Don't Be Afraid

They followed his instructions, laying on the ground in the classroom.

Then one at a time, he called them to stand. "Are you a Christian?"

My husband says to never show a gun unless you intend to use it.

Twenty-six years old. What could entice him to use the gun he held -- to pull a trigger that sent a bullet thudding into vulnerable flesh -- Christian flesh. The body of Christ. Family.

My sister and brother-in-law drove out of our driveway on Tuesday. Just Tuesday of this last week. After spending four and a half wonderful days visiting. We talked and laughed. We visited and caught up. We talked about family, and God, and being a Christian. We loved on each other. It was special.

And then I watch the news.

Why?

Why, why, and why?

I hear words.

Reeling. Shocked. Anger. Prayer. Heroes. Gun control. Sickened.

There have been 45 school shootings in the United States this year, according to The Independent and the Huffington Post.

Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Matthew 10:27-31

Linking with Kate and the wonderful family at Five Minute Friday 

Better.

Friday - is the day when the gracious Kate Motaung gives us a one-word prompt and we respond. In five minutes. However and with whatever we can -- wherever our thoughts and key-tapping fingers take us. Then we stop.  The prompt today is Same.

Go...

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.

Ephesians 4:29

"You look exactly the same."

It was my cousin's daughter, my first cousin, once removed (I had to look it up - the removed means one generation away - still family - all family...). I remember her with her sister, sitting on what was then my Aunt's front porch steps, their long hair falling all the way down their backs until it curled in ringlets on the peeling-paint, worn wood where we had plunked our summer-tan selves down, to catch a breather from Indiana-farm-swelter. I wondered what it was like to have that wealth of hair, to have the big eyes and the turned-up noses, the straight, wide, white smiles. I was the city cousin, come to visit - my life just as romantic and intriguing to them, as theirs was to me.

"Same smile, same dimples, same eyes - You haven't aged at all..."

How does one argue with that? In these days of feeling not-good-enough, not-pretty-enough, not-young-enough. In these days of resumes, and interviews, and being told that in this state, one doesn't even qualify for that certificate - the very one attained through a framed Master's degree hanging on the wall.

Smile and nod.

Laugh it off with a "thank you." With a sincere thank you.

Tell her how envious you were as a child. How much you wished for that hair, that smile - that all-american cute... Tell her that you can still see the girl on the porch - even though the years have passed. Tell her same-same. And smile.

And then listen well. Because we are together as family and it's been too long. Because catching up goes beyond our looks, and beyond our childhood memories. Beyond our outsides. Because we have gathered and in the gathering are stories. Stories of how we've changed, how we've grown, how we've overcome. Stories of blessings and difficulties, hope and disappointment, and faith. Stories that define us.

So we talked. And we listened. And we laughed. We did all those things that Indiana-family does - played cards, made music with guitars and singing, prepared and ate good food, cleaned up together - we enjoyed. All those things I remembered as a child, visiting, only this time, we were the adults.

Same but not. Better.

Fourteen Things You Should Know About Moving

Lord, you have been our dwelling place

throughout all generations.

Before the mountains were born

or you brought forth the whole world,

from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

Psalm 90:1-2

Don't ask me why I did it, but the other day, I decided to count up how many times I've moved in my life. I made up the rules as I went. Rule #1: I had to actually move either all of my own belongings, or all of the household from one physical address to another (no, moving from room to room inside a house doesn't count, AND, teacher friends, moving from one room to another inside the same school doesn't count either). Rule #2:  I couldn't count the same address twice, even if I moved out then moved back in again.

Grand total? Thirty-three. Yup, I said it. Thirty-three times.

And here's the kicker. Spoiler alert... I am fifty-six years young, so that averages out to a move every 0ne-point-six-nine-seven years (rounded, of course!). However, as you know, statistics can be deceiving. I actually spent 11 years in the same house when we lived in New Jersey, which included all of my elementary school and middle school, and I spent four years at the same address in Phoenix. More about the high school situation following... But, that does something to the true average, doesn't it? If I take away those 15 years, and the two moves, the truer picture is move every one-point-three-three years. No wonder I get antsy after living in the same place for a year or so...

Places? I was born near Chicago. Before I turned two, we moved to New Jersey. My dad was transferred from New Jersey to Arizona with his job in the fall of my freshman year of high school. Honestly, I wish I could count the different high schools as moves, so as a cheat, I'll just try to explain.

