Kentucky, pt. 1

I haven’t washed my hair since we got back from Kentucky. Beyond simply having hair that doesn’t need washed everyday, I think I haven’t because a small part of me doesn’t want to wash Kentucky away from me entirely. I don’t want my experiences there to be physically washed away from me. The faces and stories linger, more fragrant than the moist stench of Downtown Inn and Suites.

I carry Cody (a 7 year old girl with huge milk chocolate eyes) and Jacob (her brother, 10, who repeatedly told me how pretty I was) with me. I carry my prayers for them like infants because Cody and Jacob are so in need of love and gentleness.

I have never smelled as bad as I did the last day we left their house. The filth of their home, coupled with mildew, cigarette smoke, and urine assailed me each time I crossed their threshold. Sweat trickled down the small of my back as we assembled a new bed for Jacob and I made his bed with new, clean sheets. The three of us later sat on Jacob’s new bed as I asked them if they knew why I was there. Cody looked at me, her sparkling eyes straight into mine. “You really love me,” she said simply. I explained to her that she was exactly right and that even greater than my love was Jesus’ love for her.

We returned to their house once more, later that evening to bring the kids some final special treats. I had promised we would return. As we pulled into their yard, Cody and Jacob flew out of their house. “You didn’t lie! You didn’t lie!” Cody bellowed.

I wondered, as I choked back tears, who had lied to her in the past. I wonder and pray if we did enough. I have hope for those children. I hope more than anything that they will know how much I didn’t lie to them.

Muzzled

I have always believed that God is not in the business of forcing us. I think that truth is pretty well illustrated by the fact that we all know people who have chosen to not believe or who have turned away from their faith. I don't think that the Giver of freedom is big on locking us into a structured, unmoving set of beliefs.

But sometimes other Christians make me feel that way.

Sometimes my brothers and sisters in Christ want me to just say what they want to hear and nothing else. Sometimes there is not room to express my thoughts, doubts, fears, and questions. No one wants to hear them. I will be judged if I say these things out loud. I will be condemned as unfaithful.

I would like for all of us to take a moment to consider all the things we cannot say in church. Now say it. Outloud. Leave a comment, or don't; but just say something. Don't be afraid.

I'll start: I think that what we do matters way more than what we say and I think we talk way too much. I sometimes want to tell people that they don't get to have an opinion if they aren't willing to do the work to fix the problem. And I want to yell at them for being so narrow.

Thinking

I re-read one of my favorite YA books (Seventeen Against the Dealer by Cynthia Voight, in case you wondered) earlier this week and it got me to thinking about thinking. The main character, Dicey, learns by the end of the book that becoming an adult doesn't mean she's finished learning or even that she is off the hook of critical thinking. She's a really straight-forward girl and she has a plan. It isn't immediately obvious to her that she still has to function on a higher mental plane.

Anyway, this all lead me to thinking about us. How often, really, do we think about what we believe, who we are, who God is, how the world works, etc.? I think sometimes we get caught just putting one foot in front of the other without looking at the mechanics. We miss a lot. We ignore the glittering pebbles of the riverbed when we just wade downstream.

I trudged through algebra because my teachers told me it would teach me to think. I'd hate to waste all that fine education on pure mental laziness!

Extravagant

Sometimes it is really easy to forget that people are watching us. And they know we're Christians and they're judging us. It is unpopular to say things like that. But it is true. Check out this story from CNN.

(Image from CNN)

In short, a robber comes in to a store and asks for money. The owner pulls out a gun. While trying to convince the owner to not call the police, the robber reveals that he has no money and is out of food. The owner (a Muslim) gives the thief $40 and a loaf of bread. The robber decides that this Muslim man is so good, he ought to become a Muslim also. He converts.

I wonder how often our extravagant mercy and grace show the world how Christ has changed us. Probably not very often.

I wonder when the last time was that someone could see Jesus' love through me...