Grief

Grief is such a funny, funny thing.

I've thought about it a lot here lately and the conclusion I have come to is this:

It is so very selfish. 

I know, that seems a little harsh.  Maybe too abrupt. 

But the thought occurred to me yesterday while I was driving home, tears streaming down my face.

I lost my good friend Jonathan yesterday.  I knew the day would come - the phone call would come - at some point.  His heart and his lungs would some day give way and the phone call would come.  It came yesterday at 11:51 a.m.  And my heart was grieved because my friend was gone.  Just as I was getting ready to text his mom to see if now was a good time to come to the hospital to visit, my caller ID flashes the name of our pastor, and I knew.  I knew. 

As a thousand thoughts ran through my mind, about how it had to be a Thursday.  Thursday nights for the last year and a half have been spent watching Big Bang and Wipeout with Jonathan.  Of course, it would have to be a Thursday.  I thought about how Myrt and Paul are out of town and they don't know yet.  They'll miss his funeral.  I thought about Tanner, Jonathan's dog, and wondering about how confused he'll be that Jonathan hasn't come home yet.  I thought about James, Jonathan's caregiver, who has devoted ten years of his life to serving Jonathan.  And I thought about Tim and Twyla, Jonathan's parents.  I truly, truly believe that apart from God himself, they are the sole reason Jonathan lived as long as he did.  Thirty-one years is a long time to be living with Muscular Dystrophy.  He far outlived the usual life expectancy for people with this disease.  I have never met more selfless people.

And I thought about how selfish grief is.  I was grieving what I had lost instead of rejoicing in what my friend had gained.   And if there was anything Jonathan was about, he was about others and he was about selflessness.  Not once - not once - in the few short years that I knew him did I ever hear him complain or take pity on himself for being confined to a wheelchair.  I never heard him grumble, I never heard him say "woe is me."  He volunteered his time at the church doing Powerpoint (he literally only had the use of his right thumb, which was enough to let him use his computer and operate his wheelchair), he worked at another church creating and burning audio files of sermons and special events.  He always wanted to know how my family was, how my other friends were, what my boyfriend was up to.   It was always about others.

And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.

Jonathan spent himself on behalf of others, just like Isaiah 58:10 commands us to do.  I cannot be selfish in my grief.  Not that I should disregard the sadness or squelch it or act like everything is a-okay, but that grief should never lose sight of what the ultimate truth is:

Jonathan spent his life on behalf of others because there was a Savior and a King who spent his life on behalf of Jonathan.  That is a life worth rejoicing over.

Know What This Is?

This would be my flight confirmation for my return trip to Kenya.  :)

Columbus to Dallas, Dallas to Dubai, Dubai to Nairobi.  I want to cry at the thought of being on a plane for 16 hours between Dallas and Dubai, but we'll manage somehow.  Either way, I'm headed back!

God's Funny Like That...

Let's just say yesterday was not the greatest of days.  I don't want to use the words "horrible" or "awful" because I feel like it's an insult to those who are legitimately having bad days, like my friends Jon and Alex.  Both have been in the hospital since Wednesday night, independent of one another.  Alex suffered another round of severe Crohn's pain and was staring down the possibility of another surgery.  And Jon - well, some very scary moments when I thought I was going to lose my precious friend.  He is wheelchair-bound due to Muscular Dystrophy and has been quite sick in general here lately, problems breathing and things.  But heart problems popped up on Wednesday, starting with an irregular heartbeat.  It went downhill from there, to the point on Thursday night where he was non-responsive.  And to go into the hospital yesterday to see him, to feel so helpless in the face of something that I could physically do nothing to fix, I wanted to run and hide.  And to look his mom in the eye as she pulled back from a hug, tears streaming down her face, barely whispering, "We almost lost him, Courtney..."  Sometimes the thought is too much.

So me not getting a job that I so desperately wanted, one that I knew I could have done well, seemed an afterthought in the midst of all that my friends were going through.  They were fighting for their next breaths, hoping those moments to be without pain, and here I was crying my eyes out about not getting a job.  Life wasn't making a whole lot of sense yesterday.

After making the rounds at the hospitals, I needed to run some errands to pick up some things on the "to buy" list.  As trivial and meaningless as it seems in the face of what has been happening, I was on a mission to find a pair of skinny jeans.  I don't own a pair and quite frankly, never have cared to own a pair, but for whatever reason, I decided to cave and buy a pair.  So I made a pit-stop at the mall.  I'm looking at jeans and as I'm becoming aware of what's playing over the stereo, I hear the lyrics, "...everything's right, hey, everything's right tonight..."

Of course, God would do something like that.  He plays Matt Wertz, one of my  all-time favorite musicians, in the middle of a crowded mall at the moment when I most needed to know that everything was, in fact, going to be right.