See, Phoenix was a rapidly growing city in the 70's and my sister and I are only a year apart. So, common-sensically (new word, get used to it), mom enrolled us both in the not-yet-built high school that was to serve our area. Thunderbird High School. Because the building wasn't yet completed, we were on split sessions with the previous-area high school - Moon Valley High School, the one that was bursting at the seams from the rapid growth of the city. Come to find, my sister, a year older than me, was actually supposed to be a student at Moon Valley. She was part of the last class from our neighborhood to graduate there. AND, come to find, I wasn't really a student of Thunderbird because there was still ANOTHER school to be built. Greenway High School. So, in my freshman year, I attended a school in New Jersey until we moved at the end of September, and was a student of Thunderbird High School on split sessions with Moon Valley students on their campus until April when Thunderbird opened its campus. The following fall, Greenway opened its campus and we settled into being the first class to graduate.

After graduation, I went to Brazil as an exchange student for a year. I arrived and stayed with a wonderful family in Rio de Janeiro for a month of intensive language training (Portuguese), and then flew to a small city in the northeast. Yes, I am counting the stay in Rio. But I won't count it twice - you'll see why in a sec... I lived with a family in Maceio, the capital of the state of Alagoas, for about four months before I was granted the opportunity to move back to my original family in Rio. See, according to Rule #1, I can't count moving back to the same place. However, I moved with this family when they sold their apartment and bought a new one in a nicer area of the city.

At the end of the year, I traveled back to Phoenix (Rule #1), and prepared to go to the University of Arizona in Tucson in the fall. Tucson counts as a move, although I only stayed there one semester. Quite honestly, I felt like I needed to be with my family. So, back to Phoenix - doesn't count. After a semester at home, I was ready to leave the nest again. I enrolled at Arizona State University, and made arrangements to live with my cousin and her husband. By the time I graduated, I had moved with my cousin's family from a small condo to a house. Then I took off on my own, renting a garage apartment, and finally moving into a house with three roommates. Side note - I also changed majors a couple of times. I wonder if I should count intellectual moves, right?

Are you getting bored yet? The count, by the time I graduated college at 23, is ten places, nine moves. After college, were three different apartments in Colorado (and two different jobs). Then I spent five months with my grandmother in Indiana - she had suffered an aortic aneurism and needed live-in help. Why not? Right? OK, so I moved back to Phoenix, staying with my family until I could get my own place. Four jobs and five apartment/houses later, I met and married. In the space of six years, we moved to Illinois, then to Wyoming, then back to Phoenix. By the time we divorced, my daughter was three. The official count stands at 23 places, 22 moves, which includes six states and two countries.

My daughter and I moved into a roommate situation in a condo in Phoenix. I knew I needed to go back to school in order to find a viable career to support us. I found a trailer with a small yard that I could afford, and took out a loan to get my teaching certification. I met my favorite Army guy; we married and I started teaching. In 17 years of teaching, I have changed schools eight times. Fast forward to today, I have had teaching certificates in Arizona, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, and now, New York. Four of them are current.

Before he rejoined the Army, my man and I moved again - this time from Phoenix to Flagstaff. Once into an apartment, the second time, into a trailer. Then the military moves began. We rented a house while he was stationed at Fort Campbell. At Fort Hood, we lived on post for a couple of years, then bought and remodeled a house where we stayed for three years. In Virginia, we were supposed to get housing on post, but circumstances put us on a wait list that would have meant temporary housing for over a month. So we rented a house. Then we bought a house. Then my husband got orders for a change of station to Fort Drum. We are on post here. Grand total, 34 places, 33 moves.

So, what have I learned? What can I share?

1.  Home is not a place, it's a combination of the people you surround yourself with and your attitude. My husband and my daughter are my home. There was a time, during all of the moving around, when I was not a believer. I am now. Thankfully, I also know that Jesus is my home - there is always room in His arms to rest and recharge. He is a faithful guide and companion.

2.  Take it one step at a time. Anything is do-able if you break it up into do-able pieces.

3.  You will always use more boxes than you think you need.

4.  Don't pack book boxes too heavy.

5.  Pack boxes full, so they can stack and not crunch down. Don't skimp on packing paper. You use it to wrap and protect, but you can also crumple it into a ball to fill awkward spaces inside boxes.

6.  Use lots of crumpled paper in dish packs. It keeps them light enough to move, and sturdy enough to stack.

7.  Invest in good packing tape and a sharpie. Label your boxes. Label your boxes. Label your boxes.

8.  I need a view and light. I am not happy in a home without them. It took me awhile to learn this; if I had known earlier, I might have saved my family a few moves.

9.  Surround yourself with familiar and loved scenery. Hang pictures on the walls. I enlarge and frame many of my photos - this doesn't have to be expensive. Look for half-price deals and use poster frames. I have also used the engineer print service to blow up black and white pictures.

10.  Start your church hunting as soon as you arrive. We have been introduced to more good people and good community activities and events through churches then through any other organization (save work...). Visit as many as it takes to find your church home. Stay when you recognize your family.

