1 lb macaroni
14 oz white wine, divided
6 oz chicken stock
8 oz smoked gruyere, shredded
16 oz brie, rind removed, cubed
3 Tbsp corn starch
1 Tbsp dried thyme, or 3 Tbsp fresh
7 oz dried figs, coarsely chopped
4 oz sliced shiitake mushrooms
6 oz sliced cremini mushrooms
2 Tbsp butter
8 oz diced ham
Cook macaroni until al dente. Drain and set aside.
Combine figs with 8 oz white wine and cover. Set aside and allow to macerate until ready to use. I had a full day of shopping, so mine were hanging out on the counter for 8 hours.
Toss cheeses with corn starch and set aside.
Combine chicken stock and remaining 6 oz wine in a medium saucepan. Add thyme. Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Slowly incorporate cheeses, melting completely before each new addition.
In the meantime, melt 1/2 the butter in a medium skillet over medium heat. Cook 1/2 the mushrooms until lightly browned. Repeat with remaining mushrooms.
Pour figs and remaining wine into the same saucepan and cook down until wine has evaporated.
Mix macaroni, ham, figs, mushrooms, and cheese sauce. Pour into 9 x 13 baking dish and cover with foil.
Put in cold over. Set temperature to 375*. Once over reaches 375*, bake for 40 minutes.
Serve hot.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Humiliations Galore
Oh, epic fail!
It all started earlier this week, when I asked this incredibly attractive man if he'd like to go on a date with me.
This seemed simple enough. I was clear that this was totally casual. I'm not looking for someone to be my boyfriend (what are we, twelve?), but just a casual date. Are you interested.
This begs the question, however, of what casual means.
I LOVE this question. Genuinely. It delighted me that this was the response I got. Define the parameters.
I love this question because it is precisely the kind of response I would give. In fact, it's precisely the kind of response I gave many years ago.
At 26, having never really kissed a man, and on my way home from a holiday party with a friend, as we strolled the streets of Brooklyn to the nearest subway stop, we happened upon a couple of men, of similar age, and my friend being the not-so-shy and very persuasive type convinced them to kiss us. To those of you who know me, yes, I am actually quite shy in some regards. Her level of forwardness shocked and horrified even me.
But, there we were, and they consented, so she kissed one and sent the other to me, and he said, "Okay, let's kiss...." And I said, "Define the parameters."
Actually, I asked, "How long will the kiss last? Open mouth or closed? With or without tongue?" His response was, "Let's just go for it and see." Not a good response in my mind. I wanted to know what to expect.
So, fast forward to four days ago, and I asked, "Would you like to go on a date?" and his response was, "Define the parameters," and my response was to do just that.
I've heard nothing since. Which is fine. It's either yes or no, and regardless, I'm okay with it. I took a chance, and regardless of how he answers, though I would prefer he say "yes," I'm proud of myself for doing something bold.
Then, today. Epic fail. Oh, epic fail.
I've been concerned, as this is a man I see on occasion out and about in life, that there might be awkwardness, especially if he wasn't interested.
So, when I saw him in passing this morning, and he made eye contact and kind of smiled, I smiled back and gave a small wave.
And being distracted, total klutz that I am, I wiped out. Stumbled over my own two feet and barely kept myself from falling flat on my face. I caught myself to be sure, managing to strategically place my hands on a desk to prevent a full on face-plant, and my shoulder has been sore ever since. Right there in front of this gorgeous man, God, and everybody in the area, I make a complete idiot of myself. Much to the delight of those directly around me who rather enjoyed it and laughed with gusto.
Humiliations galore.
I have no idea if this experience of witnessing my klutziness and proof that I really do need hazard cones permanently affixed to my hamster ball of personal space is working for or against me in this situation.
What I do know is that I chose to ask a kind, decent, genuine man if he'd like to participate with me in a social engagement in a public arena, and I'm waiting (patiently?) for his answer. I truly hope he says yes. I will understand if he says no.
No matter what, I know that I have the ability to choose to act out of a place of hope and grace and joy, rather than fear and pain and brokenness. I figure knowing this about myself, yes or no, I've already gotten more out of this experience than I ever dreamed possible. That is a beautiful thing.
It all started earlier this week, when I asked this incredibly attractive man if he'd like to go on a date with me.
This seemed simple enough. I was clear that this was totally casual. I'm not looking for someone to be my boyfriend (what are we, twelve?), but just a casual date. Are you interested.
This begs the question, however, of what casual means.
I LOVE this question. Genuinely. It delighted me that this was the response I got. Define the parameters.
I love this question because it is precisely the kind of response I would give. In fact, it's precisely the kind of response I gave many years ago.
At 26, having never really kissed a man, and on my way home from a holiday party with a friend, as we strolled the streets of Brooklyn to the nearest subway stop, we happened upon a couple of men, of similar age, and my friend being the not-so-shy and very persuasive type convinced them to kiss us. To those of you who know me, yes, I am actually quite shy in some regards. Her level of forwardness shocked and horrified even me.
But, there we were, and they consented, so she kissed one and sent the other to me, and he said, "Okay, let's kiss...." And I said, "Define the parameters."
Actually, I asked, "How long will the kiss last? Open mouth or closed? With or without tongue?" His response was, "Let's just go for it and see." Not a good response in my mind. I wanted to know what to expect.
So, fast forward to four days ago, and I asked, "Would you like to go on a date?" and his response was, "Define the parameters," and my response was to do just that.
I've heard nothing since. Which is fine. It's either yes or no, and regardless, I'm okay with it. I took a chance, and regardless of how he answers, though I would prefer he say "yes," I'm proud of myself for doing something bold.
Then, today. Epic fail. Oh, epic fail.
I've been concerned, as this is a man I see on occasion out and about in life, that there might be awkwardness, especially if he wasn't interested.
So, when I saw him in passing this morning, and he made eye contact and kind of smiled, I smiled back and gave a small wave.
And being distracted, total klutz that I am, I wiped out. Stumbled over my own two feet and barely kept myself from falling flat on my face. I caught myself to be sure, managing to strategically place my hands on a desk to prevent a full on face-plant, and my shoulder has been sore ever since. Right there in front of this gorgeous man, God, and everybody in the area, I make a complete idiot of myself. Much to the delight of those directly around me who rather enjoyed it and laughed with gusto.
Humiliations galore.
I have no idea if this experience of witnessing my klutziness and proof that I really do need hazard cones permanently affixed to my hamster ball of personal space is working for or against me in this situation.
What I do know is that I chose to ask a kind, decent, genuine man if he'd like to participate with me in a social engagement in a public arena, and I'm waiting (patiently?) for his answer. I truly hope he says yes. I will understand if he says no.
No matter what, I know that I have the ability to choose to act out of a place of hope and grace and joy, rather than fear and pain and brokenness. I figure knowing this about myself, yes or no, I've already gotten more out of this experience than I ever dreamed possible. That is a beautiful thing.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
The Long Expected Messiah?
It is Reign of Christ Sunday, the final Sunday in the church calender. This is the Sunday in which we celebrate the glorious kingship of Jesus. This is the week in which we acknowledge and celebrate his position in our lives as the ultimate authority, the ruler of all, the first and last, the king of kings, and lord of lords.
This is not the celebration anyone in first century Palestine was expecting. For millennia, the Jews have been waiting for, praying for, searching for, striving for the Messiah. The Anointed One. Their savior. They have been awaiting the arrival of the Son of God. And almost no one recognized him when he came.
Since the time of Exodus, the Jews have been under the rule of one group or another more often than they have been independent. The Egyptians, the Assyrians, the Babylonians, and finally the Romans. The last, which began in 63BCE, also began the time known as Pax Romana, or Roman Peace.
Pax Romana was, indeed, a time of relative peace, with few wars between Rome and her neighbors. Within the Roman empire, however, peace came at a significant cost. Peace in Rome came only through the complete and utter submisision to the empire, and to the emperor himself, Caesar. And Caesar was understood to be the Son of God. Caesar who was to be revered and worshipped. Caesar who was not Jewish. Caesar who demanded oppressive taxes from his citizens, including the Jews, and who would use the full might of his substantial army to get what he wanted.
The realities of Pax Romana for the Jewish people were clear: assimilate, sumbit, or die.
It is in this context that Jesus appears on the scene. Jesus gathers around himself a ragtag group of 12 men who follow him as he travels around the countryside, healing people, casting out demons, shaming the Jewish authorities, and poking Rome in the eye.
Jesus eats with prostitutes and tax collectors, clearly defying Jewish purity codes.
Jesus overturn the money tables at the Temple, threatening a potential uprising against the Roman government.
At the end of the day, only one person, Peter, recognizes Jesus for who he is: You are Christ, the Messiah.
And Peter totally misses the point. When he tells Jesus, "You are the Christ," what he is saying is this: You are the one who will deliver us from Roman oppression and lead us into our golden age of self-determination. You are the one who will overthrow our enemies.
At the end of three years, we find Jesus standing before Pontius Pilate, charged with sedition, and he is being questioned. "Are you the King of the Jews?"
Jesus does not answer this question initially. Instead, Jesus poses his own question: Does Pilate question Jesus's kingship on his own, or have others prompted this trial? In other words, "Do you accuse me of sedition because you believe I have attempted to overthrow your rule, or have others provided testimony against me?"
