive.
That doesn't necessarily mean that you should tell people that everything with Jesus is sunshine and roses. Even Jesus didn't say that (the Son of Man has no place to lay His head, He came to turn families against each other, people are going to hate you and treat you terribly, etc.) If i asked someone about their religion and they said, "It makes everything happy forever!", i would run away.
Some day, someone you love will die. If it hasn't happened already, it will. My grandmother is dead. My great aunt is dead. One of my friends is dying. My parents will die. My cousins will die. My siblings will die. My spouse, my kids, my co-workers, my pastor, my professors, my favorite musicians, the students i teach. Everyone i know and love will die some day. I will die. And maybe i'll go before some of the people i know and love and won't have to be there when it happens, but that just means that they will have to mourn my death.
People die. It's a part of life. And it is good and right to mourn them. We may be able to draw some comfort by thoughts of them in a happy afterlife, or by knowing that their pain and sickness are ended, but the reality is that they are dead in a box in the ground, rotting away. They will never again laugh with you. They will never again cry with you. They will not see you grow old. You will not see them grow old. My friend who is dying is in his 20s. I will never dance at his wedding, never meet his children, never tease him for his grey hairs. And it is good and right to mourn this.
And there's a whole lot of other shit in life, too. People get sick and injured. Children get raped. People get fired. Hearts get broken. Spouses cheat on one another and lie about it. Houses burn down. Cancer exists. Homelessness exists. Malnutrition, starvation, poverty exist. Do you ever think about how fucked up it is that we have social workers? We have people whose job is to make sure you are taking care of your kids, and to remove them from your care if you are not. They make sure you are going to rehab. They make sure your kids are going to school. They make sure that there is food in the refrigerator and that you are not doing drugs or having sex in front of your toddler. Because there are SO MANY people who cannot take care of their own lives and the lives of their children that we have entire undergraduate, graduate, and postgraduate programs devoted to training other people to take care of them.
There is a whole lot of shit in life, and it is right and good to mourn it. It is right and good to be angry over it. It is right and good to respond with negative emotions to these things. There are only two ways to completely remove yourself from all negative emotional response: heavy doses of psychiatric medication and death. Meds can also dull or remove positive feelings, and death is, well, death. A religion that promises that everything will be sunny all the time always is either lying or deluded, and either way you shouldn't drink any kool-aid they offer you.
I'm still reading my Bible. I'm still praying. I'm still having spiritual conversations with people, still writing about my feelings, still processing. I'm still a Christian. I'm still a doubter. Recently, someone asked me the question i've been fearing: what's the point of religion? Bad things still happen to good people, and there are good people who are not Christians, and even some good people who don't believe in any God at all, so what are you getting out of it?
I told him i didn't know. I don't know why i have faith. I don't know what i'm getting out of this whole religion thing.
This is true and not true. I can't point you to the pile of gold i've amassed because of God's financial blessings on my life. I can't point you to the perfect job He provided for me. My brother may be alive, but he's lost a leg and a year of his life and lots of memories and joy and God may have brought him miraculously out of his injuries but God still allowed him to be injured in the first place. I can't give you a bulleted list of reasons to follow God. I can't show you tangible things that God has done in my life. I believe that i have experienced miracles, but they all come with caveats (my brother's miraculous recovery wouldn't have been necessary if God hadn't let him be blown up in the first place).
But if you're in religion for what you're getting out of it, you're missing the point. I can tell you things that i've "gotten out of" my relationship with my boyfriend, but i'm not with him because he buys me nice presents or takes me out to eat or listens to me complain. I'm not with him because of what i'm "getting out of" the relationship. If that was all i wanted, i'd be dating someone with more money and time to lavish on me.
I'm with my boyfriend because i love him, and he loves me. I'm with God because i love Him, and He loves me.
I'm still mad at Him for a lot of the stuff in the Old and New Testaments. I'm mad at Him because of my brother, and because of the shooting in Connecticut, and because of people who say that God hates fags, and because of poverty and cancer and AIDS, and because i don't have enough money to student teach and buy everything i want from Amazon, and because my parents are divorced and shouldn't have been married in the first place so maybe i shouldn't even be alive, and because Republicans keep trying to take rights away from women and non-whites, and because of earthquakes and tsunamis and war and oppression and starvation and mental illness.
But being in a relationship means experiencing a whole range of shifting emotions, sometimes even many emotions at once. And my God lets me work through that stuff, even when that means i yell at Him or don't represent Him well to others or regard my personal devotional time with Him as a chore.
So i guess what i'm "getting out of" this is a love greater and freer and fuller and more compelling and empowering and gracious and overwhelming and gentle and sweet than any love i have ever known. It's a love that enables me to love better. It's a love that makes me better. It's a love that withstands my anger and weariness and confusion. And i don't know how to say any of that in a way that makes other people want to know God too, but i guess that's something that He and i can work on.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Exodus 7-38
Let's talk about the plagues.
Exodus 7:14-12:30 details the ten plagues that God sent to Egypt to let his people go. And it's obvious that Pharaoh is the villain of the piece; he enslaved these people and refuses to let them go, no matter what! Isn't it obvious that God is super-powerful and will stop at nothing to get His people free? Really, Pharaoh, aren't you just being a dick by clinging stubbornly to this power?
And for the first few plagues, you would be right. Pharaoh's heart is hard, and he refuses to budge. Although God knew that he wouldn't, so i guess He was just sending the plagues to punish the Egyptians for mistreating his people, or to show off his power, or something? Anyway.
