We Don't Have to Be Alone

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. 

By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

John 13:34-35 (NIV)

We don't have to be alone.

I'll say it again, we don't have to be alone. Not in the deepest parts of ourselves. Not in our tears, our anger, our sadness. Definitely not in our happiness or our joy.

We don't have to see children playing alone, eating alone, watching and following others with wistful eyes and hands hanging like empty husks.

We don't have to be alone in our burdens, our work, our worries.

We don't have to be alone in our aging -- as ears and eyes grow old and tired, when hearing and seeing, and just plain getting around becomes difficult or impossible. We don't have to be alone.

We don't have to be alone in our intellect. Greater gifts bring greater responsibility, not to isolate in communities of ivory tower idealism and peer-reviewed publications. Not to entitle, but to get real in conversation and problem-solving, to bless in compassion and kindness.

We don't have to be alone in our differences, but can build fellowship in our similarities.

We don't have to be alone.

Linking with FiveMinuteFriday

I Run 4

Keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters. 

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. 

Hebrews 13:1-2

I have been considering this post now for several weeks. I just couldn't put together the words that I thought would do my feelings any justice... I still can't.

So, I'm guilty. I admit that Facebook, social media, and morning news programs probably take up way too much of my time. I'm guilty of clicking on videos and shared posts about the positive and the inspiring. I'm guilty of watching news programs that are typically heavier on social news and viewer interest stories, than on actual hard news. I am perfectly capable of reading the headlines scrolling along the bottom of the screen but I'd rather listen to friendly and encouraging. I'm guilty of thinking there should be balance between tragic and inspirational stories, between mean-ness and bullying and kindness, and between crime and integrity. It's one of the reasons for the title of this blog - Finding Joy in an Ordinary World... I'm guilty of thinking we should look for joy, choose joy, recognize that we might actually be surrounded by joy.

I've been a member of this group for about a year and have been matched with an awesome little 4th grader buddy for about 6 months. This post really doesn't have as much to do with him as it does so many others in the group. See, for a year now, I've been reading over all the great accomplishments by runners and buddies and seeing great runner/buddy relationships develop (including my own). But, I have also seen the posts that always make that lump in my throat and blur my vision a little bit. They're the posts that mention when someone's buddy is suffering or, God forbid, lost their fight. 

Case in point: I Run 4 Michael

This is a non-profit organization founded by a man named Tim Boyle, in 2013. According to the website, http://www.whoirun4.com/, Tim took up running after quitting a 2-pack/day habit. While searching for running motivation (he clocked 15-20 miles per week), he came across and posted this quote to his facebook page: 

I run because I can and when I get tired I remember those who can’t run 

and I run harder for them.

A friend of his happened to read his quote. This particular friend was a 50-year old man with Down syndrome, and bilateral hip displasia. He answered Tim's facebook message:

You can run for me anytime!

With 16 years in the military and 9 years in law enforcement, I used to consider myself a strong person. After the birth of my daughter in 2013, I finally realized how accurate Gary Allen was when he sang, "When tough little boys grow up to be dads, they turn into big babies again". Now, when I see so many children in pain or suffering, I just can not fathom the immeasurable amounts of strength that is demanded of their parents. Every time I see that another buddy has earned their wings (and I hate seeing it), I just don't know how I could even attempt to face another day after the loss of my child. I don't know what I would do if my child was suffering and I was powerless to help her. 

 It's about fostering relationship. It's about motivation. It's about encouragement, and support, and celebrating diversity. It's about health - physical and emotional. Runners/athletes are matched with buddies of all ages, and all disabilities. When they train, they post to their buddy via a closed facebook page. They post pictures; they share special moments and celebrations. Sometimes they send race paraphernalia to their buddy. Buddies and buddy-parents write back - encouraging and supporting, sharing their own milestones and celebrations.

So, this one goes out to all of the parents of buddies. With all of these children suffering in their own ways, I am in admiration and awe of the strength and love that you exude on the good days and, moreover, the bad days. You all amaze and inspire me every.single.day. 

