Gifts without Pain

Two months ago I watched, "Spiderman Far From Home" in the theater. Before the movie, a trailer for the movie, "Gemini Man" came on.

In this movie, Will Smith plays an aging hitman who is being targeted by a clone of his younger self. In this brief preview, Smith's character is trying to understand why he is on the hitlist and why he has a 25-year-old clone trying to kill him.

I was not super-intrigued by the movie until one of Smith's colleagues, in trying to explain the clone, says, "He has all of your gifts without your pain."

I have to admit, I've been chewing on this line for two months now.

"He has all your gifts without your pain."

What kind of person would I be without my pain? 

It's easy to look back on life and wonder how things would be different if certain events hadn't taken place. Maybe I'd be able to trust people. Or maybe I would be more confident. Perhaps, without my pain, I would be able to speak my mind and share my insights more freely. Maybe I would finally be able to tell people no - put my foot down when I don't agree. What kind of person would I be without my pain?

Would the "me-without-pain" be someone I would want to be friends with? Work with? Live with?

Is pain a gift or a liability? 

I usually think about my past as being a liability - something that has happened that has made me weak or hurt me to such a degree that I'm considered a used good. But what if my liabilities are actually strengths? Not in the religious view of the more beat down I am the greater God's power can be seen in me - but more of an awareness that the more pain I lean into and let shape me, the more I can empathize with others and the more I am transformed to look and act like Jesus.

Jesus knew pain. Jesus knew loss. Jesus knew suffering.
It is this suffering-Jesus, wrapped up in full-humanity, that I can connect with.

The haunting reality is that the resurrected Jesus showed the scars of the cross to his disciples. Jesus told his disciple Thomas to, "Reach here your finger, and see My hands; and reach here your hand, and put it into My side..." (John 20:27) Could it be Jesus' scars still exist, not to remind us of his pain, but to reassure us of Jesus' ability to understand the pain - an acknowledgment of how his pain has shaped him just like our pain shapes us. Our pain should not become our identity, but it does leave us reminders of the transforming that has gone on in our lives.

Not that any of us would want to voluntarily sign-up for a painful experience, but I have to consider the shaping I have gone through because of my pain, not despite it. I wouldn't trivialize my experiences by calling them "blessings," but I do acknowledge how they have softened my rough edges and given me more compassion and empathy for others.

I remember John Wimber saying never to trust a leader without a limp. Our limp shows our wrestling with our humanity and brings our conscience attention to our fragility and need for a Savior. The 25-year-old clone without a limp, without pain, is not human. It is our pain that bridges our connections with one another and draws us to Jesus. Pain is the equalizer we have all experienced and been shaped by. Does our pain soften us or toughen us? I imagine it would be possible to become cold and calloused to the pain, or we can submit to the pain, letting it wash over us, moving with it like waves in the sea, allowing it to shape us.

Me without my pain? That would be a woman I would not want to meet. 

Good Night, Old House

Such a strange night. I lay on the floor looking up and out the window into the low-hanging coastal clouds lit dimly by the City of Torrance lights. The cool breeze blows through the opened windows as I drift in and out of memories. I should go to sleep, tomorrow will be a big day, but the nostalgic in me can't help but allow my mind space to wander...

Tomorrow is moving day.

My grandparents bought this home in 1955, my dad was three-years-old. This is the place I've celebrated Christmas and Thanksgiving for 43-years and the place I knew I could drop in at any time to find my grandparents. My grandma's favorite color is green, so imagine every rug, curtain, couch in various shades of green. Life at 21905 Evalyn wasn't always easy - my grandparents have known quite a bit of pain. I'd like to say these walls have been filled with laughter and joy, but unfortunately, my experience here has been a mix of a variety of emotions and experiences. Regardless, it has been home-base for my grandparents, 89 and 86, and now it is time to say good-bye to this place. I wonder what my grandparents are thinking?

I struggle finding the right words to help them pack tonight...is there anything I can say to make this easier? I hurt watching them wrestle with their bodies that are turning against them...is there anyway I can help bring dignity and grace to their aging? What do they pack? What should they give away? What memories will need to be shredded? I wonder what my grandparents are thinking?

Such a surreal experience - looking at black-and-white photos of relatives I've never met. I don't know their story or how their story connected to mine. I found a drawer filled with funeral programs from years of friends passed. I wonder what my grandparents are thinking?