After the sixth plague (boils), things shift a little. Exodus 9:12 says, "But the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh; and he did not heed them, just as the Lord had spoken to Moses." The Lord hardened his heart. We see the same thing after the eighth plague (locusts) and the ninth plague (darkness), and after the seventh plague we see that God still knew that Pharaoh would not change his mind. God and Pharaoh are in a stand-off, and God is cheating.
The last plague is the death of every firstborn child in Egypt. Pharaoh's firstborn son, the firstborn son of the peasants, even the firstborn animals of the livestock. God sends an angel to kill children, and He does so after intentionally ramping up the stakes again and again.
Hebrews tells us that God hardened Pharaoh's heart so that He could work greater and greater signs and miracles, and thereby prove His greatness and bring glory to His name. Now, intellectually i'm totally okay with this. If God is the all-powerful ruler of the universe who brought me into this world, He has every right to do whatever He wants with my life, including end it, just because He wants to.
But i don't want to hang out with a God like that. I don't like that God. And i don't know what else to say about that.
Exodus 7:14-12:30 details the ten plagues that God sent to Egypt to let his people go. And it's obvious that Pharaoh is the villain of the piece; he enslaved these people and refuses to let them go, no matter what! Isn't it obvious that God is super-powerful and will stop at nothing to get His people free? Really, Pharaoh, aren't you just being a dick by clinging stubbornly to this power?
And for the first few plagues, you would be right. Pharaoh's heart is hard, and he refuses to budge. Although God knew that he wouldn't, so i guess He was just sending the plagues to punish the Egyptians for mistreating his people, or to show off his power, or something? Anyway.
After the sixth plague (boils), things shift a little. Exodus 9:12 says, "But the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh; and he did not heed them, just as the Lord had spoken to Moses." The Lord hardened his heart. We see the same thing after the eighth plague (locusts) and the ninth plague (darkness), and after the seventh plague we see that God still knew that Pharaoh would not change his mind. God and Pharaoh are in a stand-off, and God is cheating.
The last plague is the death of every firstborn child in Egypt. Pharaoh's firstborn son, the firstborn son of the peasants, even the firstborn animals of the livestock. God sends an angel to kill children, and He does so after intentionally ramping up the stakes again and again.
Hebrews tells us that God hardened Pharaoh's heart so that He could work greater and greater signs and miracles, and thereby prove His greatness and bring glory to His name. Now, intellectually i'm totally okay with this. If God is the all-powerful ruler of the universe who brought me into this world, He has every right to do whatever He wants with my life, including end it, just because He wants to.
But i don't want to hang out with a God like that. I don't like that God. And i don't know what else to say about that.
Monday, December 17, 2012
saving me (love)
Love in all forms. Love from others. Love for others. Love of others for each other. Love for books. Love from my cat. Love for steak. Love from the earth. Promised love. Past love. The hope of future love. Making love. The love of others for one another. Ingrid Michaelson's songs about love. Love, love, love.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
first second birthday
You know, Monday was the one-year anniversary of my brother getting blown up. It's been a long year of miracles and setbacks. The doctors said he'd never wake up from the coma and (after a long period of hallucinations and semi-consciousness) he did. They said he'd never regain control of his bladder bowels and he (mostly) has. They said he'd never walk and (after the amputation of his left leg) he did.
He's still in the hospital. They're still monitoring and treating his nerve pain. They're still testing his reflexes, vision, and cognitive function. They're still helping him learn to walk again, in the hopes that he'll be able to run again. He's still testing his limits, still hitting brick walls, still sorting through the shards of the possibilities before him. He'll be in the hospital for a long time.
He's started his own blog. He's buying a car and looking at colleges. He's climbing rock walls. He's sending me mocking text messages.
Last year, he celebrated his twentieth birthday in the hospital, still in a state of fuzzy semi-consciousness. This year, he'll be able to come home for Thanksgiving and birthday festivities. And this year, i'll get to travel down there to be with him.
On Monday, the first anniversary of his life, both of my sisters wrote Facebook notes about their feelings. My mom traveled to be with him in the hospital barracks. I stayed in bed and tried to sleep off this flu. I thought of Adam periodically throughout the day, though. It was all sort of anti-climactic. Because that's what you never see in inspirational movies about wounded Marines overcoming great odds: the time. It takes a hell of a lot of time to recover from something like this. A year later and he's still in the hospital, and now they're talking about more surgeries and procedures to help relieve the nerve pain. He's been upgraded to a more permanent prosthetic socket, but he's still working on finding a leg he can run on. He's put a down payment on a car, but he hasn't yet been totally cleared to drive. And he hasn't received his discharge from the Marines yet. He's still technically in active service. Granted, at the rate he's going, it's possible that he'll complete his term of service in the hospital barracks, but i have to assume that he's owed an honorable discharge.
He's met the President. Twice. He's received medals. He's been taken on guided tours of the White House and Pentagon. He's been promoted.
And he's still in the damn hospital.
Here's hoping that his second second birthday will take place after his full and complete discharge from everything.
He's still in the hospital. They're still monitoring and treating his nerve pain. They're still testing his reflexes, vision, and cognitive function. They're still helping him learn to walk again, in the hopes that he'll be able to run again. He's still testing his limits, still hitting brick walls, still sorting through the shards of the possibilities before him. He'll be in the hospital for a long time.