In the short two years since its inception, I Run 4, Inc has over 32,000 members. Over 10,500 'buddy' matches have been made across all 50 states and in 29 different countries. They desperately need more 'buddies' to sign up. Why? Because there is a waiting list of athletes, a waiting list of over 3000 who want to run for someone who can't, who want to develop a relationship with a family, who want to share their joy. Some athletes wait over six months to be matched.

This weekend, I'll run the Spartan Super in Virginia; a course that really beat me down last year. But, I apologize to my buddy, John, because this weekend, I run for his mommy, Tuesday Shannon.                       Quotes from David Paul - 8/18/2015

There were over 200 replies and comments to Mr. Paul after he posted his thoughts on the Facebook page, IRun4Michael. Comments from parents and caregivers who sometimes feel isolated and alone due to circumstances around their child's disability. I understand. Been there. And the kindness and compassion of a stranger brought me to tears. After asking his permission to print his words, I just thought I'd share.

Sierra signed up and was matched with a runner about a month ago. Just one more instance of a world of hope.

Linking with EverydayJesus, Thought-Provoking Thursday, Reflect Linkup

Gentle Lessons of Amazing Grace

Cousin Larry and nephew Tristan - jamming at my parents' 50th wedding anniversary
Summer 2006

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.

Rethink.

What a concept.

Confession time. I can stand on one foot and tell you that purpose drives my choices and decisions. I weigh options and consider consequences. My actions are purposeful. Intentional.

Then, I could hop right on over to the other foot and tell you how indecisive I am. This is the side of me that frustrates my favorite Army guy the most. You know, in the Army, it's all about execution and protocol and standard operating procedures. Decisions are written into the regulations. If A happens, do B. If C happens, do D and E. But there are times, in my world, where there are just too many permutations of a situation. I can't seem to settle on an A or a B.

So I hop. From foot to foot. From purpose to indecision.

Something happened at church yesterday, and it made me rethink one of my decisions. A parenting decision. Something I thought that I'd thought through. (Get that... it's the indecisive foot itching for a stand...)

My extended family is in the midst of sadness surrounding the Stage 5 cancer diagnosis of one of my cousins. I haven't seen this cousin for close to 10 years, but the news hit me like a freight train (I know, tired simile, but that's how it felt). In the 30 plus years since I've moved away from home, through several college adventures and two marriages, through those many, many moves I wrote about a couple of weeks ago (Fourteen Things...), I've missed my cousins and my family. I've missed weddings, and graduations. I've missed cousins' kids, and grandkids. I've missed funerals. I've missed family reunions and old-fashioned get togethers. I've missed card-playing and story-telling, and down-home farm eating. I've missed a lot.

So when I heard that Larry's family is coming to see him - coming from all over the country - to see him, to celebrate him, to pray for him and to strengthen him, to surround him - I decided I needed to go, too. And in the circumstances of now - I actually CAN go.

Which means Sierra and I are going on a road trip. It's a 600 mile-or-so drive. My favorite Army guy suggested, in his straightforward Army way, that perhaps this wouldn't be a good trip for my empathy-savant, daughter with the extra chromosome. Although she is 24, we still don't fully understand how she thinks. How she feels. But we know how she loves. Everyone. It might be too difficult for her, emotionally. He worries about her drama.

I told him it would be fine. This family that we're going to see, they're incredibly blessed musically. I am hoping we will sing, and play, and fellowship, and surround my cousin with joy. I told him I would prepare Sierra. I would emphasize the get-together and glide over the illness. I told him she would be fine.

I should have known that she would worry about the cancer.  She asks how he's doing every morning. She asks if she can pray for him. She tells me she will hold his hand.

Of course!

So after church yesterday, while the congregation was mingling. I caught Sierra in the arms of the Garrison Chaplain's wife. She was crying. I know my face posed more of a question than my words. Dee asked me if she had heard my daughter correctly - her cousin had cancer??

"Yes." I answered. "Larry is actually Sierra's second cousin, but yes." I tried to apologize for Sierra's drama, for the crying and the needy-hug thing, but Dee would have none of it. In fact, in her kind and gentle way, she kind of, sort of, scolded me.

