an email is sent. please pray for this little boy - he has cancer.
around the world whispered prayers are offered up from
cubicles and kitchen tables,
classrooms and boardrooms.
simple words from strangers.
please don't let him die.
then "forward" and the message continues on.
Showing posts with label Faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Faith. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
original church
I exit Tastebuds tonight, and the sky is clear; the breeze from earlier today settled down for the night. I love this kind of weather. It makes me think of my friend Kyla, and if it weren't almost 10:00 on a weeknight, I might just call her to see if she would want to go for a walk. Few things are better than late-night jaunts under a clear sky, with a good friend, meandering conversation that leaves you feeling as though all is right with the world.
Tonight was poetry night, and I leave the cafe feeling happy. On my drive home, I think that this is what God had in mind when he thought about building his church. This small group of people who are growing friendships and laughing together; sharing food and tea, lemonade, hot chocolate (curiously, no one drinks coffee). People learning to trust each other enough to share secrets, failures and longings, punctuated by peals of laughter. The kind of true laughter that follows a bit of sadness, refreshing like a glass of ice cold lemonade on a hot summer day.
There is nothing, I think, that I could tell this group that would invoke any kind of judgement. I suppose it's easier to share because we're writing and then reading, not talking directly to a round of people, intent on helping you out of whatever mess you (or they) think you're in. I don't share something with the hope that they will have any sort of answers; it's merely a statement of fact - I feel this, I was disappointed in that, these are the things that make me happy, etc.
All too often, we gather in small church groups, well aware of how far from perfect we are, but for some reason we pretend it's not all that bad. Or we share something that we secretly don't think is all that bad, and act like we actually want to change. We may share something once every few weeks, something we're "struggling" with, or working on, but it's probably not the biggest thing on our minds right then.
(Even now, I write using "we" instead of "I" because it seems like less of a confession, and I'm sure these thoughts probably stem from my own lack of participation in other groups.)
Still, I feel a definite contrast when I meet my poetry friends every second Monday.
Not to say that it's all seriousness and sadness. Tonight I wrote about a picture of myself, taken when I was a kid. I'm sitting on the kitchen floor, worn blue jeans, western shirt, and my favorite stuffed toy - a lion that was actually very scratchy and not at all cuddly. I'm smiling. And through my exploratory"first thoughts" writing exercise, I realized that picture is a good representation of me. Smiling. Happy. Comfortable. Not doing terribly much, but quite content just to be.
Here's to small groups, in whatever form they come in - whenever we meet, may there be honesty and openness, peppered with laughter.
Tonight was poetry night, and I leave the cafe feeling happy. On my drive home, I think that this is what God had in mind when he thought about building his church. This small group of people who are growing friendships and laughing together; sharing food and tea, lemonade, hot chocolate (curiously, no one drinks coffee). People learning to trust each other enough to share secrets, failures and longings, punctuated by peals of laughter. The kind of true laughter that follows a bit of sadness, refreshing like a glass of ice cold lemonade on a hot summer day.
There is nothing, I think, that I could tell this group that would invoke any kind of judgement. I suppose it's easier to share because we're writing and then reading, not talking directly to a round of people, intent on helping you out of whatever mess you (or they) think you're in. I don't share something with the hope that they will have any sort of answers; it's merely a statement of fact - I feel this, I was disappointed in that, these are the things that make me happy, etc.
All too often, we gather in small church groups, well aware of how far from perfect we are, but for some reason we pretend it's not all that bad. Or we share something that we secretly don't think is all that bad, and act like we actually want to change. We may share something once every few weeks, something we're "struggling" with, or working on, but it's probably not the biggest thing on our minds right then.
(Even now, I write using "we" instead of "I" because it seems like less of a confession, and I'm sure these thoughts probably stem from my own lack of participation in other groups.)
Still, I feel a definite contrast when I meet my poetry friends every second Monday.