He's started his own blog. He's buying a car and looking at colleges. He's climbing rock walls. He's sending me mocking text messages.
Last year, he celebrated his twentieth birthday in the hospital, still in a state of fuzzy semi-consciousness. This year, he'll be able to come home for Thanksgiving and birthday festivities. And this year, i'll get to travel down there to be with him.
On Monday, the first anniversary of his life, both of my sisters wrote Facebook notes about their feelings. My mom traveled to be with him in the hospital barracks. I stayed in bed and tried to sleep off this flu. I thought of Adam periodically throughout the day, though. It was all sort of anti-climactic. Because that's what you never see in inspirational movies about wounded Marines overcoming great odds: the time. It takes a hell of a lot of time to recover from something like this. A year later and he's still in the hospital, and now they're talking about more surgeries and procedures to help relieve the nerve pain. He's been upgraded to a more permanent prosthetic socket, but he's still working on finding a leg he can run on. He's put a down payment on a car, but he hasn't yet been totally cleared to drive. And he hasn't received his discharge from the Marines yet. He's still technically in active service. Granted, at the rate he's going, it's possible that he'll complete his term of service in the hospital barracks, but i have to assume that he's owed an honorable discharge.
He's met the President. Twice. He's received medals. He's been taken on guided tours of the White House and Pentagon. He's been promoted.
And he's still in the damn hospital.
Here's hoping that his second second birthday will take place after his full and complete discharge from everything.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Acts 6-13
All of chapter 10, but especially verses 15, 34-35, and 44-48.
15: And a voice spoke to him again the second time, "What God has cleaned you must not call common."
34-35: Then Peter opened his mouth and said: "In truth I perceive that God shows no partiality. But in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him."
44-48: While Peter was still speaking these words, the Holy Spirit fell upon all those who heard the word. And those of the circumcision who believed were astonished, as many as came with Peter, because the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out on the Gentiles also. For they heard them speak with tongues and magnify God. Then Peter answered, "Can anyone forbid water, that these should not be baptized who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?" And he commanded them to be baptized in the name of the Lord. Then they asked him to stay a few days.
Last week, my pastor preached on this text. Then i read it in my personal devotions. Next week, we're covering it in Bible study. That's how it goes sometimes.
The early Church had a problem: were they another sect of Judaism, or were they a new religion? Jesus was Jewish, and He was the Messiah they'd been waiting for. So maybe they were still Jews, but they had just recognized a truth that no one else had seen yet? This meant that a Gentile could convert here and there, but they would have to be circumcised and stop eating bacon-wrapped shrimp and observe their holy days and ritual washings. But then the Jews said, "No, you guys are not one of us. The Messiah hasn't come yet. If you want to worship Jesus, you're worshiping another god and we want nothing to do with you."
So do new converts have to be circumcised? Do they have to observe Passover? Do they have to observe the Sabbath?
Much of Acts deals with these questions -- the book is half Three Stooges/James Bond miracles and prison escapes, and half church meeting reports -- so we'll spend a lot of time talking and thinking about this stuff. What does it mean to be Christian? What are the rules? What do you have to do to be saved? And, having been saved, what do you have to do to stay that way?
15: And a voice spoke to him again the second time, "What God has cleaned you must not call common."
34-35: Then Peter opened his mouth and said: "In truth I perceive that God shows no partiality. But in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him."
44-48: While Peter was still speaking these words, the Holy Spirit fell upon all those who heard the word. And those of the circumcision who believed were astonished, as many as came with Peter, because the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out on the Gentiles also. For they heard them speak with tongues and magnify God. Then Peter answered, "Can anyone forbid water, that these should not be baptized who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?" And he commanded them to be baptized in the name of the Lord. Then they asked him to stay a few days.
Last week, my pastor preached on this text. Then i read it in my personal devotions. Next week, we're covering it in Bible study. That's how it goes sometimes.
The early Church had a problem: were they another sect of Judaism, or were they a new religion? Jesus was Jewish, and He was the Messiah they'd been waiting for. So maybe they were still Jews, but they had just recognized a truth that no one else had seen yet? This meant that a Gentile could convert here and there, but they would have to be circumcised and stop eating bacon-wrapped shrimp and observe their holy days and ritual washings. But then the Jews said, "No, you guys are not one of us. The Messiah hasn't come yet. If you want to worship Jesus, you're worshiping another god and we want nothing to do with you."
So do new converts have to be circumcised? Do they have to observe Passover? Do they have to observe the Sabbath?
Much of Acts deals with these questions -- the book is half Three Stooges/James Bond miracles and prison escapes, and half church meeting reports -- so we'll spend a lot of time talking and thinking about this stuff. What does it mean to be Christian? What are the rules? What do you have to do to be saved? And, having been saved, what do you have to do to stay that way?
Friday, September 14, 2012
John 2-8
John 5:8-10
Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your bed and walk." And immediately the man was made well, took up his bed, and walked. And that day was the Sabbath. The Jews therefore said to him who was cured, "It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your bed."
The man in question was a cripple. He had been unable to walk his whole life, but Jesus healed him. And the Jews immediately got upset because the man was "working" on the Sabbath.
It takes a while to finish healing. When the doctor takes the cast off of your leg, you have to work hard to regain muscle tone. The skin needs to be exfoliated and cleaned and moisturized. You need to re-learn how to walk. When you come out of rehab, it takes a while to figure out how to avoid temptation in the outside world. Beer commercials are on TV, on the sides of buses, in magazines. Pills are everywhere. The people you knew before may try to bring you back to your old ways.