"This young woman feels deeper than most of us are able. She needs to be allowed to feel."

Oh Janet! Rethink. Rethink. Rethink.

The smile probably froze on my face at my realization of the truth she spoke. And I felt tears gather. How in the world had I missed, in my purposeful thinking about the situation, in my concern about Sierra manipulating the people around her, how had I missed that my daughter needed to feel, to mourn, to lament.  Even though she doesn't really know this second cousin of hers, she knows family. She knows me. She knows loss.

The next words from this wise, kindhearted woman as she released my daughter and watched the leader of our praise team pray with her, were:

"And God works through your daughter. She has chosen to be comforted, to share her sorrow, with the two women in this congregation who understand best, two who just lost their Fathers this past week."

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for gentle lessons of amazing grace.
Guide me through this maze of emotion, and then

Help me to guide my daughter through her maze, 

Help me to allow her time and space to grieve

To question

To mourn

And God, help our family to show Larry our love, 

To demonstrate joy

By the holy name of your son

Jesus

Linking with Kelly at RaRaLinkup, Jen at Unite, and Jennifer at TellHisStory

Learn Through Me

It is Five-Minute Friday. A one-word prompt and five minutes to write. Today's prompt is

LEARN

Who is this that obscures my plans with words without knowledge?

Brace yourself like a man; I will question you,

and you shall answer me.

Job 38:2-3

"What did you learn?"

"The sun rises and the sun sets. Between the days, lie the nights, silky and soft, distant stars punctuate the heavens, each rising and setting, rising and setting."

"Any fool know this. What did you learn?"

"Mountains ascend and they fall. Ocean waves travel without wind, soaring in mighty crests and collapsing upon land. Currents glide through the deep, slide through the deep, carve tunnels of change through the deep, stirring the great waters of the world.

An imperceptible shake, an impatient blink. "Not these. These are known. What did you learn?"

"Green things grow, they twine, they stretch, they establish roots into the earth and thus anchored, they reach for the light. Seas swarm with life of all shapes and sizes. Life that swims, that floats, that crawls across the ocean floor. Beasts of the land roam wide plains, cross turbulent rivers, bathe in calm pools and sleep in leafy bowers. Segmented creatures scurry and squirm, spin webs of great beauty, and flutter on jeweled wings. Birds, large and small, fly and soar through the skies, cloaked in satin feathers and warm down. Fur and skin, claw and tooth, antennae, feelers, mandibles, eyes and ears. The earth is filled with such as these."

"And...man? What did you learn of my children?"

Confusion.

"Wars and poverty continue. I have seen pockets of kindness, acts of unselfish love. I feel mankind's jealousy, anger, bitterness. I hear your children's prayers. Their pleading. I hear groaning both in pleasure and pain. They eat and they sleep. Some more and some less. What do you want me to tell you?"

Silence.

"There is nothing new under the sun."

"Then you must look beyond the sun. 

Do not be afraid. 

I am the First and the Last.

I am the Living One; 

I was dead, and now look, 

I am alive for ever and ever! 

And I hold the keys of death and Hades. 

Learn through me."

Ferguson Jones Asks Why

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. 

“Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

He answered, 

“ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart 

and with all your soul 

and with all your strength 

and with all your mind’; 

and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ”

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, 

“And who is my neighbor?”

Luke 10:25-29 (NIV)

The town never slept entirely; a window-screen rattled within its frame. Radio music, slightly static, meandered between the ballpark fence and the Shop-And-Go. Headlights leaked across narrow country lanes, faintly illuminating sentinel rows of corn, sky high and rustling in the darkness of a crescent moon. The light, like a finger pointed in curiosity, nudged a still body, lying awkwardly in the grass by the side of the road leading onto Main Street. It was Ferguson Jones; he was barely conscious.

Ferguson knew he was in trouble, but he couldn't wrap his throbbing head around the how and why. Gingerly allowing his hands to creep from hips to shoulders, to knees, to ankles, he checked the tender spots, the aching places. He felt like he'd been thrown from a truck; everything hurt.