Pilate then explains that he is not a Jew, and as such, if Jesus is their king, he would have no first hand knowledge of it. Rather, we learn that the chief priests--the spiritual authorities among the Jewish people--have handed Jesus over to Pilate. Pilate asks him, "What have you done?"
Here is Jesus, standing before Pilate, being tried for sedition, utterly alone. His own ethnic group has turned on him, the Jewish authorities have handed him over, one of his disciples has betrayed him, turning him over the chief priests and their Roman counterparts, and the remainder of his disciples have abandoned him. Is this the picture of a king?
Kings and kingdoms of this world, in first century Palestine to be sure and in much of the world today, are ruled using fear, intimidation, and lies. Disloyalty and betrayal are rampant. These kingdoms are based upon the enslavement of many for the protections and increase of the wealth, power, and freedoms of the few. "Like thorns," David declares in 2 Samuel, "these kingdoms cannot be touched--they are dealt with violently, with the sword or spear, and they are burned beyond recognition."
Is Jesus, one who preaches that those who are favored in God's kingdom are the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, and the peacemakers. Make no mistake: Pax Romana is not included in the category of "peacemakers."
Jesus tells Pilate that his kingdom is not from this world, and this is the reason he stands before Pilate alone. It has nothing to do with his twelve closest being traitors and cowards. It has nothing to do with the failure of the thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people Jesus has fed, taught, and healed to show up and witness for Jesus before Pilate.
Rather, it is because Jesus is not the ruler of a kingdom here on earth. His kingdom is in heaven. Yes, he is a king. And his kingdom is not for the Jews, or the Romans, or any one people group. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to Jesus's voice. Everyone has the right and opportunity to join this kingdom.
And what does Jesus's kingdom look like? It is based in truth and faithfulness. It is kingdom in which people are free from the oppression of sin. It is like the light of the morning. Those who are part of this kingdom respect God who rules justly through Jesus.
Make no mistake. Jesus is a king, and we are citizens of his kingdom.
What does it mean to be a citizen of Christ's kingdom, which is not of this world? How does Jesus's kingdom there engage or interact with our lives here?
We are ambassadors for Christ. Wherever we go, we take his truth and reality with us. We bring the kingdom of God from there to here. We act in the now, while anticipating and engaging the not yet.
Do we believe that we are citizens of heaven? Do we believe that God is in control? Do we act in accordance with this? Do we act in truth and faithfulness? Do we experience freedom in our daily lives? Because these are the promises we are given by our king, Jesus. And as we anxiously await his return, we can rejoice in Christ's faithful witness. We can rejoice that he loves us and has freed us from sin. We can rejoice that he has made us to be a kingdom.
Jesus is the Alpha and Omega, the first and the last. To him be the glory forever.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Gingerbread Caramels
As you know, I love to cook. And I love to feed people. I do not have the time or the audience that I had when I was in grad school. As such, I have to make the most of the opportunities I do have. Since this is a four day weekend, and I finished work four hours early today, I decided to get started on my holiday care packages.
I have an out-of-town trip for work next week, and decided to bring some blessings to my friends to the north!
This is just an altered version of my basic caramels, but heavenly:
2 cups sugar
2 cups light corn syrup
1 cup unsalted butter
1 cup half-and-half
1 cup heavy cream
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon (I use Vietnamese cinnamon)
3/4 tsp ground ginger
3/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp ground cloves
Line a 9 x 13 inch cake pan with parchment paper, ensuring that the bottom and sides of the pan are covered.
Combine sugar, corn syrup, butter, half-and-half, salt, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves in 5 qt saucepan and attach a candy thermometer.
Cook over medium-high heat stirring occasionally until mixture reaches 245*F.
Remove from heat. Slowly stir in heavy cream. Completely incorporate cream.
Return to heat and cook over medium until mixture reaches 245*F again.
Remove from heat and stir in vanilla extract.
Immediately pour into prepared pan.
Cool 2 hours. Cover with plastic wrap and finish cooling overnight.
Cut into 1/2 x 3/4 inch rectangle and wrap in squares of waxed paper.
I have an out-of-town trip for work next week, and decided to bring some blessings to my friends to the north!
This is just an altered version of my basic caramels, but heavenly:
2 cups sugar
2 cups light corn syrup
1 cup unsalted butter
1 cup half-and-half
1 cup heavy cream
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon (I use Vietnamese cinnamon)
3/4 tsp ground ginger
3/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp ground cloves
Line a 9 x 13 inch cake pan with parchment paper, ensuring that the bottom and sides of the pan are covered.
Combine sugar, corn syrup, butter, half-and-half, salt, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves in 5 qt saucepan and attach a candy thermometer.
Cook over medium-high heat stirring occasionally until mixture reaches 245*F.
Remove from heat. Slowly stir in heavy cream. Completely incorporate cream.
Return to heat and cook over medium until mixture reaches 245*F again.
Remove from heat and stir in vanilla extract.
Immediately pour into prepared pan.
Cool 2 hours. Cover with plastic wrap and finish cooling overnight.
Cut into 1/2 x 3/4 inch rectangle and wrap in squares of waxed paper.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
An Ode to Mom Jeans
Every once in awhile, one might find a snarky gossip column abusing women for their decision to wear high-waisted mom jeans. They refer to it as a fashion faux-pas. They write that it's not fashionable. They tell us that women need to wear lower waisted jeans for a more flattering appearance. Jessica Simpson is oft on the receiving end of such critiques.
Well, I'm here to disabuse you of the notion that high-waisted mom jeans serve no real function in the world of fashion.
High-waisted mom jeans are not now, nor have they ever been, nor will they ever be a fashion statement, positive, negative, or neutral.
High-waisted mom jeans are a vital containment devise for fat girls, a necessary vessel for keeping our fat rolls in check.
I know this because I am a fat girl.
I am once again a slightly thinner fat girl. And I once again fit into my slightly thinner fat girl jeans.
As a fat girl, and not just an average fat girl, but at 5'10" a really tall, really fat fat girl, I know the importance of these jeans.
Having lost a pant size, I have been presented with two options: purchase a belt or rifle through my wardrobe for smaller pants.
I went with the second.
I found three pair of wearable pants. After a week, two pair were in the laundry, and I was left with one option: bright red, low(er) waisted jeans with gold thread embroidery on the back (zippered) pockets. These pants make a fashion statement.
That statement is this: The last time I was a slightly thinner fat girl and unemployed, I desperately needed a pair of pants and these were on sale for $5.00.
That these pants sit lower on my hips than my traditional jeans is what sparked this blog. Because as a tall girl with a long torso, it's difficult to find shirts that cover the gap betwixt the hem and waistband. Let's be honest, people neither need nor want to see my jiggly fat rolls!
The single best method for keeping these jiggly rolls in line: high-waisted mom jeans. Every fat roll that falls below my waist is safely ensconced within my jeans. Thus, they are neither jiggly nor visible to the rest of the world. High-waisted mom jeans are worn as a favor to the world!
So, the next time you see a woman wearing this article of clothing, consider not whether it is trendy and fashionable. Rather, be grateful that she has chosen to contain the jiggle, to keep the rolls in check, and to hide that extra wide expanse of flesh betwixt hem and waistband that no one needs to see anyway.
Well, I'm here to disabuse you of the notion that high-waisted mom jeans serve no real function in the world of fashion.
High-waisted mom jeans are not now, nor have they ever been, nor will they ever be a fashion statement, positive, negative, or neutral.
High-waisted mom jeans are a vital containment devise for fat girls, a necessary vessel for keeping our fat rolls in check.
I know this because I am a fat girl.
I am once again a slightly thinner fat girl. And I once again fit into my slightly thinner fat girl jeans.
As a fat girl, and not just an average fat girl, but at 5'10" a really tall, really fat fat girl, I know the importance of these jeans.
Having lost a pant size, I have been presented with two options: purchase a belt or rifle through my wardrobe for smaller pants.
I went with the second.
I found three pair of wearable pants. After a week, two pair were in the laundry, and I was left with one option: bright red, low(er) waisted jeans with gold thread embroidery on the back (zippered) pockets. These pants make a fashion statement.
That statement is this: The last time I was a slightly thinner fat girl and unemployed, I desperately needed a pair of pants and these were on sale for $5.00.
That these pants sit lower on my hips than my traditional jeans is what sparked this blog. Because as a tall girl with a long torso, it's difficult to find shirts that cover the gap betwixt the hem and waistband. Let's be honest, people neither need nor want to see my jiggly fat rolls!
The single best method for keeping these jiggly rolls in line: high-waisted mom jeans. Every fat roll that falls below my waist is safely ensconced within my jeans. Thus, they are neither jiggly nor visible to the rest of the world. High-waisted mom jeans are worn as a favor to the world!
So, the next time you see a woman wearing this article of clothing, consider not whether it is trendy and fashionable. Rather, be grateful that she has chosen to contain the jiggle, to keep the rolls in check, and to hide that extra wide expanse of flesh betwixt hem and waistband that no one needs to see anyway.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Two Down and Counting
It seems as though I am losing friends at an alarming rate.
Last month, I lost my dog, an incredibly traumatic experience. A couple of weeks later, I lost a dear friend, a thoroughly confusing experience.
A week ago, I lost a family member.
A few days later, I faced the potential of losing my sense of security and well-being at work.
In the midst of all of this, I've been struggling with the effects of PTSD.
And so it was, that when looking at the only situation in which the outcome was not yet determined, I uttered (or rather typed) a very simple prayer.