Healing takes time. After the initial, painful, technical healing (detox, bones re-fusing, deciding to let go of anger, breaking off an unhealthy relationship, being miraculously healed of a chronic condition), there are millions of smaller healings that come all day, every day, for a long time.
These people were looking at a walking miracle, and they got distracted by the fact that his healing was ongoing. How often do we see a new Christian and get distracted by their potty mouth, or their smoking habit, or the clothes they wear to church? Instead of being overjoyed that they are trying, that they are growing and learning, that they have taken a big step in their lives, we get upset that they haven't taken that step the "right" way. We need to give people room to grow, room to learn, room to heal. We need to see the miracle, and ignore everything else.
John 7:52
They answered and said to Him, "Are you also from Galilee? Search and look, for no prophet has arisen out of Galilee."
There's a first time for everything, kids. Again, don't let your own preconceived ideas about the "right" way to do things distract you from the presence of the Divine.
John 8:3-11, 15
Then the scribes and Pharisees brought to Him a woman caught in adultery. And when they had set her in the midst, they said to Him, "Teacher, this woman was caught in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses, in the law, commanded us that such be stoned. But what do You say?" This they said, testing Him, that they might have something of which to accuse Him. But Jesus stooped down and wrote on the ground with His finger, as though He did not hear. So when they continued asking Him, He raised Himself up and said to them, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first." And again He stooped down and wrote on the ground. Then those who heard it, being convicted by their conscience, went out one by one, beginning with the oldest even to the last. And Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. When Jesus had raised Himself up and saw no one but the woman, He said to her, "Woman, where are those accusers of yours? Has no one condemned you?" She said, "No one, Lord." And Jesus said to her, "Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more."
"You judge according to the flesh; I judge no one."
This. This right here.
At no point does Jesus make excuses for this woman; she has sinned, and He knows that and is sorrowed by it.
But neither does He judge her.
Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more . . . You judge according to the flesh; I judge no one.
He knows that she has done wrong. He asks her not to do it again. But He doesn't judge.
There is a big difference between holding someone accountable and judging them, a big difference between acknowledging that someone's choices are not beneficial to their lives and thinking less of them because of those choices.
Also, can i point out that the law of Moses that they reference (Lev. 20:10 and Deut. 22:22) state that PEOPLE caught in adultery should be killed? In fact, both passages are pretty clear that BOTH people are to blame, and that BOTH should be put to death. So where's the dude? How come only the woman was brought to Jesus? If she was caught in the act, the guy must have been there. So where is he now?
Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your bed and walk." And immediately the man was made well, took up his bed, and walked. And that day was the Sabbath. The Jews therefore said to him who was cured, "It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your bed."
The man in question was a cripple. He had been unable to walk his whole life, but Jesus healed him. And the Jews immediately got upset because the man was "working" on the Sabbath.
It takes a while to finish healing. When the doctor takes the cast off of your leg, you have to work hard to regain muscle tone. The skin needs to be exfoliated and cleaned and moisturized. You need to re-learn how to walk. When you come out of rehab, it takes a while to figure out how to avoid temptation in the outside world. Beer commercials are on TV, on the sides of buses, in magazines. Pills are everywhere. The people you knew before may try to bring you back to your old ways.
Healing takes time. After the initial, painful, technical healing (detox, bones re-fusing, deciding to let go of anger, breaking off an unhealthy relationship, being miraculously healed of a chronic condition), there are millions of smaller healings that come all day, every day, for a long time.
These people were looking at a walking miracle, and they got distracted by the fact that his healing was ongoing. How often do we see a new Christian and get distracted by their potty mouth, or their smoking habit, or the clothes they wear to church? Instead of being overjoyed that they are trying, that they are growing and learning, that they have taken a big step in their lives, we get upset that they haven't taken that step the "right" way. We need to give people room to grow, room to learn, room to heal. We need to see the miracle, and ignore everything else.
John 7:52
They answered and said to Him, "Are you also from Galilee? Search and look, for no prophet has arisen out of Galilee."
There's a first time for everything, kids. Again, don't let your own preconceived ideas about the "right" way to do things distract you from the presence of the Divine.
John 8:3-11, 15
Then the scribes and Pharisees brought to Him a woman caught in adultery. And when they had set her in the midst, they said to Him, "Teacher, this woman was caught in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses, in the law, commanded us that such be stoned. But what do You say?" This they said, testing Him, that they might have something of which to accuse Him. But Jesus stooped down and wrote on the ground with His finger, as though He did not hear. So when they continued asking Him, He raised Himself up and said to them, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first." And again He stooped down and wrote on the ground. Then those who heard it, being convicted by their conscience, went out one by one, beginning with the oldest even to the last. And Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. When Jesus had raised Himself up and saw no one but the woman, He said to her, "Woman, where are those accusers of yours? Has no one condemned you?" She said, "No one, Lord." And Jesus said to her, "Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more."
"You judge according to the flesh; I judge no one."
This. This right here.
At no point does Jesus make excuses for this woman; she has sinned, and He knows that and is sorrowed by it.
But neither does He judge her.
Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more . . . You judge according to the flesh; I judge no one.
He knows that she has done wrong. He asks her not to do it again. But He doesn't judge.
