A Good Day--Background

Today was a Good Day.

Really, it was a day that started about 2 weeks ago. It all began with a smile. It lit up the room, a jack-o-lantern response to my cajoling for a piece of english muffin pizza. I never got any pizza, but Mark did get me thinking.

You see, Mark has a disability that greatly inhibited his growth. His entire day is spent in a wheelchair. Due to his small stature, he cannot reach most things in his environment. He depends on support systems that are sometimes sadly lacking. He has the most beautiful smile, but his teeth are rotting. And half are missing. I don't think he ever brushes his teeth.

Oh, but the OT in me began getting very excited! Why, "self-care" is right in the job description. What a lucky lady I am. We are always seeing things we wish were different, but how often is it right in our job description to get involved?

But wait, it gets better. Mark is in a class that works on basic cooking. A simple equation formed in my head: cooking-->eating-->toothbrushing. Everybody learns, everybody saves face, no awkward conversations a la "your fly's unzipped" or "would you like a breath mint?" Why, it's a themed unit! My favorite!

The teacher, speech therapist and I all began plotting. A dental visit involving drills, drool and needles was redeemed by donated toothbrushes, paste and floss. Letters were sent to grocery stores for supplies. Administration coughed up the petty cash (or will, theoretically, once receipts are turned in). Posters were made. Boardmaker was used.

We were ready to go.
And today was the day.

A Good Day--the Experience

Today was a Good Day.

Here is what happened.

The students filed in, or rather flooded, burst, or whatever word describes the entry of high schoolers into a room.

They sat down.

Mark was absent. No worries, though. That's why God created review lessons (we've all had them).

The students then proceeded to school us. For the entire 2 1/2 hours. Our prepared introduction? The one we thought would take 30-45 minutes? Oh, that? Yep, they answered the questions independently in about 15 minutes. I can't think of a nicer feeling than being proved wrong when one's expectations are too low. (Except, perhaps, being proved right when they are incredibly high.)

Here are some other highlights:

Gary, who always insults his own work and abilities: finishing everything beautifully (and first), using his own work as an example to teach the rest of the class, grinning and bowing to their applause, suddenly a leader.

Dylan, who sits apart from the group writing random letters: copying notes perfectly and participating in the discussion, though he has no words, and, when he came for his supplies, spontaneously presenting his own work to the group (re: Gary) with enthusiasm and pride, suddenly a participant.

Aaron, who dwells in the isolation of severe autism, scribbling til crayon shavings line the page: looking me in the eye, listening; joining the group activities; not falling apart, even though his assistant insisted "he's going to lose it, he's going to lose it" (wouldn't we all, with that chanted in our ear?); who chose string cheese, even though his assistant insisted he didn't like it (what's going on here?!!), and proceeding to independently open and consume the whole thing with zeal, suddenly a cheese-eater.

The list goes on. Over and over, these students revealed a capacity greater than we had expected, pride in their accomplishments, enthusiasm, the joy of learning.

You must realize that this is not my life. Most days I wonder if I make even a ripple of difference. Usually, I am humbled by my limitations. Today, I was humbled by children with so much life waiting to be revealed and by the joy of their success. I was humbled to be part of it. Days like today are a gift, an opportunity to expand vision and gather hope. The chance to connect through the veil of autism happens rarely and always feels like magic. Aaron and I may never see eye-to-eye again. Next time, he might lose it and throw string cheese across the room. But maybe he won't.

I can't wait to find out.

A Debt of Love

Love makes me feel poor. Perhaps someday, love will feel completely full. All quenching and no thirst. All rich sufficiency, no ache. But I wonder.

I have been thinking about the verse in Romans, "Owe no one anything except a debt of love" (13:8). I listen to compassionate friends, to my own heart, and I hear that it is love that graciously reveals our poverty.

Here, perhaps, is how it works: Love inspires giving. "For God so loved the world, that he gave..." (John 3:16). And so we give. But it is not enough. We can never love enough. We are vessels, not oil. We run out of resources, but our heart still goes out. We check our pockets: empty. We scour the closet: crumbs. We run to the field: just skies and horizon.

Love teaches us to see the need of others, but there are needs we cannot fill. It teaches us to give, but is, in itself, only part of the gift. It teaches us gratitude for the love we've received, but cannot teach the expression of a full heart: there simply aren't words. We feel our poverty, and it breaks us.

And so we finally run to God.

Here, we again are debtors. Suddenly, there are resources not present before. Suddenly, our hearts expand. Suddenly, the Spirit moves. It is grace, and we are glorious debtors.