Not to say that it's all seriousness and sadness. Tonight I wrote about a picture of myself, taken when I was a kid. I'm sitting on the kitchen floor, worn blue jeans, western shirt, and my favorite stuffed toy - a lion that was actually very scratchy and not at all cuddly. I'm smiling. And through my exploratory"first thoughts" writing exercise, I realized that picture is a good representation of me. Smiling. Happy. Comfortable. Not doing terribly much, but quite content just to be.
Here's to small groups, in whatever form they come in - whenever we meet, may there be honesty and openness, peppered with laughter.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Grace Awakening
I'm reading about grace right now, in Philip Yancey's book, "What's so Amazing About Grace?", and discovering that EVERYTHING about grace is amazing. From the depth of God's grace to the sheer lack of it in myself.
Particularly when I'm driving. One of my pet peeves is when one lane of traffic is closed off for construction, and there are signs announcing this fact several kilometers in advance, AND STILL people speed along in the soon-to-be-closed lane and expect to be let in at the very last minute. I want to shout at them, "don't you know that YOU'RE the one holding up traffic, because people have to stop and let you in?!? If you'd just get in line like everybody else, we could all get where we're going a lot faster!" My main thought being, you don't deserve to be let in if you don't want to follow the rules. Not too much grace there.
Not when
"...in the realm of grace the word deserve does not even apply." (pg 62)
Hmmm...the word deserve does not even apply. This rails against everything in me. And, I think, most people. We get angry when someone gets less jail time than they deserve for committing a crime. Most people think they deserve to get paid more, or have a big house, fancy car, and exotic vacations. Think about the McDonald's slogan "you deserve a break today." What does that say? You've worked hard - you deserve a rest. Sure, I have no problem with that. I have no problem with people getting what they deserve. It's when they get more or less than they deserve that I start thinking "that's not fair!" (And how should I know what they deserve anyway? But that's a whole different blog...) Kind of like Jesus' parable about the workers who all received the same pay, even though some worked 12 hours and some worked only 1.
"They could not accept that their employer had the right to do what he wanted with his money when it meant paying scoundrels twelve times what they deserved." (pg 63, italics mine.)
But God's grace is not about being fair. It's not about earning his rewards, or deserving anything. It's simply about his wanting to give good gifts to all - even those who don't deserve them (in our eyes). But maybe that's the point. When I read the story, I always think that I'm one of the deserving ones, but maybe I'm not. And if I'm not one of the deserving ones, than I should be humbled and thankful, because I don't deserve what I've been given.
And maybe that's the whole point.
Particularly when I'm driving. One of my pet peeves is when one lane of traffic is closed off for construction, and there are signs announcing this fact several kilometers in advance, AND STILL people speed along in the soon-to-be-closed lane and expect to be let in at the very last minute. I want to shout at them, "don't you know that YOU'RE the one holding up traffic, because people have to stop and let you in?!? If you'd just get in line like everybody else, we could all get where we're going a lot faster!" My main thought being, you don't deserve to be let in if you don't want to follow the rules. Not too much grace there.
Not when
"...in the realm of grace the word deserve does not even apply." (pg 62)
Hmmm...the word deserve does not even apply. This rails against everything in me. And, I think, most people. We get angry when someone gets less jail time than they deserve for committing a crime. Most people think they deserve to get paid more, or have a big house, fancy car, and exotic vacations. Think about the McDonald's slogan "you deserve a break today." What does that say? You've worked hard - you deserve a rest. Sure, I have no problem with that. I have no problem with people getting what they deserve. It's when they get more or less than they deserve that I start thinking "that's not fair!" (And how should I know what they deserve anyway? But that's a whole different blog...) Kind of like Jesus' parable about the workers who all received the same pay, even though some worked 12 hours and some worked only 1.
"They could not accept that their employer had the right to do what he wanted with his money when it meant paying scoundrels twelve times what they deserved." (pg 63, italics mine.)
But God's grace is not about being fair. It's not about earning his rewards, or deserving anything. It's simply about his wanting to give good gifts to all - even those who don't deserve them (in our eyes). But maybe that's the point. When I read the story, I always think that I'm one of the deserving ones, but maybe I'm not. And if I'm not one of the deserving ones, than I should be humbled and thankful, because I don't deserve what I've been given.
And maybe that's the whole point.
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