My status update on Facebook was simply this:
"Dear Jesus,
If you truly love me, please do not let the big, bad, terrible, awful happen.
Sincerely,
Me"
What followed was a theological cluster-fuck, some of it hostile, most of it incredibly supportive.
The responses went something like this:
1) A menstruation joke from my sister
2) My reply to her that I enjoy menstruating
The rest, I will not paraphrase, but post in whole:
3) [From a seminary colleague] "I don't think Jesus is partial to one person's prayer and not another. There are a lot of people whose houses are gone, who are in the cold, who lost everything in the hurricane. And if children still get cancer, then I'm sorry MB, your prayer just aint (sic) gonna cut it. But I have to believe that Jesus truly loves them and you too."
4) [My response and final post concerning this] " I do not believe that there is anything wrong with petitionary prayer, nor is there anything wrong with questioning the divine or divine love. It is, however, extraordinarily cruel to denigrate or invalidate another's experience or tell them that their prayers are in any way insufficient."
5) [Same seminary colleague from comment 3] "I did not denigrate or invalidate you, MB. But I do have an issue with prayers that assume that God is in one person's corner, and not in another person's corner; that God somehow gives me preferential treatment, because 'I'm a believer and God loves me;' like the movement in the 80's (sic) of being a "King's Kid" and how that helped "Christians" get good parking spaces. I have heard an evangelist say that a person's cancer did not go away because they didn't "have enough faith." That is a horrible twisting of God's message and it turns God into a facetious, conditional gigolo instead of an unconditional lover of all creation."
This is the point at which I stopped engaging the conversation. In large part because I'm having a hard time and I have no interest in defending my prayers.
To a lesser extent, I just didn't want to get into a theological or semantic cluster-fuck on Facebook. First point being, I never indicated that I had been denigrated or invalidated, but that my feelings had been, in that my seminary colleague compared my (unknown to her) experience to those who lost much or all of their material possessions in the hurricane and children who are stricken with cancer.
Secondly, I never asked God to favor me over anyone else. I never asked God to stand in my corner and grant me anything over another person. I simply asked that something truly awful not come to pass.
Thirdly, I'm not an evangelist, and I'm not Evangelical. I've never claimed that anyone is beyond the love of God. I've never claimed that God does not answer prayers because people lack faith, and I've never claimed that unanswered prayers for healing and restoration, and thus that sickness, injury, and death are God's will.
All I did was express my fear, frustration, and hopes in a very simple prayer. For very specific reasons, I could not go into detail about the issue I was struggling with in a public forum. However, I was confident that those friends who read my post would offer their own prayers or even reach out to me personally in the event that I could share more with them privately. It was never my intention to ignite a battle on social media.
But, alas, a battle did ensue.
And it seems that everyone else was in my corner.
6) [My sister--I'm so grateful for her!] "Wow, P. I'm shocked. I was taught that Jesus loves everyone regardless of their stature, age, race,etc. Just because one person is going through something doesn't make it any better or less than another person's struggles. God hears all our prayers no matter how big or small, how great or insignificant and he acts in accordance for what each individual needs. MB, your prayer makes the grade."
I'm so proud of my sister's ability to clearly articulate these most basic sociological and theological points!
7) [My sister again] " Tonight, I'm going to pray to God for the guidance for others to have open minds and open hearts."
8) [Aforementioned seminary colleague] "Wow, R, I'm stunned and so disappointed. I was taught that God is not a vending machine or a puppeteer, but I guess i'm (sic) wrong. ... Jesus, if you love me, please let me win the lottery..... Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz..... Jesus, don't let my aunt die today.... Jesus please do this, Jesus please do that ..... Jesus please heal those poor sinners of homosexuality..... And we know you will grant our prayers 'in accordance with our needs." The great cover phrase that gives you a way out if 'you don't get what you pray for." And I'm sure that tomorrow, everyone will have open hearts and mind, because R prayed for it. Amen."
How the hell did this devolve into a discussion of prayers for wealth and status? How did this become a debate on homosexuality? At what point did this suddenly become an all-out war over the theology of prayer?
I expressed a need, a heartfelt desire. I acknowledged a fear. My (unstated) preference in this prayer, was that I would not be forced into a situation in which I would regularly be subjected to emotional abuse and bullying by a superior I have no immediate hope of escaping because of economic necessity. Suddenly my crisis has become a circus. Suddenly a single petitionary prayer has become the platform for lambasting the types of petitionary prayer that some people find offensive. How the fuck did that happen?
9) [My sister, with a level of snarkiness that may not be fully appreciated outside our immediate family] "Oh the maturity and wisdom of the elderly truly shines through......."
10) [A second seminary colleague] "Fortunately, Jesus doesn't seem to need anyone to screen his calls, or sort his mail."
This may well be one of the best responses I've ever read. Witty, clever, and hits home the point. Thank you, LD!
11) [My sister's final comment] "Thank you, LD. A family member passed away earlier this week and while that isn't the issue at hand, I'm sure the event and the upcoming funeral are weighing upon her greatly and causing added stress."
12) [Second seminary colleague again] "Praying for you and your family tonight, MB! Philippians 4:6."
Love and support in the midst of circumstances that are very trying for me.
13) [A very dear college friend] "
I usually pray for the same M, without the "if you" and a "and if it still happens, give me strength to cope with it" added on to the end.
I hope you are doing ok!
Love and miss ya! Looking forward to when we can hangout again!
Sorry for adding my 2 cents but...
@above Tough Love lady: I believe that it is the truth that "God does not see as we see nor think as we think" So we really can't make such statements. Nor does this prayer ask for favor over another. It is a simple prayer much like Jesus in the last days (paraphrase) "If possible let this burden pass from me" just humans crying out to God in our hearts sadness. There will always be someone with a more difficult trial to face, but it does not lessen the ones "we" face at the moment. I hope you can be a bit kinder with your advice to my dear friend."
I understand that it may have been my "If you" statement that ruffled feathers. The simple fact is, though, that I included it because, you know, I'm human. I'm not perfect. Sometimes, my emotions do no match up with my thoughts or intellect.
14) [A work colleague] "M, I hope that what ever it is that is terrible will not happen or will pass very quickly. The great thing about Jesus and God is that They love us all and do so equally. I know that you know this. Do not let the judgement, hate, and/or bitterness of others sway you. I will be thinking of you and, if you would like to talk (or even vent while I just listen) you know where to find me. In the meantime, chin up, you're strong and I know that regardless of what it is, you'll pull through."
(Yeah, I've got some pretty rock star friends and family).
Sometimes, I fear I might be wrong in what I believe. Sometimes--when things get difficult, when life is hard, when tragedy strikes--despite all of my brains, all of my training, all of my education, all of my stringently held beliefs, all of my faith--which I actively choose--sometimes, I actually doubt God's love for me. Not because I didn't win the lottery, not because I don't drive a Mercedes-Benz, not because a loved one died.
Sometimes, I doubt God's love for me, because I've been conditioned by our society to believe that only certain types of people are worthy and deserving of love; and I don't fit the mold. I'm too fat. I'm too smart. I'm too female. I'm not feminine enough. I'm too bold. I'm too loud. I'm not perfect.
I've been told by the church most of my life that God rewards those who are good and punishes those who are bad.
When tragedy strikes in the wake of some unrelated mistake I've made, sometimes I struggle against a deep-seated belief that God is punishing me.
When I'm struggling to maintain my sense of safety during a episode of PTSD, despite having a home and a bed and material possessions, when the reality is that I do not have safe places but safe people, and when all of my safe people are hundreds or thousands of miles away, and I'm faced with the possibility of being forced into a situation that I experience as having potential to be incredibly dangerous to me personally, I question whether God loves me, and I wonder if I've done something wrong to warrant such a change in my circumstances.
I'm human. I'm far from perfect. I have weaknesses, fears, doubts, and insecurities.
People tell me how strong and capable I am. But I'm only strong because I've had to be. I'm capable because circumstances dictated that I become so to survive.
But some days, I'm just tired, and weary, and I don't want to have to be strong anymore. I don't want to have to be capable of bearing up under one more virtually untenable situation.
In those moments, I acknowledge that I fear I am not loved by God, and I plead that if such a situation might be thwarted, it would be.
In those moments, when my family and friends gather round me to defend me and my simple prayer of petition and hope, I feel buoyed by their love, support, and uttered prayers.
That first seminary colleague, though, has unfriended me on Facebook.
I'm not really sure what I could have done differently in this situation (or in the situation last month).
I believe I did nothing wrong. I prayed a prayer. For that small act, a woman I know, who is a fellow Christian, who affirms the love of God, and the worth and dignity of all people, ended her friendship with me.
People confuse the hell out of me.
This whole situation leaves me wonder who's next.
Last month, I lost my dog, an incredibly traumatic experience. A couple of weeks later, I lost a dear friend, a thoroughly confusing experience.
A week ago, I lost a family member.
A few days later, I faced the potential of losing my sense of security and well-being at work.
In the midst of all of this, I've been struggling with the effects of PTSD.
And so it was, that when looking at the only situation in which the outcome was not yet determined, I uttered (or rather typed) a very simple prayer.
My status update on Facebook was simply this:
"Dear Jesus,
If you truly love me, please do not let the big, bad, terrible, awful happen.
Sincerely,
Me"
What followed was a theological cluster-fuck, some of it hostile, most of it incredibly supportive.