Let's live lives of tremendous poverty.

"Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can floods drown it.
If one offered for love all the wealth of his house,
it would be utterly scorned."
Song of Solomon 8:7

First Ice Cream Truck Sighting!

Today I had my first ice cream truck siting of the season. It was almost perfect. Perfect, because the sun was shining, I was walking to the grocery store and the sound came slowly to my consciousness, filtering through the mundane traffic noise and crunching gravel. Almost, because I sadly did not partake in any ice cream.

I tried to. I really did. I was going to get some ice cream on principle. (The principles being 1) I really like ice cream; and 2) It's the least I can do, a token of gratitude that my job does not run to a sound track of "Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro..." To loosely paraphrase JFK, our greatest gratitude belongs to those whose jobs we want the least. Though I can certainly think of worse lots. I just can't think of any reasonable way to endorse septic pumping, and I certainly don't want to be a shareholder.)

In any case, my 'determined trotting' skills were no match for his 'illegal right turn through a pawn shop parking lot' skills. I never caught him. Instead, I watched as he merged then disappeared into the afternoon traffic; sad, but with a quiet new resolve.

Spring is the hope of Summer: ice cream trucks, the sweet heralds.

The hostel experience: Sunday--Church

Sunday began with the satisfying sensation of waking up in a new place. New slants of sunshine, new morning sounds, new.

We packed up quickly, grabbed some bread from the "free bread bin" (donated by an artisan bakery--who are these guys?!! Amazing).

And then we headed out.

Down the street, triathalon participants rounded the corner to cheering crowds. Like viewers of a seamless film, we stood in stillness, watching the celebration.

After winding through countless streets, back-tracking through the sacred stillness of neighborhood Sunday mornings, we arrived at Imago Dei. One of the group members had come across the church while reading Blue like Jazz. It's held at Franklin High School, one of those high schools built at the turn of the century that have become marvellous juxtapositions of old brick and new city. I felt at home.

I wish I could hand you this morning, all the sunlight filtering through old windows, dusting wooden seats with that peculiar glow of well-worn wood, time and life; the banners marking 10 year anniversaries; the soft murmur of community re-uniting.

I laughed aloud (discretely, of course) during announcements. They have devised a brilliant strategy. The first announcer had a thick Scottish brogue; the second, Irish. Absolutely brilliant. Everyone listened.

But what really caught my ear was the sermon. I listened like my soul was speaking. (Maybe listening is how your soul speaks? I'm going to think about that.) In any case, it wasn't a new message. Really, very few things are new. But I listened from a place of resurrection--not new material: new life. New understanding. So a message about transformation resonated.

Communion was beautiful. Long tables along the front and side held bread and wine. People lined the aisles. But what I loved was the community. Couples kneeling at the same spot, prayerful as they shared something sacred and fragile, like love itself. Families stronger as they served Christ's reminders to each other. Nothing sentimental. Nothing canned. Just holy.

We serve a beautiful God, and he gives us good gifts.

A hostel experience: Saturday

This weekend I took my core group to Portland for a hostel experience. I'm rather pleased with the amount of adventure crammed into two short days. Some featured attractions from Saturday:

Saturday Market, including a visit with Martin from Kenya (where three of the girls are going this summer). We learned that he lost his trust in America when someone stole his bike. And that if he ever caught us stealing, we'd probably pee our pants. Also, that he stopped taking people to airports because Americans always cry, because tears are reserved for death and catastrophe in his culture.

Voodoo Doughnuts, where you can purchase an absurd range of creatively named and composed doughnuts. Mmmm. Grape Ape, complete with purple...ummm, something (maybe kool-aid? pixi stix?). Vaguely disquieting, but tasty (the whole experience).

A police stand-off: eerily similar to being in Seattle during the sniper shooting. Complete with taizing; reports of open gun fire; and obnoxious, narrating spectators; but somehow we couldn't leave. The criminals, commanded at multiple gun-points to leave the vehicle one-by-one with arms up and shirts off, were surprisingly dumpy and middle-aged. Perhaps I have been watching too many action sitcoms?

Powells. (there are no words.)

Green Papaya, where we ate amazing, spicy mango salad, which I attempted ineffectively to balance with approximately 5.7 liters of water.

American Apparel, where I tried on these but not these. (Work out shorts?!! Work out what? Your repressed desire to be Paris street mime? Your fear of being killed after dark by low-flying, small aircraft? Whether or not skin needs ventilation? Any other ideas?)

Powells. Again. Because they have a public restroom and I had consumed 5.7 liters of water.