There is a big difference between holding someone accountable and judging them, a big difference between acknowledging that someone's choices are not beneficial to their lives and thinking less of them because of those choices.
Also, can i point out that the law of Moses that they reference (Lev. 20:10 and Deut. 22:22) state that PEOPLE caught in adultery should be killed? In fact, both passages are pretty clear that BOTH people are to blame, and that BOTH should be put to death. So where's the dude? How come only the woman was brought to Jesus? If she was caught in the act, the guy must have been there. So where is he now?
Friday, August 24, 2012
Luke 4:31-11:54
Luke 6:6-10
Now it happened on another Sabbath, also, that He entered the synagogue and taught. And a man was there whose right hand was withered. And the scribes and Pharisees watched Him closely, whether He would heal on the Sabbath, that they might find an accusation against Him. But He knew their thoughts, and said to the man who had the withered hand, "Arise and stand here." And he arose and stood. Then Jesus said to them, "I will ask you one thing: Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save a life or to destroy it?" And looking around at them all, He said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." And he did so, and his hand was restored as whole as the other.
(emphasis mine)
Sometimes, we get so caught up in the "don't"s, in the things that we are not supposed to do, that we forget about the "do"s. It is true that God forbade work on the Sabbath, that He set aside that day for rest and worship. But worshiping God by doing nothing is not better or more important than worshiping God by healing the sick or feeding the hungry. It is important to be kind and tactful with our words, but avoiding swearing is not more important than conveying truth. It is important to be aware of sin in our own lives and in others, and to refuse to condone a harmful lifestyle and bad decisions, and to hold others accountable to high standards, but it is not more important to judge or condemn or correct than it is to listen and understand and love.
Now it happened on another Sabbath, also, that He entered the synagogue and taught. And a man was there whose right hand was withered. And the scribes and Pharisees watched Him closely, whether He would heal on the Sabbath, that they might find an accusation against Him. But He knew their thoughts, and said to the man who had the withered hand, "Arise and stand here." And he arose and stood. Then Jesus said to them, "I will ask you one thing: Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save a life or to destroy it?" And looking around at them all, He said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." And he did so, and his hand was restored as whole as the other.
(emphasis mine)
Sometimes, we get so caught up in the "don't"s, in the things that we are not supposed to do, that we forget about the "do"s. It is true that God forbade work on the Sabbath, that He set aside that day for rest and worship. But worshiping God by doing nothing is not better or more important than worshiping God by healing the sick or feeding the hungry. It is important to be kind and tactful with our words, but avoiding swearing is not more important than conveying truth. It is important to be aware of sin in our own lives and in others, and to refuse to condone a harmful lifestyle and bad decisions, and to hold others accountable to high standards, but it is not more important to judge or condemn or correct than it is to listen and understand and love.
Monday, May 21, 2012
My Boyfriend Shot My Brother
My very first boyfriend, Fusco, was also a good friend of my brother Adam. He was my first boyfriend, and i was the first of my siblings to date anyone, so it was not very familiar territory. However, we mostly managed to all hang out together without too much awkwardness.
As i settled into the relationship more, i would sometimes hang back and let the boys do things together when Fusco came over. On one such occasion, they went into our back yard to play with Adam's pellet gun. They had set up some paper targets and were having a grand old time.
They were almost out of pellets, and they reloaded the chamber one last time. There were not quite enough pellets to fill the whole chamber. Neither of them counted how many pellets went in.
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| http://modernpentathlon-tickets.blogspot.com/2012/01/pistol-and-ammo-used-in-olympic-modern.html |
When the gun stopped firing, Fusco asked Adam to shoot him in the hand so he could feel how powerful the blast was. Adam obliged. Then, Fusco wanted Adam to feel the blast.
The pellet lodged itself in Adam's diaphragm. It was centimeters away from his aorta, his spine, and lots of other things the severing of which would have resulted in death. The doctors struggled to remove it, as it moved with each breath he took.
He survived and was totally fine in a few weeks, but we always joked about the "war wound" he sustained, right after Hurricane Katrina and in the middle of the War on Terrorism. Of course, this was six years before we knew that he'd have actual war wounds from Afghanistan, but Fusco still felt pretty terrible about the whole thing.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
timshel
Today i visited my gas station attendant friend, Hamid. Ever since the first time i had to put gas in my car in Quincy, i have gone to Hamid, because he is awesome and because i believe in loyalty.
Hamid always asks me how i am doing. The last time i was there, he also asked about my life in general, what i was doing. I told him i was in school and working, and that i was very busy. Hamid's English is good, but not great, and the conversation was had as we leaned across my passenger window, so we didn't get into a lot of detail about goals and dreams and personal histories. But he knows that i am there for gas every other week, unless i've had to run a lot of errands and visit him a week early. And he told me that i would be a beautiful teacher of English.
Today, he asked again how i was doing.
"I'm good. Busy."
"With work, and school? You are full time?"
"Yes, full time work and school. I am very busy."
"Oh, it must be very hard for you. You are doing okay?"
"Yes, i am doing okay. It is good to be busy."
He smiles. "And you are alone? You have someone to help you, to cook for you?"
Are you hitting on me, Hamid? i wonder. But all i say is, "I cook for myself." I say it with a smile.
"Ah. And your family?"
"They are far away. They are in another state, about eight hours away."
"Ah. It must be very hard. Or easy? You are happy, or no?"
"I have friends here, so i am happy."