The responses went something like this:
1) A menstruation joke from my sister
2) My reply to her that I enjoy menstruating
The rest, I will not paraphrase, but post in whole:
3) [From a seminary colleague] "I don't think Jesus is partial to one person's prayer and not another. There are a lot of people whose houses are gone, who are in the cold, who lost everything in the hurricane. And if children still get cancer, then I'm sorry MB, your prayer just aint (sic) gonna cut it. But I have to believe that Jesus truly loves them and you too."
4) [My response and final post concerning this] " I do not believe that there is anything wrong with petitionary prayer, nor is there anything wrong with questioning the divine or divine love. It is, however, extraordinarily cruel to denigrate or invalidate another's experience or tell them that their prayers are in any way insufficient."
5) [Same seminary colleague from comment 3] "I did not denigrate or invalidate you, MB. But I do have an issue with prayers that assume that God is in one person's corner, and not in another person's corner; that God somehow gives me preferential treatment, because 'I'm a believer and God loves me;' like the movement in the 80's (sic) of being a "King's Kid" and how that helped "Christians" get good parking spaces. I have heard an evangelist say that a person's cancer did not go away because they didn't "have enough faith." That is a horrible twisting of God's message and it turns God into a facetious, conditional gigolo instead of an unconditional lover of all creation."
This is the point at which I stopped engaging the conversation. In large part because I'm having a hard time and I have no interest in defending my prayers.
To a lesser extent, I just didn't want to get into a theological or semantic cluster-fuck on Facebook. First point being, I never indicated that I had been denigrated or invalidated, but that my feelings had been, in that my seminary colleague compared my (unknown to her) experience to those who lost much or all of their material possessions in the hurricane and children who are stricken with cancer.
Secondly, I never asked God to favor me over anyone else. I never asked God to stand in my corner and grant me anything over another person. I simply asked that something truly awful not come to pass.
Thirdly, I'm not an evangelist, and I'm not Evangelical. I've never claimed that anyone is beyond the love of God. I've never claimed that God does not answer prayers because people lack faith, and I've never claimed that unanswered prayers for healing and restoration, and thus that sickness, injury, and death are God's will.
All I did was express my fear, frustration, and hopes in a very simple prayer. For very specific reasons, I could not go into detail about the issue I was struggling with in a public forum. However, I was confident that those friends who read my post would offer their own prayers or even reach out to me personally in the event that I could share more with them privately. It was never my intention to ignite a battle on social media.
But, alas, a battle did ensue.
And it seems that everyone else was in my corner.
6) [My sister--I'm so grateful for her!] "Wow, P. I'm shocked. I was taught that Jesus loves everyone regardless of their stature, age, race,etc. Just because one person is going through something doesn't make it any better or less than another person's struggles. God hears all our prayers no matter how big or small, how great or insignificant and he acts in accordance for what each individual needs. MB, your prayer makes the grade."
I'm so proud of my sister's ability to clearly articulate these most basic sociological and theological points!
7) [My sister again] " Tonight, I'm going to pray to God for the guidance for others to have open minds and open hearts."
8) [Aforementioned seminary colleague] "Wow, R, I'm stunned and so disappointed. I was taught that God is not a vending machine or a puppeteer, but I guess i'm (sic) wrong. ... Jesus, if you love me, please let me win the lottery..... Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz..... Jesus, don't let my aunt die today.... Jesus please do this, Jesus please do that ..... Jesus please heal those poor sinners of homosexuality..... And we know you will grant our prayers 'in accordance with our needs." The great cover phrase that gives you a way out if 'you don't get what you pray for." And I'm sure that tomorrow, everyone will have open hearts and mind, because R prayed for it. Amen."
How the hell did this devolve into a discussion of prayers for wealth and status? How did this become a debate on homosexuality? At what point did this suddenly become an all-out war over the theology of prayer?
I expressed a need, a heartfelt desire. I acknowledged a fear. My (unstated) preference in this prayer, was that I would not be forced into a situation in which I would regularly be subjected to emotional abuse and bullying by a superior I have no immediate hope of escaping because of economic necessity. Suddenly my crisis has become a circus. Suddenly a single petitionary prayer has become the platform for lambasting the types of petitionary prayer that some people find offensive. How the fuck did that happen?
9) [My sister, with a level of snarkiness that may not be fully appreciated outside our immediate family] "Oh the maturity and wisdom of the elderly truly shines through......."
10) [A second seminary colleague] "Fortunately, Jesus doesn't seem to need anyone to screen his calls, or sort his mail."
This may well be one of the best responses I've ever read. Witty, clever, and hits home the point. Thank you, LD!
11) [My sister's final comment] "Thank you, LD. A family member passed away earlier this week and while that isn't the issue at hand, I'm sure the event and the upcoming funeral are weighing upon her greatly and causing added stress."
12) [Second seminary colleague again] "Praying for you and your family tonight, MB! Philippians 4:6."
Love and support in the midst of circumstances that are very trying for me.
13) [A very dear college friend] "
I usually pray for the same M, without the "if you" and a "and if it still happens, give me strength to cope with it" added on to the end.
I hope you are doing ok!
Love and miss ya! Looking forward to when we can hangout again!
Sorry for adding my 2 cents but...
@above Tough Love lady: I believe that it is the truth that "God does not see as we see nor think as we think" So we really can't make such statements. Nor does this prayer ask for favor over another. It is a simple prayer much like Jesus in the last days (paraphrase) "If possible let this burden pass from me" just humans crying out to God in our hearts sadness. There will always be someone with a more difficult trial to face, but it does not lessen the ones "we" face at the moment. I hope you can be a bit kinder with your advice to my dear friend."
I understand that it may have been my "If you" statement that ruffled feathers. The simple fact is, though, that I included it because, you know, I'm human. I'm not perfect. Sometimes, my emotions do no match up with my thoughts or intellect.
14) [A work colleague] "M, I hope that what ever it is that is terrible will not happen or will pass very quickly. The great thing about Jesus and God is that They love us all and do so equally. I know that you know this. Do not let the judgement, hate, and/or bitterness of others sway you. I will be thinking of you and, if you would like to talk (or even vent while I just listen) you know where to find me. In the meantime, chin up, you're strong and I know that regardless of what it is, you'll pull through."
(Yeah, I've got some pretty rock star friends and family).
Sometimes, I fear I might be wrong in what I believe. Sometimes--when things get difficult, when life is hard, when tragedy strikes--despite all of my brains, all of my training, all of my education, all of my stringently held beliefs, all of my faith--which I actively choose--sometimes, I actually doubt God's love for me. Not because I didn't win the lottery, not because I don't drive a Mercedes-Benz, not because a loved one died.
Sometimes, I doubt God's love for me, because I've been conditioned by our society to believe that only certain types of people are worthy and deserving of love; and I don't fit the mold. I'm too fat. I'm too smart. I'm too female. I'm not feminine enough. I'm too bold. I'm too loud. I'm not perfect.
I've been told by the church most of my life that God rewards those who are good and punishes those who are bad.
When tragedy strikes in the wake of some unrelated mistake I've made, sometimes I struggle against a deep-seated belief that God is punishing me.
When I'm struggling to maintain my sense of safety during a episode of PTSD, despite having a home and a bed and material possessions, when the reality is that I do not have safe places but safe people, and when all of my safe people are hundreds or thousands of miles away, and I'm faced with the possibility of being forced into a situation that I experience as having potential to be incredibly dangerous to me personally, I question whether God loves me, and I wonder if I've done something wrong to warrant such a change in my circumstances.
I'm human. I'm far from perfect. I have weaknesses, fears, doubts, and insecurities.
People tell me how strong and capable I am. But I'm only strong because I've had to be. I'm capable because circumstances dictated that I become so to survive.
But some days, I'm just tired, and weary, and I don't want to have to be strong anymore. I don't want to have to be capable of bearing up under one more virtually untenable situation.
In those moments, I acknowledge that I fear I am not loved by God, and I plead that if such a situation might be thwarted, it would be.
In those moments, when my family and friends gather round me to defend me and my simple prayer of petition and hope, I feel buoyed by their love, support, and uttered prayers.
That first seminary colleague, though, has unfriended me on Facebook.
I'm not really sure what I could have done differently in this situation (or in the situation last month).
I believe I did nothing wrong. I prayed a prayer. For that small act, a woman I know, who is a fellow Christian, who affirms the love of God, and the worth and dignity of all people, ended her friendship with me.
People confuse the hell out of me.
This whole situation leaves me wonder who's next.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
The Same God Then; The Same God Now
Today's Old Testament and Gospel readings come from very different times in biblical history and they deal with very different characters. However, these two scriptures have much in common.
Both men are impoverished. Job has lost all of his wealth, his property, his livestock; he has lost his family, and his friends have turned against him. Bartimaeus is a beggar incapable of work in the ancient world.
Both men have some level of knowledge of God. Job has "had heard of [God] by the hearing of the ear." Bartimeaus heard that Jesus of Nazareth was passing through town and declared him "Son of david."
The texts tell us that both men are blind: Job metaphorically; who only "now...sees [God]." Bartimaeus is literally blind.
Both men are regarded by their contemporaries as problematic in someway. For the first 37 chapters of the book of Job, Job's friends and family tell him that he must have done something to offend God that he has been judged and punished so harshly. Bartimaeus is sternly ordered to be quiet when he cries out to Jesus for mercy.