11.  Keep your medical records, financial records, and vital papers in a safe, transportable file. You don't want to have to hunt through (remember - label those boxes...) boxes to find them.

12.  If your occupation requires state certification (as does teaching), start the process early. Some states take awhile and you can't apply for a job unless the certification is in place.

13.  Keep your sense of humor. I'll never forget moving from Flagstaff to Tennessee. My husband and I had literally thrown all of our household goods into a big U-Haul truck and were hoofing it across country. We couldn't miss the sign for a Toad Suck Park as we drove through Little Rock, Arkansas.... I'm sure there's a good story behind that one. I couldn't figure out if Suck was being used as a noun or a verb, and couldn't keep a graphic picture out of my mind illustrating what was happening to toads in that park. We laugh about it to this day.

14.  No matter where you live, in whatever circumstances, find the beauty around you - even if it's a weed that springs up in glorious color. God's handiwork is amazing. Look at the details. Take pictures.

Bottom line, what's the take away? Moving is considered a major cause of stress. It is important to know what your non-negotiables are. For me, it's a good church, a house with a view and some natural light, and my family. Your family and your spiritual life are your constants. 

We change. Our circumstances change. Our physical homes change. Our jobs change. Our children change. 

God never does. He. Is.

Linking with RaRaLinkup at Katie's Place

Somewhere

And you, son of man, do not be afraid of them or their words. 

Do not be afraid, though briers and thorns are all around you and you live among scorpions. 

Do not be afraid of what they say or be terrified by them, though they are a rebellious people. 

You must speak my words to them, whether they listen or fail to listen, for they are rebellious. 

But you, son of man, listen to what I say to you.

Ezekiel 2:6-8

Somewhere there is a family awaiting the good news of a birth.
Somewhere there is a family mourning the loss of a child.
     Or a mother, father, grandparent
Somewhere two little girls are pinkie-swearing to be best friends forever.
Somewhere there is a little girl, or little boy, being held for the highest bidder.
Somewhere a hymn is raised.
Somewhere a bible is ripped apart and thrown away.
Somewhere, hands are held, all colors, all sizes, all textures, held in sacred prayer.
Somewhere, a man is shaking, from fear, from exhaustion, from anxiety,
     because he's seen too much, done too much, been too much.
     Too much.
Somewhere a lullaby soothes and a mother rocks, and a baby sleeps.
Somewhere a gun is loaded.
Somewhere a church service, a bible study, a worship team meets.
Somewhere worlds collide.

Oh God, help us find common ground. Help us listen. Somewhere.

Linking with 5-Minute Friday

Bloom

...before your hair turns white like an almond tree in bloom...

Ecclesiastes 12:5  (NLT)

I don't ever remember either of my grandmothers without white hair.  Powdery, silvery, cloud-like and soft.  But that's who they were to me in the long ago and faraway of my childhood memories - old and wise, welcoming and sweet.

I have been watching my father's hair go from dark to light as the years pass.  I inherited his dark hair and diligently color the gray out every eights weeks.  I think when errant white becomes common and full, it will be time to accede to this almond tree in bloom.  But not yet.

What a graceful image of aging - before your hair turns white like an almond tree in bloom.  

This spring, my sisters and I were blessed to celebrate my parents' birthdays - 80 and 85, together.  Daddy was the only man invited.  Four generations.  We rented a vacation home on the outskirts of Nashville and spent a weekend of sharing and caring and loving on each other - a weekend of getting to know the toddlers and babies, to reconnect the scattered pieces of living across the country, to get some face to face and skin to skin.

Bloom.  I pray that we will always choose to see the graceful image - like the almond tree in blossom.  I hope that I will bloom as elegantly as my parents.  I pray that these families, my family, your family, will bloom where they're planted, sowing seeds of encouragement, caring, and love in the gardens of their lives and the lives of the people around them.  

I hope you bloom. 

Linking with 5-Minute Friday

#TellHisStory: Children of God

How wonderful, how beautiful, when brothers and sisters get along!

It’s like costly anointing oil flowing down head and beard,

Flowing down Aaron’s beard, flowing down the collar of his priestly robes.

It’s like the dew on Mount Hermon flowing down the slopes of Zion.

Yes, that’s where God commands the blessing, ordains eternal life.

Psalm 133 (The Message)

Imagine David’s world as he wrote out this song of praise.  Shepherd, hero, musician, King.  He was all of these.  But he was also a son, a brother, a father, and a friend.  He lived loud – his successes were famous, as were his failures.  He felt deeply.  When glad, he was exuberant, dancing and singing without a care of any watching.  He bared his heart when he was troubled, crying out for forgiveness and restitution. 

Imagine David, as an older man, maybe even a tired king, looking back on his life and writing about family.  Imagine him watching children at play.  Imagine his memories of a simpler life with his brothers when he was a child.  This is what I see…

“Come on, David, we’re leaving.”  