"It is good. Good to have friends."
"Yes."
We are both smiling, because that is more than words.
"You have a good week. I see you later?"
"Yes. You too!"
As i pull away and head for the grocery store, Mumford and Sons is the soundtrack to my inner monologue.
Cold is the water
It freezes your already cold mind
Already cold, cold mind
It is hard. I am very busy, and i am so tired, so tired. My family is far away, a mixed blessing. My friends are near, also a mixed blessing. Sometimes i get stuck in my own head. I've been feeling pretty stuck lately.
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars
I am so lucky to be where i am. This is everything i wanted and more than i ever dreamed of, and it should be hard. If it were easy, it would hardly be worth having. The work is what will enable me to be what i should be, what i could be.
But you are not alone in this
You are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand
Hold your hand
I am not alone. I have Hamid, for one. And Benji, Emily, Larissa, John, and so many others. Hand-holding is powerful, whether it is actual fingers clasping or a smile shared over a half-opened passenger side window.
You are not alone in this
You are not alone in this
Hamid always asks me how i am doing. The last time i was there, he also asked about my life in general, what i was doing. I told him i was in school and working, and that i was very busy. Hamid's English is good, but not great, and the conversation was had as we leaned across my passenger window, so we didn't get into a lot of detail about goals and dreams and personal histories. But he knows that i am there for gas every other week, unless i've had to run a lot of errands and visit him a week early. And he told me that i would be a beautiful teacher of English.
Today, he asked again how i was doing.
"I'm good. Busy."
"With work, and school? You are full time?"
"Yes, full time work and school. I am very busy."
"Oh, it must be very hard for you. You are doing okay?"
"Yes, i am doing okay. It is good to be busy."
He smiles. "And you are alone? You have someone to help you, to cook for you?"
Are you hitting on me, Hamid? i wonder. But all i say is, "I cook for myself." I say it with a smile.
"Ah. And your family?"
"They are far away. They are in another state, about eight hours away."
"Ah. It must be very hard. Or easy? You are happy, or no?"
"I have friends here, so i am happy."
"It is good. Good to have friends."
"Yes."
We are both smiling, because that is more than words.
"You have a good week. I see you later?"
"Yes. You too!"
As i pull away and head for the grocery store, Mumford and Sons is the soundtrack to my inner monologue.
Cold is the water
It freezes your already cold mind
Already cold, cold mind
It is hard. I am very busy, and i am so tired, so tired. My family is far away, a mixed blessing. My friends are near, also a mixed blessing. Sometimes i get stuck in my own head. I've been feeling pretty stuck lately.
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars
I am so lucky to be where i am. This is everything i wanted and more than i ever dreamed of, and it should be hard. If it were easy, it would hardly be worth having. The work is what will enable me to be what i should be, what i could be.
But you are not alone in this
You are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand
Hold your hand
I am not alone. I have Hamid, for one. And Benji, Emily, Larissa, John, and so many others. Hand-holding is powerful, whether it is actual fingers clasping or a smile shared over a half-opened passenger side window.
You are not alone in this
You are not alone in this
Monday, January 2, 2012
Small Miracles
This week, i bought my first car. It was my dad's old one. John and I drove it up from Maryland to his parents' house in Massachusetts. We refueled in New Jersey, and then forgot to stop again. I then drove from John's house to my apartment. The fuel light came on a few miles from home. But since it was nearly midnight, i just went to bed.
The next day, i wanted to go get gas and groceries. That was unintentionally alliterative. Anyway, my car was parked on a hill and wouldn't start.
I called my dad. While he was trying to advise me, one of my neighbors approached my car. I had no idea who he was. He offered me help. When he couldn't start the car either, he and his wife gave me a ride to the gas station.
Jack and Lena offered me advice about living and driving in Quincy as we drove back and forth. After buying the gas, Jack put it in the car and tried to start it. The one gallon wasn't enough, so he took me back for another one.
This is the really awesome part. Jack is Arabic. All three of the gas stations near my apartment are owned by Arabs. The owner was willing to put gas in an unapproved container, something that carries a hefty fine if you are caught. But the guy did it without blinking an eye, because Jack asked him to.
When the car was finally running again, i went back to the has station and filled my tank. The total came to $27.49. I gave the guy thirty. He tried to give me change. I had to convince him to keep the tip. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was all the cash I had.
Sometimes people surprise you. Anyway, i have learned my lesson about refueling before bed, parking on hills, and letting people help me. My new year's resolution? Don't run out of gas again. And go the extra mile to help those in need. You know, pay it forward.
Happy 2012, everyone.
The next day, i wanted to go get gas and groceries. That was unintentionally alliterative. Anyway, my car was parked on a hill and wouldn't start.
I called my dad. While he was trying to advise me, one of my neighbors approached my car. I had no idea who he was. He offered me help. When he couldn't start the car either, he and his wife gave me a ride to the gas station.
Jack and Lena offered me advice about living and driving in Quincy as we drove back and forth. After buying the gas, Jack put it in the car and tried to start it. The one gallon wasn't enough, so he took me back for another one.
This is the really awesome part. Jack is Arabic. All three of the gas stations near my apartment are owned by Arabs. The owner was willing to put gas in an unapproved container, something that carries a hefty fine if you are caught. But the guy did it without blinking an eye, because Jack asked him to.