So, not only did I get a pair of skinny jeans (on sale!) out of the deal, I got a gentle reminder from a sovereign God via Matt Wertz:

Everything's right.

Letter FAIL

Part of my job entails processing incoming money.  We received a check from an alumnae group:

The breakdown is below for how we want the scholarships to work:

Dead and Blind Scholarship: $555.60

Houston, we have a problem. I'm pretty sure we were aiming for deaf and blind on that one.

Even The Rocks

There's been a lot of talk about a baby and a manger here lately.  This morning as the pastor talked about that baby named Jesus lying in a manger, for some reason I couldn't escape that man named Jesus who died on the ultimate Christmas tree - the cross.

But before I get to that, it seems there was a lot of commotion when Jesus was born.  Angels singing.  Shepherds worshiping.  Throw in their sheep and other livestock and I imagine the noise level increases a great deal.  Who knows what else added to the cacophony. Safe to say it wasn't a silent night.   

Fast forward thirty or so years.  Jesus is heading into Jerusalem, about to make his triumphal entry on a humble donkey (check out Luke 19:28-44 for the full details).  Lots of noise here, too.   

As he went along, people spread their cloaks on the road.


When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen:

“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

“Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”

“I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”

So He makes his triumphal entry.  The people are going wild and Jesus says he won't silence them.  He won't stop them because even if he does - and he could - the rocks would cry out. 

Fast forward again to that moment when he's hanging on the ultimate Christmas tree.  He has cried out to God, asking why he has been forsaken. A darkness has fallen over the land.  And I can't help but wonder if the people have gone silent.  Because you know what happens when Jesus finally takes his last breath?

"At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split..." (Matthew 27:51)

The rocks cried out.  In that moment, they could no longer be quiet, even when the people were.  Even when those who had sworn they would never leave him, they would follow him always - even when they grew silent - the stones cried out. 

Because there is a God in heaven who will be revered one way or another, whether I choose to worship him or not.  Whether you choose to worship him or not.  He will be worshiped.  He will not be denied what is due Him. 

From the manger to the cross - and everything in between - it is about a God who is sovereign, a God who has said even if you keep quiet, my creation will cry out. 

Yes, Christmas is about a baby in a manger who was born to set us free from death and sin.  Yes, Christmas is about angels proclaiming to a fallen world to not be afraid.  Yes, Christmas is about an unlikely man and woman being called to be the father and mother of a baby boy named Emanuel.  But that baby boy is no good if he remains there, if he remains in that manger, where a few wise men would come from afar to worship him.  I don't need just a baby in a manger.  I need a Savior on a cross whose blood was shed for me.  A Savior who would be buried and rise again in three days.  I need a Savior that demands that the rocks cry out. 

Even when I don't.

Not that that should ever be a justification for my silence, that simply because there will be others who will speak forth the good news, I shouldn't have to.  No.  But it is a firm reminder that I have been given a choice - quiet and stillness or noise and proclamation.  He will be heard one way or another.  But wouldn't I rather be the one proclaiming?  Wouldn't I rather be the one that has the privilege of speaking forth the ultimate Christmas story, a story not only of a baby in a manger, but a man on a cross who was laid in a tomb, rose again, and now sits at the right hand of his Father?

Yes, the rocks will cry out - even if I am silent.

But God, help me to not be silent.

Jumping Photos are the Best

My brothers, sisters-in-law, and nieces & nephews probably all thought I was crazy, but who doesn't love a good jumping photo?  We snapped this one and numerous others, which I then made a collage out of to give to my parents as a Christmas gift.  Some were more successful than others at getting off the ground...

From Rafiki

Is There a Return Policy for This?

Life is always an adventure when you have a dog by your side.  It seems for nearly every season of my life, there has always been a canine companion lounging in the shadows.  First, there was Maggie, a lovely Border Collie who had the most fantastic eyes, one sky blue and one brown.  I loved those eyes.  Then there was Bubbles, ironically enough a Rottweiler mix.  Best dog I have ever had.  My brother found her as a puppy, shivering in a ditch close to our house.  We still had Maggie at that point and we knew our parents were not going to be fans of their children, particularly their pint-size daughter, being owners of what would eventually become a 90-lb Rottweiler. 

So, we hid her in the barn for a few days.  We then conveniently told our parents, "Hey, by the way - we've been hiding a puppy in the barn for a few days.  Can we keep her?  I mean, you can't honestly expect us to get rid of her now!  She likes us."  My parents were kind enough to give in and let us keep her, despite the fact that they still were not thrilled with the idea of a stereotypically aggressive dog hanging around the place.  They made a good choice as she turned out to be one of my very best friends, especially in her older age as she mellowed out.  I thought I spoiled her, but when I left for college, my parents officially claimed her and loved her even more.  We still talk about that dog often.

And now there is Buster.