Both men encounter God. Job is responding in this morning's passage to questions God has posed to him. Bartimaeus calls out to Jesus, the physical embodiment of God on earth, for mercy.
Both men's lives are changed after their encounter with God. Job's fortunes are restored twice over. Bartimaeus's sight is restored and he follows Jesus. Both men see God.
After Job is restored, he celebrates with his friends and family.
Twice Bartimaeus cries out to Jesus. After the second time Bartimaeus calls out to him, Jesus stands still. Jesus does not approach Bartimaeus, but rather commands those around him to call Bartimaeus over.
In both of these stories, community is present: the first to celebrate Job's restored fortune, the second to bring Bartimeaus to Jesus himself.
Where these two men's stories appear to differ, however, is that whereas the text is clear that "the LORD restored the fortunes of Job....and the LORD gave Job twice as much as he had before" in the case of Bartimaeus, it was Bartimaeus's own faith which made him well.
Looking more closely at Job, however, we see that God restored Job's fortunes after Job prayed for his friends who did not believe that Job was innocent; friends who assumed God was judging Job for sin, and this was cause of his downfall.
The depiction of God does not change between these two stories. God is waits patiently for humankind to seek him, to approach him, to make their desires known.
In both of these stories, God is inviting. God speaks to Job (sternly to be sure), but asks questions in a fashion that opened dialogue rather than merely telling Job what is true. Jesus does not assume what Bartimaeus needs. Rather, Jesus asks Bartimaeus what is he would like Jesus to do for him.
In both storeies, God is just and merciful, choosing to bless and honor those who are faithful, regardless of the worldview of their contemporaries.
In both stories, God is a God of healing and restoration.
In both stories, God has a focus on faith in community: forgiving the transgressions of Job's friends because of Job's faithfulness; Jesus using the crowd to welcome Bartimaeus to the restoration of sight.
The truth of who God is is the same today.
God is still a God who waits patiently for us to seek him. God is still a God who invites us into relationship. God is still a God who asks justly. God is still a God of mercy. God still heals and restores. And God continues to do all of this in the context of community.
We all have areas in our life where we need restoration or healing. Everyone, at some point, needs a miracle. Your faith, we are told, makes you well. Your faith restores you. Your faith brings you the miracle you seek. Sometimes, choosing to hold to our faith in light of all evidence to the contrary is the miracle itself.
Where do you need a miracle today? Will you choose, like Bartimaeus and Job, to believe that God is good, and capable, and waiting for you? Will you choose, not only to know about God, but to see and to know God as well? Will you do so in community, loving and serving God as one body with many members?
I hope you do. Like Job who needed to see God for the first time, or Bartimaeus who needed to see again, we all need our sight restored. It is within the context of community, with many voices and many images of God among us, that we see each other, ourselves, and God most clearly.
Both men are impoverished. Job has lost all of his wealth, his property, his livestock; he has lost his family, and his friends have turned against him. Bartimaeus is a beggar incapable of work in the ancient world.
Both men have some level of knowledge of God. Job has "had heard of [God] by the hearing of the ear." Bartimeaus heard that Jesus of Nazareth was passing through town and declared him "Son of david."
The texts tell us that both men are blind: Job metaphorically; who only "now...sees [God]." Bartimaeus is literally blind.
Both men are regarded by their contemporaries as problematic in someway. For the first 37 chapters of the book of Job, Job's friends and family tell him that he must have done something to offend God that he has been judged and punished so harshly. Bartimaeus is sternly ordered to be quiet when he cries out to Jesus for mercy.
Both men encounter God. Job is responding in this morning's passage to questions God has posed to him. Bartimaeus calls out to Jesus, the physical embodiment of God on earth, for mercy.
Both men's lives are changed after their encounter with God. Job's fortunes are restored twice over. Bartimaeus's sight is restored and he follows Jesus. Both men see God.
After Job is restored, he celebrates with his friends and family.
Twice Bartimaeus cries out to Jesus. After the second time Bartimaeus calls out to him, Jesus stands still. Jesus does not approach Bartimaeus, but rather commands those around him to call Bartimaeus over.
In both of these stories, community is present: the first to celebrate Job's restored fortune, the second to bring Bartimeaus to Jesus himself.
Where these two men's stories appear to differ, however, is that whereas the text is clear that "the LORD restored the fortunes of Job....and the LORD gave Job twice as much as he had before" in the case of Bartimaeus, it was Bartimaeus's own faith which made him well.
Looking more closely at Job, however, we see that God restored Job's fortunes after Job prayed for his friends who did not believe that Job was innocent; friends who assumed God was judging Job for sin, and this was cause of his downfall.
The depiction of God does not change between these two stories. God is waits patiently for humankind to seek him, to approach him, to make their desires known.
In both of these stories, God is inviting. God speaks to Job (sternly to be sure), but asks questions in a fashion that opened dialogue rather than merely telling Job what is true. Jesus does not assume what Bartimaeus needs. Rather, Jesus asks Bartimaeus what is he would like Jesus to do for him.
In both storeies, God is just and merciful, choosing to bless and honor those who are faithful, regardless of the worldview of their contemporaries.
In both stories, God is a God of healing and restoration.
In both stories, God has a focus on faith in community: forgiving the transgressions of Job's friends because of Job's faithfulness; Jesus using the crowd to welcome Bartimaeus to the restoration of sight.
The truth of who God is is the same today.
God is still a God who waits patiently for us to seek him. God is still a God who invites us into relationship. God is still a God who asks justly. God is still a God of mercy. God still heals and restores. And God continues to do all of this in the context of community.
We all have areas in our life where we need restoration or healing. Everyone, at some point, needs a miracle. Your faith, we are told, makes you well. Your faith restores you. Your faith brings you the miracle you seek. Sometimes, choosing to hold to our faith in light of all evidence to the contrary is the miracle itself.
Where do you need a miracle today? Will you choose, like Bartimaeus and Job, to believe that God is good, and capable, and waiting for you? Will you choose, not only to know about God, but to see and to know God as well? Will you do so in community, loving and serving God as one body with many members?
I hope you do. Like Job who needed to see God for the first time, or Bartimaeus who needed to see again, we all need our sight restored. It is within the context of community, with many voices and many images of God among us, that we see each other, ourselves, and God most clearly.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Getting In
When I was in kindergarten, I decided upon a cardinal rule for marriage. This was a rule I developed out of a deep sense of injustice and longing for better things. It was a rule I developed because I wanted more, so much more, than what was currently being offered to me in life. It is a rule whose power has never really waned in my life. It is a rule that I would like to believe has some degree of overlap with our gospel lesson this morning. The rule was simply this: Marry up in the alphabet.
Whenever my kindergarten class went anywhere--the library, the media center, the art room, the music room, gym--we lined up alphabetically by last name. This meant that I was always the last to get anywhere. And it stung. What amazing things was I missing out on because I was not at the front of the line?
When it came to art class, did someone else get a better paint set or lump of clay? Or music class, did the people whose last names ended in A get a music book that was in better condition? Or when going to the library, did those at the front of the line get a better choice of book? When it came time to go to gym class.... Well, that was the one time I can't remember really minding being last.
There was just this incredible sense of injustice at being last all the time. And I decided I was not going to relegate my potential future children to such a position. Thus the rule: Marry up in the alphabet.
Jesus, however, seems to have another idea. "The first shall be last and the last shall be first," he tells us. The place of need is the more exalted position. Those with nothing will have it all. Those who leave sister and brothers, mothers and fathers, families and homes for the sake of the gospel and to follow Jesus will receive these 100 times over again in this life and in the life to come.
The gospel lesson for this morning tells the story of a man seeking reassurance of his position; not only in this life, but in the time to come. "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" he asks Jesus.
What is interesting about this interaction is Jesus's response, w is a curious one. He begins by telling the young man to follow six of the ten commandments.
The ten commandments are typically divided into two lists. The first four and the last six. These are sometimes called the vertically focused and the horizontally focused; the upward focused and the outward focused. The last six commandments, which Jesus tells this man he must observe are about loving other people: honoring your parent, being honest, faithful, acting with integrity in your relationships.
And the man responds by declaring that he has "kept all these since [his] youth." This is more than a little astounding to me at first blush. Since his youth he's managed to be completely honest? He's never told a lie? Not even the tiniest fib? He's never taken anything at any point that did not rightfully belong to him?
What is most surprising, however, is the fact that he claims to have honored his parents since his youth. Since his youth! I very clearly remember my youth and though, generally speaking, I'd like to believe I was primarily a compliant child, the fact is I know I didn't honor my parents at every moment of every day. I broke that commandment in my youth. A lot. And yet, here this man is claiming to followed not only this commandment, but all the commandments. Since his youth.
Looking at the scripture, though,and understanding the context in which this exchange took place, may shed some light on this man's confidence of his own righteousness. The commandment to honor one's parents comes with a promise: that you will live long in the land the God is giving you. In first century Palestine, those who were blessed with wealth, education, health were considered favored by God. One only earned God's favor by doing things right.
Those who were less privileged--the widow, the orphan, the poor, the infirm--were seen to have earned God's disfavor. Sickness and poverty were seen as God's righteous judgment for sin. We see a glimpse of this in John 9 when the disciples ask Jesus, "Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
Here we find a man who is first in his culture. He is wealthy, and with that comes education, privilege, power. This man comes to Jesus and seeks confirmation of his own righteousness, having been a good Jewish man all his life, having kept the commandments to love outwards. "I've kept all these since my youth."