A sliver of red sun thrust up from the hills to the east, rolling back the night like a slow motion film. Ferguson couldn't stand; something was broken; a bone down there, that wouldn't bear his weight.

It would be daylight soon. Someone would help. He lay back down and tried to ignore the pain.

By the time the sun had traveled a thumb's width above the trees, Ferguson had counted five cars. Five cars had passed him by, black and white cruisers coming to check in, gliding like sharks, eyes focused forward toward the day, lethally close and full of power. They never saw the man. If anything, they saw a bundle of rags, a clump of garbage, and it didn't concern them. Ferguson knew the law would not help him.

A red and white pickup truck hauling a wagon piled with hay rattled toward him. Ferguson raised himself up on his elbows and twisted his hips under, wrenching a shoulder with the effort. His eyes threatened rain as surely as the red sun of morning; tears of hope pooled and he blinked rapidly, in time to watch the farmer drive by. If only the man had looked his way. Surely he would have stopped. If only he'd had eyes to see.

A growing knot in Ferguson's stomach competed with pounding pain. The day grew brighter and his circumstances grew more serious. He remembered. License suspended, car impounded, he had hitched a ride into this town. This town where he wasn't known, where his past was not pulled out and paraded in front of him. Just a couple of drinks, he'd thought. Just a couple of laughs. But the ride had turned to nightmare. He remembered the feel of the gun on the back of his head; the passenger in the backseat told him to hand over his wallet, his watch, his valuables.

"Open the door," the man instructed. "Get out."

He could still hear the low chuckle of the driver as he slowed down just enough to push Ferguson against the opened door. He rolled on impact, the sickening thud and crack of his body hitting the pavement drowned the retreating sound of tires and muffler. And then, nothing; he must have passed out.

Ferguson heard the next vehicle rumbling from a distance.  He struggled to make himself more visible to the driver sitting high in the cab of the approaching semi. Managing to sit, he used his arms, waving desperately. With each movement, pain. He saw the driver turn. He felt the driver's eyes on him, looking down from the cab like a judge from on high. Looking down at the fluttering body by the side of the road. No identification. No money. Ferguson didn't have anything to offer for the help he needed, help that was again denied him. Body broken, spirit parched, Ferguson lay back down, defeated.

One more time before the sun stood full in the sky, Ferguson struggled for the compassion of strangers. A church van slowed for a moment, raising his hope again. He couldn't help the angry flip-off he'd thrown when it sped away, kicking gravel in his direction. Satisfaction in seeing the shocked look on the faces of the holier-than-thous struggled with regret when he collapsed, nerves on fire, as a result of  his one-fingered action, his defensive reflex born of a lifetime of self-defeat.

He tried again to stand. Gritting teeth and fisting hands, he rolled onto bloody elbows and pulled torn knees beneath aching hips. His right leg wouldn't hold; he collapsed, exhausted and shaking with the effort. Then he tried to scoot along the shoulder of the road, through the tall grass, stretching his arms out behind to support his torso, and dragging the useless legs. The pain was manageable, and he made small progress. He found it easier to close his eyes, shut the world away, and focus solely on pulling himself down the road.

"Hey, Mister."

With the voice, a change, like feeling the sun go behind a cloud. Ferguson planted his hands in the grass and opened his eyes. Tennis shoes, blue jeans, loose and worn, standing in the light, shadow falling, blanketing him where he sat.

"You look bad, Mister." The voice again, deepish, with a hint of that adolescent break. Young.

Eyes tracking up, Ferguson noted the sag in the pants, the hoodie pulled up, the pocketed hands. He saw eyes the color of compassion, and a face overflowing with kindness, and he wondered. Why him?

"I'm gonna get you to the hospital, you need help. I'm gonna take care of you."

 Why not?

The first question that the Levite and the Priest asked was: 

‘If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?’  

But…the good Samaritan reversed the question: 

‘If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Linking with Thought-Provoking Thursday, Beloved Brews,  Everyday Jesus