When the car was finally running again, i went back to the has station and filled my tank. The total came to $27.49. I gave the guy thirty. He tried to give me change. I had to convince him to keep the tip. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was all the cash I had.
Sometimes people surprise you. Anyway, i have learned my lesson about refueling before bed, parking on hills, and letting people help me. My new year's resolution? Don't run out of gas again. And go the extra mile to help those in need. You know, pay it forward.
Happy 2012, everyone.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Adam
Miracles do happen. I believe in that with my whole heart.
But when all you have left to hope for is a miracle, it seems a slim chance.
Adam is still in surgery. They are trying to repair damage to the nerves in the anterior spine. Some nerves are severed and some are only bruised. The doctors do not expect that he will ever regain full use of his legs, though minimal function is possible.
I can't imagine a world where my brother is not able to walk. I can't imagine a world where he is not able to run. Ever since i can remember, he has been running and climbing and exploring and working and fighting. I think he'd rather be dead than be limited.
My friend Colleen told me about a friend of hers who was a Marine and was badly injured two or three years ago. He had a chunk of his head missing and doctors said he'd never walk or talk again. Apart from slurred speech and a scar, you'd never know now that anything happened.
This is the very definition of a mixed blessing: Adam is alive and home and will never be able to go back into active duty. He is in good health overall and will recover and be here and safe. But he won't be the same person anymore, and that will be hard for him to handle. And it will be hard for us to watch him struggle to accept his new reality.
The prayers and support coming in from all sides have been overwhelming, in the best way possible. I believe in miracles, but that's all i have left.
When i visited Adam before his deployment, we went to lunch and he paused before we ate to bless his food. A few months prior to that, he had told me that he was an agnostic. I was struck by the occurrence, and later wrote a poem about my brother who still prayed over his food, even though he was no longer sure if he was praying to anyone or anything at all.
I'm not Catholic, but i've been lighting candles for Adam every day since i got the news. There's something about this kind of event that blurs the lines between faith and religion. Suddenly, what matters is that you have something to hold on to. They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I just want to see my hope alight.
But when all you have left to hope for is a miracle, it seems a slim chance.
Adam is still in surgery. They are trying to repair damage to the nerves in the anterior spine. Some nerves are severed and some are only bruised. The doctors do not expect that he will ever regain full use of his legs, though minimal function is possible.
I can't imagine a world where my brother is not able to walk. I can't imagine a world where he is not able to run. Ever since i can remember, he has been running and climbing and exploring and working and fighting. I think he'd rather be dead than be limited.
My friend Colleen told me about a friend of hers who was a Marine and was badly injured two or three years ago. He had a chunk of his head missing and doctors said he'd never walk or talk again. Apart from slurred speech and a scar, you'd never know now that anything happened.
This is the very definition of a mixed blessing: Adam is alive and home and will never be able to go back into active duty. He is in good health overall and will recover and be here and safe. But he won't be the same person anymore, and that will be hard for him to handle. And it will be hard for us to watch him struggle to accept his new reality.
The prayers and support coming in from all sides have been overwhelming, in the best way possible. I believe in miracles, but that's all i have left.
When i visited Adam before his deployment, we went to lunch and he paused before we ate to bless his food. A few months prior to that, he had told me that he was an agnostic. I was struck by the occurrence, and later wrote a poem about my brother who still prayed over his food, even though he was no longer sure if he was praying to anyone or anything at all.
I'm not Catholic, but i've been lighting candles for Adam every day since i got the news. There's something about this kind of event that blurs the lines between faith and religion. Suddenly, what matters is that you have something to hold on to. They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I just want to see my hope alight.
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| We were both trying to hide from the camera. We were not entirely successful. |
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
God of the Mailboxes
I don't communicate well at all, so most people (even my parents) don't know how hard this last semester has been for me, both emotionally and financially.
First, financially: I'm pulling a B in a class where i should have an A, due in large part to the fact that i couldn't afford to buy two of the required books. Most days this semester, i have only eaten one meal a day, because i can't afford more food than that. Some nights, that one meal was nothing but beans and rice. A few times, it was only apples and peanut butter.
I've never not had food. I've never not been able to pay a bill. My bank account has never been in the red. But it has been an uncomfortably tight semester.
Second, emotionally: Of the many trials and tribulations that have made this semester such a roller coaster, the one most relevant to this post has been the enlistment of my little brother in the Marines. He enlisted about a year ago, and communication since then has been practically nonexistent, as he's been in training and has had limited access to phone or computer. Early this semester, he got his orders.
His deployment has been rescheduled several times. This means that his leave has been rescheduled several times. But for a while, it was set at the middle or end of April, leaving me plenty of time to budget and plan and save for a ticket. He was going to have ten days, and he planned to split that time between Maryland (with our mom, sisters, and extended family), Delaware (with our dad), and New York (with his girlfriend). Knowing that Massachusetts (where i live) is much closer to New York than to either Maryland or Delaware, i planned to visit him there. Transportation would be both easier and cheaper, meaning i wouldn't have to pinch quite so many pennies or take quite so much time away from work and school.
But life moves fast in the armed forces, and you can't plan very far ahead. Fortunately, i had not yet bought the tickets when the plans changed yet again. Unfortunately, his new deployment date was much sooner, and his leave was much shorter. I would not have time to visit him, and i would not have money to buy a ticket.