Jesus responds by telling him that he is missing just one thing. Love up. Follow the first four commandments: Love me, worship nothing but me, honor me, rest in me, follow me. This, Jesus tells us, requires that you give up everything that you hold to to affirm your value, your worth, your righteousness. Whatever it is you are holding onto more tightly than you hold onto Jesus is an idol. To inherit eternal life, you have love God more than you love those things.
How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God.
"Then who can be saved," the disciples ask one another. If the rich, with all of their wealth, with all of their privilege, with all of their power, with all of the favor God has showered upon them, if they cannot buy their way into heaven, what hope do the rest of us have?
And Jesus reminds them that they cannot do it on their own. They have no hope of entering the kingdom of God based on their social and cultural worth. Do not, however, forget about God. With God, all things are possible. The rich cannot buy their way into heaven, because heaven is not a reward you gain for amassing cultural capital here on earth. Those the world privileges are no more important to God than those the world forgets, ignores, denies.
Still wanting to justify their fears, still seeking reassurance, Peter speaks the words we can be almost certain each disciple is thinking, "Look, we have left everything and followed you."
"This," Jesus says, "is exactly what is necessary. For anyone who leaves it all for me and for my gospel, will reap a return 100 fold of what they've sacrificed for me. Not only will they reap this return now, but also, in the age to come, they'll receive eternal life. The first shall be last, and the last shall be first."
This is what it means to be a part of the kingdom of God: to give up everything for the sake of Jesus and for the sake of the gospel, to follow him and to trust that God will meet your needs.
The kingdom of God does not exalt the wealthy and the privileged as the kingdoms of our world do. The poor, the widow, the orphan, the infirm; the lost, the least, the last. These are the ones whom God favors. These are the ones who will be first in the kingdom of God. These are the ones who will be favored and exalted by God, both in God's kingdom now and with an inheritance of eternal life.
Why, do you suppose that those who are last in this world's kingdoms are first in God's? Because the rich man was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.
Perhaps the last and least become the first to enter God's kingdom because they have so little to give up. They have so little to provide them any sense of comfort or security. They have nothing, and nothing to lose by giving it all to follow Jesus. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Jesus never says that the rich cannot get into heaven. He merely states how difficult it is for the rich to get into heaven. Those who have everything that the kingdoms of this world privilege have to give up so much that is considered "good" and must trust that they are giving it up for something better, something the kingdoms of this world tell us they are entitled to, that they deserve, because they have "done all the right things." For surely if they hadn't God would not have blessed them so richly in this age.
What a shock it is when Jesus tells us that this is not the case. What a shock it is to learn that being blessed with position and power in this life is not a guarantee of our position in the next.
Though the last will be first in God's kingdom, Jesus tells us the rich have the harder task. They much choose to love God more than they love their possessions. This isn't easy. If it were, the rich man would not have gone away grieving.
Many who read and interpret this story come to the conclusion that the rich young man did not follow through.
The text, however, does not tell us this. The text tells that Jesus instructed the man to "go," and he went; to "sell what [he] own[ed], give the money to the poor...then come follow me." The text does not tell us what the man did or did not do after he went.
Jesus was followed by crowds numbering in the thousands everywhere he went. Most of them are never named. Do you suppose it's possible that this man was later among them? Quiet, humble, and confident in Jesus's righteousness, rather than his own?
I certainly like to think so. And I'll tell you why. It gives me hope.
Though I am among the less privileged in American society, in the world, I am among the elite. I may not have much in the way of physical capital, but I am rich beyond measure in cultural capital. I am literate, and I live in country with a 98% literacy rate. 20% of the world's adult population can neither read nor write.
I am among the 86% of Americans with a high school education, among the 38% with a college degree, among the 7.6% with a master's degree.
I live in a country in which women are permitted to be educated.
I have access to clean water, medical care, housing, and adequate nutrition.
I may be among the last in the United States, but by virtue of having grown up in the United States, I am among the first in the world. And like the rich young man, there are times when I find my worth, my righteousness, my security, and my hope for a future in my position and my accomplishments.
Jesus calls us to give up all of this, and to find our worth, righteousness, security and hope in him. We are called to give up everything, and we have so much.
While much has changed in the last 2000 years, this has not: the kingdoms of this world still privilege the wealthy, still privilege the elite, still privilege the successful. And Jesus still tells us that this not only does not grant us access to the kingdom of God, but it actually may keep us out of the kingdom of God. We are still called to give up everything and follow Jesus.
I know that when I am called to give up something important to me in order to more faithfully follow Jesus, I grieve. I like my stuff, and I have a lot of it. But God calls us to give up our stuff, to stop loving stuff and start loving people.
Today's text does not tell us what happened after the man went away grieving, but I like to believe at some point this man, who was among the first in so many ways, chose to be among the last who began to follow Jesus before his crucifixion, and who continued to follow Jesus after. I like to believe this, because in those moments when I grieve the idea of given up even more, even everything to follow Jesus, I know I'm not alone in that grief. And I know that eventually, I will come to believe again that following Jesus in the kingdom of God is worth more than all the kingdoms of this world have to offer.
We are each called to give up everything to follow Jesus. Some of these things are easier to give up than others. Some of these things we will grieve deeply. But the promises Jesus makes are promises he keeps. What is Jesus calling you to give up today, in order to more faithfully follow him? And do you believe that Jesus will keep his promise, returning to you 100 fold what you've given? I hope you do. And when we grieve the things we must give up, it is my hope that we will not grieve for long.
Whenever my kindergarten class went anywhere--the library, the media center, the art room, the music room, gym--we lined up alphabetically by last name. This meant that I was always the last to get anywhere. And it stung. What amazing things was I missing out on because I was not at the front of the line?
When it came to art class, did someone else get a better paint set or lump of clay? Or music class, did the people whose last names ended in A get a music book that was in better condition? Or when going to the library, did those at the front of the line get a better choice of book? When it came time to go to gym class.... Well, that was the one time I can't remember really minding being last.
There was just this incredible sense of injustice at being last all the time. And I decided I was not going to relegate my potential future children to such a position. Thus the rule: Marry up in the alphabet.
Jesus, however, seems to have another idea. "The first shall be last and the last shall be first," he tells us. The place of need is the more exalted position. Those with nothing will have it all. Those who leave sister and brothers, mothers and fathers, families and homes for the sake of the gospel and to follow Jesus will receive these 100 times over again in this life and in the life to come.
The gospel lesson for this morning tells the story of a man seeking reassurance of his position; not only in this life, but in the time to come. "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" he asks Jesus.
What is interesting about this interaction is Jesus's response, w is a curious one. He begins by telling the young man to follow six of the ten commandments.
The ten commandments are typically divided into two lists. The first four and the last six. These are sometimes called the vertically focused and the horizontally focused; the upward focused and the outward focused. The last six commandments, which Jesus tells this man he must observe are about loving other people: honoring your parent, being honest, faithful, acting with integrity in your relationships.
And the man responds by declaring that he has "kept all these since [his] youth." This is more than a little astounding to me at first blush. Since his youth he's managed to be completely honest? He's never told a lie? Not even the tiniest fib? He's never taken anything at any point that did not rightfully belong to him?
What is most surprising, however, is the fact that he claims to have honored his parents since his youth. Since his youth! I very clearly remember my youth and though, generally speaking, I'd like to believe I was primarily a compliant child, the fact is I know I didn't honor my parents at every moment of every day. I broke that commandment in my youth. A lot. And yet, here this man is claiming to followed not only this commandment, but all the commandments. Since his youth.
Looking at the scripture, though,and understanding the context in which this exchange took place, may shed some light on this man's confidence of his own righteousness. The commandment to honor one's parents comes with a promise: that you will live long in the land the God is giving you. In first century Palestine, those who were blessed with wealth, education, health were considered favored by God. One only earned God's favor by doing things right.
Those who were less privileged--the widow, the orphan, the poor, the infirm--were seen to have earned God's disfavor. Sickness and poverty were seen as God's righteous judgment for sin. We see a glimpse of this in John 9 when the disciples ask Jesus, "Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
Here we find a man who is first in his culture. He is wealthy, and with that comes education, privilege, power. This man comes to Jesus and seeks confirmation of his own righteousness, having been a good Jewish man all his life, having kept the commandments to love outwards. "I've kept all these since my youth."
Jesus responds by telling him that he is missing just one thing. Love up. Follow the first four commandments: Love me, worship nothing but me, honor me, rest in me, follow me. This, Jesus tells us, requires that you give up everything that you hold to to affirm your value, your worth, your righteousness. Whatever it is you are holding onto more tightly than you hold onto Jesus is an idol. To inherit eternal life, you have love God more than you love those things.
How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God.
"Then who can be saved," the disciples ask one another. If the rich, with all of their wealth, with all of their privilege, with all of their power, with all of the favor God has showered upon them, if they cannot buy their way into heaven, what hope do the rest of us have?
And Jesus reminds them that they cannot do it on their own. They have no hope of entering the kingdom of God based on their social and cultural worth. Do not, however, forget about God. With God, all things are possible. The rich cannot buy their way into heaven, because heaven is not a reward you gain for amassing cultural capital here on earth. Those the world privileges are no more important to God than those the world forgets, ignores, denies.
Still wanting to justify their fears, still seeking reassurance, Peter speaks the words we can be almost certain each disciple is thinking, "Look, we have left everything and followed you."