The walls are bare - only faded rectangles of memories where pictures, cross-stitches or decorations once hung. Soon, only indentions will be on the carpet - the shadow of lives lived well. The northern wall which kept watch over the piano will soon be empty, leaving whispers of hymns and Beethoven. 

 

"Oh, it's just a house, Connie." So true, just a house. Yet I've learned I'm a person moved by space. "Just a house" to some, but my childhood to me, and a lifetime to my grandparents.

Tomorrow my sister and I will help my grandparents say goodbye to their home, their church, their friends - the only life they've known - and move to Fresno. I imagine they are afraid. I imagine they are uncertain. My dad, brother, uncle and brother-in-law will stay behind loading up the last bit of furniture into the moving truck. 

I lay here and pray for our drive "home." I can't begin to understand what they will be feeling tomorrow. I pray God comforts their grieving hearts and gives my sister and I the words, hugs and encouragement they need to transition well. Before the rush of getting them into the car, I pray they can say good-bye well. I am nervous about our drive, but I know God is faithful - His presence is constant and His love is unwavering. I know He is good and will be with us...I wonder what my grandparents are thinking...

Good night, Old House, and thank you.

Ash Wednesday 2019

I've snuck into Catholic Ash Wednesday services for at least nine years. I recall picking up all three children at their elementary school and remember them being appalled and embarrassed that their mom, who was not Catholic, had gone to an Ash Wednesday service and had a black cross marked across her forehead. 

Perhaps it was John Wimber's admonishion to love the whole Church - the bells and smells - which drew me to Church traditions like Lent and Advent. Perhaps it was my love of nature and her seasons and routines that drew me to the rhythms of our Christian calendar. Or perhaps it was the Spirit drawing me to seasons that stood in the place of mystery and made room for lament and prayer. Whatever the reason, I became captivated then - to my children's chagrin - and have continued to attend services since.

This year, working in a new place, I was delighted to discover North Fresno Church holds an Ash Wednesday service! Such a treat to be part of a beloved service which I normally have just attended! I even got the opportunity to admonish the ashes! Never in a million years did I think I would get the chance to put the sign of the cross in ash on people's foreheads!! It was such an honor (and so much fun!) to minister to people in this way on this beautiful holy day as we make more space for Jesus and take time to reorient our lives toward Him: the author and perfector of our faith.

St. Francis de Sales said, "Lent is the autumn of the spiritual life during which we gather fruit to keep us going for the rest of the year." 

Lent is traditionally a season to give up "something" but it could also be a season to pick-up something. As I've been praying about what I should "do" these next 40-days, I've been stunned by the silence. Oh, I've had a few ideas, but I can tell they're just my own ideas, not necessarily prompted by the Holy Spirit. But I've known God long enough to know He will speak to me at the right time. 

I was in a meeting last week and a pastor friend of mine said that he is giving up fear for Lent. "Giving up fear?" I thought? "Is that an option? Can we give up something intangible, but so powerful like that?" While I don't think 'fear' is quite my thing this season, it did get me thinking. Instead of giving up tangible items like coffee, soda and TV, what powers are at work in my life that are getting a foothold, stealing my fruit and poisoning my vine? 

During one of our stations tonight an idea dropped in my mind. Can I give up busyness? Can I say no to being busy? While it seems vague and impossible to get my hands around, being "too busy" is definitely a power at work in my life trying to destroy me! Perhaps because it seems like such a large monster God is calling me to name it and then slowly cut off it's tentacles that have been creeping into every square-inch of my life.

So, I'm giving up being busy. That's not to say I plan on sitting around the house doing nothing. But to instead intentionally rest. Actually schedule garden-time, walks with friends and perhaps even a silent-retreat day to just escape away with the One whom I love so much. Would fasting from coffee be easier? Probably. But the fruit of 40-days of intentional quiet and slower pace may just reap a harvest of fruit which will feed me for the rest of the year! 

My prayer is that you too use this Lent season as an opportunity to reorient and adjust your life toward Jesus Christ. How has your life gotten off-track, even just so slightly? What can you do (or not do!) to make space for the Spirit to speak to you? God has reached out to us through His Son and made us in right relationship with Him and with others. We've been adopted into His family and have a new inheritance of being His kids, his representatives on this earth! We are loved beyond measure! With this in mind, let us joyously embark on this 40-day journey toward the cross. Let us live with intentionality, making space for times of lament, quiet and reflection. Let us draw closer to Jesus.