Nitzevet threw the ends of her scarf over her shoulder impatiently.  Her sons were always scrapping, always into something or other, roughhousing… and David, the youngest, was the worst!  He never backed down from the older, bigger boys.  Even when the teasing and tumbling went beyond play.  He was a wonder, though.  What a sense of humor and spirit of joy.  She and Jesse had finally made the decision that David was to go with the sheep this season.  She had argued that he wasn’t old enough – her husband had countered that she was spoiling him, keeping him home too long.  Hmmph, she thought as she finished packing the leftover bread and olives from noon meal, rolling her eyes at the thought.  Spoiled, indeed.  Her youngest was not rotten fruit!  She smiled, even as she turned to call him again.

David was not as prepared to leave as his mother wanted.  His tunic was muddy again - and his hair… a tangled mass of curls that she knew would take more patience than she had.  Oh well, too late to change; at least he’d arrived at the temple in a presentable state.  Her smile broadened.  Nothing would spoil this holiday.  The trip to the temple, seeing friends and relatives.  Honestly, she had enjoyed the company of women in their separate worship; sometimes she was too surrounded by men.  Nitzevet whispered a quick prayer of thanksgiving for her husband and sons.  She knew she had been blessed with seven sons, but still….

Jesse, Abinadab, and Eliab walked ahead.  It had been a rewarding day and Nitzevet watched as they threaded their way among the groups of people heading back to Bethlehem.  She was proud of her husband and oldest sons.   Talking animatedly, hands in motion, they were greeted with smiles and manly backslapping, and forearm grasping.  They were popular and their opinions were sought after.  Yes, she was proud. 

David and Nathaniel stayed closer.  Not because they weren’t allowed to wander through the throngs, but because they were more intent on fun.  Mischievous boys.  They were finding amusement by subtle parody.  Starting with the caged doves, the boys stepped and cooed, flapping imaginary wings.  Encouraged by the reactions of walkers around them, they had moved from birds, to sheep, to donkeys, and now, people.  Nitzevet considered stepping in, there was the issue of respect that concerned her – but they were managing to walk the fine line between mimicking and mocking.   Even Old Alishab smiled when they slowed their steps and began limping along with him.  It was a gift, to spread joy, and Nitzevet whispered another prayer of thanksgiving.

She was awakened from her reverie by laughter.  Of course, it was her sons.  Again.  They had somehow managed to gather and arrange tunics and robes about David in a manner that recalled the priests at the temple.  Nathaniel was pouring water over David’s head – the way the priests sometimes used the sacred oil.  The water was spilling through his curls and down his face onto the fabric of his tunic.  She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. 

It was a funny sight – David was working to keep his face solemn and holy while the water dripped into his eyes and off the end of his nose.  She could just imagine the sight of the oil in the priest’s beard – the priests her sons were now mimicking.  The priests with the serious expressions and dour behavior.  Even she had, on occasion, in secret contemplation, thought they looked like wrinkled old olives dressed in linens and gold.  Trust those boys of hers to ignore the position of the Levites and enjoy their plight.  Imagine having to stay solemn with oil dripping on your head, through your hair, into your beard and onto your tunic.  Oh dear!  She was sure, by the mixed emotions on the faces of those around her, that she would be chastised about her sons’ behavior. 

Nitzevet thought about the nature of God.  He had to have a sense of humor, too.  Like her boys.  Hadn’t He created them, after all.  Eyes to the heavens, Nitzevet spoke this prayer of thanksgiving out loud, for her family, for her boys, and for the joy that bound them together.  And for God's humor that sustained them.  Then she pulled her shoulders back, straightened her scarf, and called out:

“David, Nathaniel, come.”

I think David mentions the priestly oil of Aaron because he was remembering the fellowship of family – joking and playing with his brothers – through all of the comings and goings of his daily life.  Even through the sacred ceremonies of the temple.  Especially through the sacred ceremonies of the temple.  David was so connected to God that he couldn’t imagine any aspect of his life without Him.  Humor, joy, fellowship were all entwined in his Maker, Creator, and King. 

In the very next lines, David uses the image of dew on Hebron.  I have read that this dew is so abundant, it might as well have been rain.  Abundant family – overflowing into all of God’s people – down the slopes of Zion.  What a precious image – as the Message says – of ‘getting along’.   

It is then, no surprise to me at all, that David closes this psalm by reminding us that this ‘getting along’, this family, is the root of God’s blessing.  He is, after all, our Father.  What a wonderful thing – to be a child of God!

Thank you, Father, for family – physical and spiritual.  Thank you for humor, joy, and fellowship.  Help us to stay close to one another, even in this world of distance. 

Linking with TellHisStory
from the Archives - March 2, 2013