"This," Jesus says, "is exactly what is necessary. For anyone who leaves it all for me and for my gospel, will reap a return 100 fold of what they've sacrificed for me. Not only will they reap this return now, but also, in the age to come, they'll receive eternal life. The first shall be last, and the last shall be first."
This is what it means to be a part of the kingdom of God: to give up everything for the sake of Jesus and for the sake of the gospel, to follow him and to trust that God will meet your needs.
The kingdom of God does not exalt the wealthy and the privileged as the kingdoms of our world do. The poor, the widow, the orphan, the infirm; the lost, the least, the last. These are the ones whom God favors. These are the ones who will be first in the kingdom of God. These are the ones who will be favored and exalted by God, both in God's kingdom now and with an inheritance of eternal life.
Why, do you suppose that those who are last in this world's kingdoms are first in God's? Because the rich man was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.
Perhaps the last and least become the first to enter God's kingdom because they have so little to give up. They have so little to provide them any sense of comfort or security. They have nothing, and nothing to lose by giving it all to follow Jesus. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Jesus never says that the rich cannot get into heaven. He merely states how difficult it is for the rich to get into heaven. Those who have everything that the kingdoms of this world privilege have to give up so much that is considered "good" and must trust that they are giving it up for something better, something the kingdoms of this world tell us they are entitled to, that they deserve, because they have "done all the right things." For surely if they hadn't God would not have blessed them so richly in this age.
What a shock it is when Jesus tells us that this is not the case. What a shock it is to learn that being blessed with position and power in this life is not a guarantee of our position in the next.
Though the last will be first in God's kingdom, Jesus tells us the rich have the harder task. They much choose to love God more than they love their possessions. This isn't easy. If it were, the rich man would not have gone away grieving.
Many who read and interpret this story come to the conclusion that the rich young man did not follow through.
The text, however, does not tell us this. The text tells that Jesus instructed the man to "go," and he went; to "sell what [he] own[ed], give the money to the poor...then come follow me." The text does not tell us what the man did or did not do after he went.
Jesus was followed by crowds numbering in the thousands everywhere he went. Most of them are never named. Do you suppose it's possible that this man was later among them? Quiet, humble, and confident in Jesus's righteousness, rather than his own?
I certainly like to think so. And I'll tell you why. It gives me hope.
Though I am among the less privileged in American society, in the world, I am among the elite. I may not have much in the way of physical capital, but I am rich beyond measure in cultural capital. I am literate, and I live in country with a 98% literacy rate. 20% of the world's adult population can neither read nor write.
I am among the 86% of Americans with a high school education, among the 38% with a college degree, among the 7.6% with a master's degree.
I live in a country in which women are permitted to be educated.
I have access to clean water, medical care, housing, and adequate nutrition.
I may be among the last in the United States, but by virtue of having grown up in the United States, I am among the first in the world. And like the rich young man, there are times when I find my worth, my righteousness, my security, and my hope for a future in my position and my accomplishments.
Jesus calls us to give up all of this, and to find our worth, righteousness, security and hope in him. We are called to give up everything, and we have so much.
While much has changed in the last 2000 years, this has not: the kingdoms of this world still privilege the wealthy, still privilege the elite, still privilege the successful. And Jesus still tells us that this not only does not grant us access to the kingdom of God, but it actually may keep us out of the kingdom of God. We are still called to give up everything and follow Jesus.
I know that when I am called to give up something important to me in order to more faithfully follow Jesus, I grieve. I like my stuff, and I have a lot of it. But God calls us to give up our stuff, to stop loving stuff and start loving people.
Today's text does not tell us what happened after the man went away grieving, but I like to believe at some point this man, who was among the first in so many ways, chose to be among the last who began to follow Jesus before his crucifixion, and who continued to follow Jesus after. I like to believe this, because in those moments when I grieve the idea of given up even more, even everything to follow Jesus, I know I'm not alone in that grief. And I know that eventually, I will come to believe again that following Jesus in the kingdom of God is worth more than all the kingdoms of this world have to offer.
We are each called to give up everything to follow Jesus. Some of these things are easier to give up than others. Some of these things we will grieve deeply. But the promises Jesus makes are promises he keeps. What is Jesus calling you to give up today, in order to more faithfully follow him? And do you believe that Jesus will keep his promise, returning to you 100 fold what you've given? I hope you do. And when we grieve the things we must give up, it is my hope that we will not grieve for long.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
The Voice of Grief
The voice of grief is quiet, cruel, and unrelenting.
"It's your fault," it whispers every time.
I made a mistake and less than a day later, Tim had died.
I did everything right and Willy Wonka died.
I did everything wrong, until that last fateful moment. I made a change, and began to do things right, and Maggie died.
I am a horrible person and I do not deserve to be loved.
"You are at the center of these tragedies," grief says. "Everyone who's ever loved you unconditionally has died. What does that say about you? You're dangerous. You don't deserve love. Everything you do ends in evil. It's your fault they died."
It does not matter that in all previous cases I know this is not true. With Maggie...I have to wonder if grief might not have the truth of it.
I wasn't prepared for her. I didn't plan for her. I happened upon her one day, and had planned to take time to consider carefully whether or not she would be a good fit. Before I could decide one way or the other, however, someone else stepped in and she was mine.
And I screwed it up. I screwed it all up.
I wasn't in a stable position. I didn't manage things well. I didn't train her or get her adequate exercise like I had Willy Wonka. She was full of energy all the time. She was demanding of my time, attention, and affections. She was constantly in my face, constantly kissing me or nipping my nose.
I wasn't prepared. I didn't do it right. I knew she needed exercise and structure and training. And I failed to give her these things. And because I failed to give her these things, she was clingy, needy, and suffered incredible separation anxiety. She was loving and sweet and kind. And at times, I'm ashamed to admit, I resented the amount of mental and emotional energy required to engage with her. And it was my fault, because if I had just provided her with any exercise and training and structure, she'd have been more calm.
Then, I reached the point of being ready to make the changes necessary for health. I began to exercise. I began to take Maggie (and Lili) on walks twice a day. But by this time, the harness and leash that I'd purchased when first I got her were nowhere to be found.
It didn't occur to me, living in the middle of nowhere, that it would be so necessary to have her leashed. She always stayed right by me when we were outside. On our walks, no matter how short or long, she never strayed far from my side.
Maggie wanted to go out 15 minutes earlier than we had been going. I wanted to wait, finish what I was doing, and then go. Then, I asked myself, "Am I really going to regret going early? I can always come back to what I'm doing. And if we leave this early, we can go further, get a bit more exercise in."
I saw the car coming about 1/4 of a mile away. It was clear they were traveling at 60mph or faster. Fifteen seconds. I was struck by indecision. Turn around? Keep going? Stop and wait for them to go by?
I moved to the very edge of the shoulder, standing in the beginnings of the ditch. Maggie and Lili were sniffing something in the road, and I called them over to me. They both stopped, looked up at me. Eleven seconds.
"Come on, girls," I called. "Out of the road!" Ten seconds.
They came over to me, and stopped at my feet. "Good girls," I cooed at them. Seven seconds.
I'm terrified to move; afraid that if I begin to walk in either direction, they'll head back onto the blacktop. The car is so close, and it isn't slowing down. It isn't moving over to the far side of the road as is customary in our area. I hold my breath and watch it approach. "Stay," I say to the girls. Five seconds.
Maggie begins to move. "No!" I yell at her. She looks up at me. I glance at the car, pale green, four door, midsized sedan. Three seconds.
Maggie looks up at me. Two seconds. And she darts into the road, Lili right behind her. "Maggie!" I yell. One second. And she turns to me. Lili continues to the far lane. Maggie begins to turn back, and it's over.
The car begins to slow after impact. It stops several yards beyond me.
Shock.
I look at Maggie's body.
Disemboweled.
I look at the car, stopped. I continue to stare at it. Why are they just sitting there? Why haven't they gotten out? They just sit there, stopped, in the middle of the bridge.
I look back at Maggie, and do the only thing I can think to do, the only thing that comes to my otherwise completely empty brain.
I scream.
I look back and forth, back and forth as I scream.
I continue screaming until my substantial lung capacity has been depleted.
I look at the car, and I am silent. I look at Maggie, and see Lili has approached her. I look at the car, and it pulls away. Half a block farther away, it slows. Then, it takes off again, gaining speed, and disappears over the hill west of town.
Looking at Maggie's body, all I can think is, "I have to carry her home and bury her."
I approach her. How to pick her up? I'm squeamish. Her body is still warm, but cooling quickly in the cold of October. I grab her body by the scruff of the neck, her entrails hanging from her body. There is no blood.
I carry her in one hand while I dig my phone out of my pocket with the other. I call R. It rings four times, and I'm routed to voicemail. I hang up and redial. After two rings, I'm routed to voicemail. I hang up and redial. After two rings, I'm routed to voicemail. I hang up and redial. R answers.
I tell her Maggie is dead. She prays for me. I continue my trudge home, Lili on my heels, Maggie's body in my hand.
Once home, I lay her body gingerly on the back porch. I take Lili inside. I grab a spade from the front porch and a shovel from the back as I return to the backyard. I dig a hole. 2 spades long, 1 spade wide, 2 spades deep. I use the shovel to remove the dirt I've loosened with the spade.