You should tell just by that transition alone that this is not going to end well.  He actually belongs to my brother, Josh.  As a puppy he was the cutest thing.  But aren't they all when they are puppies?  Then they gain 60-lbs and you question your sanity.  He's part Bulldog, part Boxer, all parts idiot. I swear this dog has no brakes.  He will beat you in a game of chicken every single time.  I can't tell you the number of times he will come flying around a corner, race into the barn, go sliding across the cement because his paws are slippery and because he's too fat to slow himself down, he'll crash into whatever is waiting for him at the end.  He's rammed a few saw horses on a couple of occasions.  Slid into the tractor a time or two.  Hit his nose on the car.

The best incident, however, was when I taught him how to climb up on the kids' swing set we have.  There is a set of faux stone steps on one side that go up into the wooden stand and then the slide goes down the other side.  Well, Buster morphed into a bionic agility dog when he discovered he could he hoist his fat behind up those steps.  I occasionally join him on his escapades up the steps and down the slide.  In hindsight, I realize that is not a brilliant move on my part.  I climbed up the stairs, he followed.  I tried to beat him down the slide.  Not smart.  As I was sitting down on the slide, he realized what I was doing and decided to follow suit.  So I now have a 70-lb dog pretty much perched on my shoulders as I'm heading down the slide.  I hit the bottom of the slide and the ground so hard because Buster slammed into the back of me.  I managed to bruise both knees pretty bad and I just about ate grass.  Of course, my parents are watching all of this unfold from the kitchen window.  Apparently I was the free entertainment for the evening.

Buster's latest endeavors, however, left me with dashed hopes.  He lives outside all of the time - no indoor pets for us - so we do our best to keep him cozy in the winter.   He fares well and we haven't had any problems, but this year I thought I'd see how well he handles wearing a blanket/coat/jacket, whatever you want to call a dog's attire.  He can be a spas-case about things so I wasn't entirely sure how this would go over.  I ventured over to Petsmart and found an X-Large blanket. (The dog's neck is 21-inches round and his gut measures in at 34-inches round.  He's a small tank.)  I bring it home, wrangle it on him and step back.  He makes an attempt or two to reach around to grab it, but quite frankly, the dog is too thick and has zero flexibility so it was to no avail for him to reach the blanket.

Awesome, I thought.  I leave it on him for a few hours, come back to check on him.  Yep, still on there.  So, I leave it on overnight.  Next morning, still there.  This is working out better than I thought.  And let's be honest - he looks good in it.  I think he knows it.

On Sunday, I went to turn him loose, but made the mistake of leaving the blanket on him.  Ten minutes later he comes flying around the corner per his usual hyperactive mode.  With no blanket on.  It's pitch black out so here I am wandering around our yard with a flashlight trying to find this blasted blanket.  No such luck.  I told him he deserved to shiver that night.

I go out the next day when it's light and what do I find?

   












I'm sorry, Petsmart, but do you have a return policy for when your dog is an idiot?

Who Knew...

It's always good to do things a little differently every once in awhile, even the simple things.  Our office normally does a canned food drive every Christmas for the local food pantry.  The results are moderate.  This year, however, we decided to plunge in and spice things up by adding a new dimension to the food drive: a canned food sculpture competition. (Go ahead, make fun all you want. You're just jealous your office didn't think of it first.) 

Yes, you read that correctly - a canned food sculpture competition.  Each department was responsible for designing a holiday-themed sculpture, constructing it within a week.  Staff members would then vote on the best one.  Our small but mighty Administrative Team engineered a snowman out of mixed vegetables, corn, green beans, and peas.  We had to give ourselves a little pat on the back because I think we surprised even ourselves at how much fun we had.  I'm a little biased, but I think our little snowman turned out pretty great (even though we only got one vote).  

The Communications Department engineered what I thought was a sweet fireplace, made primarily out of Ramen Noodles and boxes of cereal.  (They might have influenced quite a few votes by having Tim Horton's donut holes - just sayin'.)  The voting was incredibly close - one vote separated first from second.  The winner ended up being the Member Services Department and their gingerbread house also made out of a lot of Ramen Noodles and cotton balls.

Who knew the usual canned food drive could be oh so much more fun.

 

It Was Not A Silent Night...

It was not a silent night
There was blood on the ground
You could hear a woman cry
In the alleyways that night
On the streets of David's town

And the stable was not clean
And the cobblestones were cold
And little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
Had no mother's hand to hold

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
With every beat of her beautiful heart
It was a labor of love

Noble Joseph at her side
Callused hands and weary eyes
There were no midwives to be found
In the streets of David's town
In the middle of the night

So he held her and he prayed
Shafts of moonlight on his face
But the baby in her womb
He was the maker of the moon
He was the Author of the faith
That could make the mountains move

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
With every beat of her beautiful heart
It was a labor of love

For little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
It was a labor of love

-"Labor of Love," Andrew Peterson, performed by Jill Phillips