Pizza Schmizza. We volunteered to pick up their left-over pizza, which the hostel gets. Amazing. And they had collections of: paper mache skulls; old keyboards; fun fair rocket cars (full-size); a bat mobile; action figures mounted to the wall with cartoon captions; antique shoe molds. I like collections...and free pizza.

We went to bed content, if somewhat gastrically disturbed.

I got to go to my very first wrecking yard today. It was great. And huge.

I drove way out to Roy (right in the heart of America's #1 county for meth labs!). The attendant told me I didn't have to go back with him to find the part. Silly man. So we waded together through a maze of hundreds and hundreds of cars. Some were mere skeletons of transportation. Others looked considerably better than what I currently drive. But I didn't tell my car that.

It was the attendant's first day on the job, and we were in a land that required an experienced guide. I had the feeling people have entered there never to emerge. I began looking around for Elvis, or at the very least Tupac. At about this time, a cowboy-moustached, mullet-headed sherpa appeared to show the way. It's probably for the best because I was about to bust out my Elvis-Tupac-Amelia Earhart bird call, and I'm not sure the world's ready for it.

We wove through chaotic rows, and then I stood there contentedly, soaking in the atmosphere, enjoying the sound of tools, and only briefly contemplating the possiblity of being mugged-and-stuffed-into-some-old-Corolla-trunk. A shiny "new" tail light and slightly scratched hubcap effectively diverted me from this more sinister turn of thoughts. We were off again, returning victorious hunters.

It's good I left when I did, too. Slowly, the sum total of all the metallic carnage began tallying into the human implications. The realist in me began seeing cars from which no one walked away. With deep gratitude and a free hubcap, I drove away, thinking gently about traveling mercies.

Running in circles

Treadmills are not diagnostic. True, exercise is a great way to burn some steam and get free showers (well, free minus a gym membership). But there's only so much you can learn there.

For instance, I learned that up to 8.5 mph I motivate myself by pretending to be an action heroine or secret agent on one of the many television series that remind us that at any point life might drop us on a surreal tropical island or don a wig to invade some obscure, exotic location. (I like to feel prepared.) I learned that over 8.5 mph is less about the fantasy of survival and more about the real thing. If the world moved that fast, I wouldn't last very long. Like less than a minute.

I learned that if I need to hang on to the little pulse monitor I should probably slow down. It just looks silly. My brother learned that when I run, I look like a duck (I think he's confusing me with my sister). But I've never figured out if I'm running from or to. You probably need a real trail for that.

A topography of faith

Quietly, in the back of my mind, I have been mapping out little pieces of my faith. It feels like a small country. (Or, more amazingly, like a kingdom, since a King has chosen to dwell here. Humbling.) There is much to be said for the wildernesses and green pastures, the borderlands and shorelines, but lately I've been thinking about the gathering places.


There are three main places where I worship: Meeting, Trinity Presbyterian and Mars Hill. These places are cities in my soul. If you walk their streets and know their people, you will have glimpsed my faith. Somewhere between the ancient hymns, gritty worship, urban heart, head coverings, the old stones, cinderblocks and industrial warehouses, you will find communities who have taught me that the church is a people, chosen by God and precious, diverse and beautiful, built on Christ. While visiting, you might pass, resting at the crossroads, a very dusty, well-traveled soul, whose home is not here.

Greet her. Like you, she is a stranger in a strange land.

"They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland....They desire a better country, that is a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them." Hebrews 11:13-16

"Our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecing a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ." Philippians 3:20

I am afraid...*

1. of making some mistake or decision through ignorance, greed or self-will that will lock me into a life of mediocrity.

2. of spiders.

3. of having more dreams than courage.

4. of falling off treadmills because I get distracted and stop running but the track doesn't forget to move because it is a machine.

5. to miss God's will.

6. to do God's will.

7. that my life will be prematurely shortened by the strange food combinations I consume.

8. that my neighbors, upon overhearing the custom ballads with which I serenade my cat, will alert the media and I will be forced into a life of unsolicited fame.

9. of my cat.

10. for the children of parents who use drugs.

11. that this world really is run by money and power.

12. of being too difficult to love.

13. that children will forget how to play. (especially outside)

14. that I will forget how to play.

15. of cheerleaders.

16. for women who live without the protection of rights and freedom.

17. that my heart will become hard, bitter or apathetic.

18. of snorting milk up my nose, and it hurting and then choking and everyone asking if I'm alright, but not being able to answer and everyone looking at me.

*in no particular order

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear" 1 John 4:18