I return the shovel to the back porch as I retrieve Maggie's body. I lay her in the hole, curling her body around her intestines. Too late, I realize that the shovel would come in handy for moving the now loose dirt back into the hole.
I kneel at the edge of the hole and begin to scoop handfuls of dirt onto Maggie's body. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "I'm so sorry." Now, finally, I begin to cry. "I'm sorry," I sob, moving more dirt. "I'm so, so sorry!" I've run out of loose dirt, and begin to pick up the larger clods. "I'm sorry, Maggie! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry I wasn't a better doggie mommy. I'm sorry I failed you!"
At last, I'm at the point of replacing the grassy clods of dirt. Three big ones. I place them on top. I stand and press them into place with my foot.
I tamp down my pain and grief. I walk into the house. "Where's Lili's harness," I ask my mother in a tight voice.
"I'm not sure," she answers. "Probably in the van." The van my father dropped at the shop earlier this evening. In the van, likely with Maggie's harness as well.
I look around, my eyes moving frantically over every surface. I see an old red harness from who knows which pet of bygone days. I grab it and make my way towards Lili. "I just buried Maggie," I tell my mother. "After I get this on Lili, I do not want it taken off of her."
Lili evades me. My mother hugs me. I text my closest friends. "I just buried my dog," I write to them.
B calls and we talk briefly. Others text love and reassurance. Because they don't know the truth that grief is whispering to me. I am a horrible human being and the worst doggie mommy who ever lived. I didn't deserve Maggie's love, and I don't deserve Lili or her love either. That's why she won't come near me.
I lie in bed, my body curled around the seed of grief that has been planted in my heart. I watch TV on my laptop, because I don't know what else to do.
My younger brother and my father come home. I can hear my mother's voice, but I cannot make out what she is saying. It doesn't matter. I know she is telling them.
My brother comes up. He sits on the bed with me. He puts his arm around me in an awkward hug. He rubs my back and cries with me for a few minutes.
Next, my father comes in. He repeats the process, though his hug is much shorter, and he kisses my hair. I begin to cry harder, wishing so many things were different.
Wishing I were a good person.
Wishing I were a better daughter.
Promising I will be a better good doggie mommy to Lili than I was to Maggie.
Wishing I deserved the love I've lost.
Wishing I didn't believe that quiet, cruel, unrelenting voice whispering, "It's all your fault."
"It's your fault," it whispers every time.
I made a mistake and less than a day later, Tim had died.
I did everything right and Willy Wonka died.
I did everything wrong, until that last fateful moment. I made a change, and began to do things right, and Maggie died.
I am a horrible person and I do not deserve to be loved.
"You are at the center of these tragedies," grief says. "Everyone who's ever loved you unconditionally has died. What does that say about you? You're dangerous. You don't deserve love. Everything you do ends in evil. It's your fault they died."
It does not matter that in all previous cases I know this is not true. With Maggie...I have to wonder if grief might not have the truth of it.
I wasn't prepared for her. I didn't plan for her. I happened upon her one day, and had planned to take time to consider carefully whether or not she would be a good fit. Before I could decide one way or the other, however, someone else stepped in and she was mine.
And I screwed it up. I screwed it all up.
I wasn't in a stable position. I didn't manage things well. I didn't train her or get her adequate exercise like I had Willy Wonka. She was full of energy all the time. She was demanding of my time, attention, and affections. She was constantly in my face, constantly kissing me or nipping my nose.
I wasn't prepared. I didn't do it right. I knew she needed exercise and structure and training. And I failed to give her these things. And because I failed to give her these things, she was clingy, needy, and suffered incredible separation anxiety. She was loving and sweet and kind. And at times, I'm ashamed to admit, I resented the amount of mental and emotional energy required to engage with her. And it was my fault, because if I had just provided her with any exercise and training and structure, she'd have been more calm.
Then, I reached the point of being ready to make the changes necessary for health. I began to exercise. I began to take Maggie (and Lili) on walks twice a day. But by this time, the harness and leash that I'd purchased when first I got her were nowhere to be found.
It didn't occur to me, living in the middle of nowhere, that it would be so necessary to have her leashed. She always stayed right by me when we were outside. On our walks, no matter how short or long, she never strayed far from my side.
Maggie wanted to go out 15 minutes earlier than we had been going. I wanted to wait, finish what I was doing, and then go. Then, I asked myself, "Am I really going to regret going early? I can always come back to what I'm doing. And if we leave this early, we can go further, get a bit more exercise in."
I saw the car coming about 1/4 of a mile away. It was clear they were traveling at 60mph or faster. Fifteen seconds. I was struck by indecision. Turn around? Keep going? Stop and wait for them to go by?
I moved to the very edge of the shoulder, standing in the beginnings of the ditch. Maggie and Lili were sniffing something in the road, and I called them over to me. They both stopped, looked up at me. Eleven seconds.
"Come on, girls," I called. "Out of the road!" Ten seconds.
They came over to me, and stopped at my feet. "Good girls," I cooed at them. Seven seconds.
I'm terrified to move; afraid that if I begin to walk in either direction, they'll head back onto the blacktop. The car is so close, and it isn't slowing down. It isn't moving over to the far side of the road as is customary in our area. I hold my breath and watch it approach. "Stay," I say to the girls. Five seconds.
Maggie begins to move. "No!" I yell at her. She looks up at me. I glance at the car, pale green, four door, midsized sedan. Three seconds.
Maggie looks up at me. Two seconds. And she darts into the road, Lili right behind her. "Maggie!" I yell. One second. And she turns to me. Lili continues to the far lane. Maggie begins to turn back, and it's over.
The car begins to slow after impact. It stops several yards beyond me.
Shock.
I look at Maggie's body.
Disemboweled.
I look at the car, stopped. I continue to stare at it. Why are they just sitting there? Why haven't they gotten out? They just sit there, stopped, in the middle of the bridge.
I look back at Maggie, and do the only thing I can think to do, the only thing that comes to my otherwise completely empty brain.
I scream.
I look back and forth, back and forth as I scream.
I continue screaming until my substantial lung capacity has been depleted.
I look at the car, and I am silent. I look at Maggie, and see Lili has approached her. I look at the car, and it pulls away. Half a block farther away, it slows. Then, it takes off again, gaining speed, and disappears over the hill west of town.
Looking at Maggie's body, all I can think is, "I have to carry her home and bury her."
I approach her. How to pick her up? I'm squeamish. Her body is still warm, but cooling quickly in the cold of October. I grab her body by the scruff of the neck, her entrails hanging from her body. There is no blood.
I carry her in one hand while I dig my phone out of my pocket with the other. I call R. It rings four times, and I'm routed to voicemail. I hang up and redial. After two rings, I'm routed to voicemail. I hang up and redial. After two rings, I'm routed to voicemail. I hang up and redial. R answers.
I tell her Maggie is dead. She prays for me. I continue my trudge home, Lili on my heels, Maggie's body in my hand.
Once home, I lay her body gingerly on the back porch. I take Lili inside. I grab a spade from the front porch and a shovel from the back as I return to the backyard. I dig a hole. 2 spades long, 1 spade wide, 2 spades deep. I use the shovel to remove the dirt I've loosened with the spade.
I return the shovel to the back porch as I retrieve Maggie's body. I lay her in the hole, curling her body around her intestines. Too late, I realize that the shovel would come in handy for moving the now loose dirt back into the hole.
I kneel at the edge of the hole and begin to scoop handfuls of dirt onto Maggie's body. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "I'm so sorry." Now, finally, I begin to cry. "I'm sorry," I sob, moving more dirt. "I'm so, so sorry!" I've run out of loose dirt, and begin to pick up the larger clods. "I'm sorry, Maggie! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry I wasn't a better doggie mommy. I'm sorry I failed you!"
At last, I'm at the point of replacing the grassy clods of dirt. Three big ones. I place them on top. I stand and press them into place with my foot.
I tamp down my pain and grief. I walk into the house. "Where's Lili's harness," I ask my mother in a tight voice.
"I'm not sure," she answers. "Probably in the van." The van my father dropped at the shop earlier this evening. In the van, likely with Maggie's harness as well.
I look around, my eyes moving frantically over every surface. I see an old red harness from who knows which pet of bygone days. I grab it and make my way towards Lili. "I just buried Maggie," I tell my mother. "After I get this on Lili, I do not want it taken off of her."
Lili evades me. My mother hugs me. I text my closest friends. "I just buried my dog," I write to them.
B calls and we talk briefly. Others text love and reassurance. Because they don't know the truth that grief is whispering to me. I am a horrible human being and the worst doggie mommy who ever lived. I didn't deserve Maggie's love, and I don't deserve Lili or her love either. That's why she won't come near me.
I lie in bed, my body curled around the seed of grief that has been planted in my heart. I watch TV on my laptop, because I don't know what else to do.
My younger brother and my father come home. I can hear my mother's voice, but I cannot make out what she is saying. It doesn't matter. I know she is telling them.
My brother comes up. He sits on the bed with me. He puts his arm around me in an awkward hug. He rubs my back and cries with me for a few minutes.
Next, my father comes in. He repeats the process, though his hug is much shorter, and he kisses my hair. I begin to cry harder, wishing so many things were different.
Wishing I were a good person.
Wishing I were a better daughter.
Promising I will be a better good doggie mommy to Lili than I was to Maggie.
Wishing I deserved the love I've lost.
Wishing I didn't believe that quiet, cruel, unrelenting voice whispering, "It's all your fault."
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