Being both introverted to an almost pathological degree and independent to the point of self-destruction, i did not mention this disappointment to anyone for a week. I quietly resigned myself to the fact that i would not get to bid my brother goodbye, that i would not see him again until Christmas, and tried desperately not to add "if he lives that long" to my thought. But after a week had gone by, i was talking to a friend and mentioned the early deployment and the impossibility of a visit.
"I can afford to take some time off of work, or i can afford to buy tickets. I can't afford both right now," i explained. Later that same day, i repeated this conversation to another friend. I did not mention my predicament to anyone else, nor did either of my friends repeat the conversation to anyone.
The next day, i checked my mailbox. Tucked in between the trashy magazines (hey, they were free) and the reminders of upcoming campus events was an envelope. I didn't recognize the handwriting spelling out my name, but it seemed deliberately nondescript. I opened the envelope and promptly burst into tears.
The envelope contained two twenty dollar bills and a note that said simply, "GO HOME." Forty dollars was almost exactly what i needed for the trip. I ran into the bathroom and shook with tears, whispering prayers of thanksgiving and praise.
Those of us who have faith are very comfortable with the idea of God performing big miracles. When cancer disappears overnight, we chalk it up to the Great Healer. When the perfect job is presented the day after we are laid off, we praise Providence. When the skidding car rights itself and manages to come to a smooth stop out of the ditch and away from any telephone poles or other vehicles, we tell everyone about Divine Intervention. Missing children found, vision corrected, missions trips that all come together at the last minute, we call all of these miracles. And we forget that the God who parted the Red Sea, spoke the stars into place, and multiplied the loaves and fishes is also the God of still, small voices, the God of free chairs when you least expect them, the God of mailbox blessings.
As far as i am concerned, the handwriting on that envelope, the handwriting that i do not recognize, is God's.
There are any number of perfectly reasonable, rational, human explanations for what happened to me on that Thursday afternoon. But none of them exclude God's involvement. After all, what greater miracle could there be than one person extending the grace of God to another?
First, financially: I'm pulling a B in a class where i should have an A, due in large part to the fact that i couldn't afford to buy two of the required books. Most days this semester, i have only eaten one meal a day, because i can't afford more food than that. Some nights, that one meal was nothing but beans and rice. A few times, it was only apples and peanut butter.
I've never not had food. I've never not been able to pay a bill. My bank account has never been in the red. But it has been an uncomfortably tight semester.
Second, emotionally: Of the many trials and tribulations that have made this semester such a roller coaster, the one most relevant to this post has been the enlistment of my little brother in the Marines. He enlisted about a year ago, and communication since then has been practically nonexistent, as he's been in training and has had limited access to phone or computer. Early this semester, he got his orders.
His deployment has been rescheduled several times. This means that his leave has been rescheduled several times. But for a while, it was set at the middle or end of April, leaving me plenty of time to budget and plan and save for a ticket. He was going to have ten days, and he planned to split that time between Maryland (with our mom, sisters, and extended family), Delaware (with our dad), and New York (with his girlfriend). Knowing that Massachusetts (where i live) is much closer to New York than to either Maryland or Delaware, i planned to visit him there. Transportation would be both easier and cheaper, meaning i wouldn't have to pinch quite so many pennies or take quite so much time away from work and school.
But life moves fast in the armed forces, and you can't plan very far ahead. Fortunately, i had not yet bought the tickets when the plans changed yet again. Unfortunately, his new deployment date was much sooner, and his leave was much shorter. I would not have time to visit him, and i would not have money to buy a ticket.
Being both introverted to an almost pathological degree and independent to the point of self-destruction, i did not mention this disappointment to anyone for a week. I quietly resigned myself to the fact that i would not get to bid my brother goodbye, that i would not see him again until Christmas, and tried desperately not to add "if he lives that long" to my thought. But after a week had gone by, i was talking to a friend and mentioned the early deployment and the impossibility of a visit.
"I can afford to take some time off of work, or i can afford to buy tickets. I can't afford both right now," i explained. Later that same day, i repeated this conversation to another friend. I did not mention my predicament to anyone else, nor did either of my friends repeat the conversation to anyone.
The next day, i checked my mailbox. Tucked in between the trashy magazines (hey, they were free) and the reminders of upcoming campus events was an envelope. I didn't recognize the handwriting spelling out my name, but it seemed deliberately nondescript. I opened the envelope and promptly burst into tears.
The envelope contained two twenty dollar bills and a note that said simply, "GO HOME." Forty dollars was almost exactly what i needed for the trip. I ran into the bathroom and shook with tears, whispering prayers of thanksgiving and praise.
Those of us who have faith are very comfortable with the idea of God performing big miracles. When cancer disappears overnight, we chalk it up to the Great Healer. When the perfect job is presented the day after we are laid off, we praise Providence. When the skidding car rights itself and manages to come to a smooth stop out of the ditch and away from any telephone poles or other vehicles, we tell everyone about Divine Intervention. Missing children found, vision corrected, missions trips that all come together at the last minute, we call all of these miracles. And we forget that the God who parted the Red Sea, spoke the stars into place, and multiplied the loaves and fishes is also the God of still, small voices, the God of free chairs when you least expect them, the God of mailbox blessings.
As far as i am concerned, the handwriting on that envelope, the handwriting that i do not recognize, is God's.
There are any number of perfectly reasonable, rational, human explanations for what happened to me on that Thursday afternoon. But none of them exclude God's involvement. After all, what greater miracle could there be than one person extending the grace of God to another?
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