Today is Palm Sunday, the beginning of the week we remember Jesus’ passionate suffering, and I have been thinking more about this special time of year.  I love spring with its flowers, new leaves budding, baby animals being born everywhere, and fresh beginnings of new life where death has reigned supreme for the dreary months of winter.  Yesterday we took the kids to Spring Farm Days at an old farmstead, where we saw baby bunnies, chicks, a piglet, and kid goat, even a docile black sheep being shorn for its summer wardrobe.  Oh, it felt good to see the poor thing lose the big bulky coat of thick, black wool that had served her so well through the bleak chilly months and that now served only to catch hay and aggravate her with its bulky heat.  New starts is one thing that spring means.  Time to shed the old and begin the new.

So often it is human nature to want to cling to the old, to want to remain in our rigid ways and cling to what is familiar.  But springtime and Easter arrive to remind us that this is not the way we are called to journey, that we can muster the courage to change, to risk new directions in love, in relationships, and in calling.  Just a few months ago, my husband and I were talking about a decision whether or not to move out of town a bit and build a house in the country near my parent’s farm.  We have since decided to take this step, but for me, it was a bit of a stretch.  Who enjoys change?  I wanted to dig my heels in and refuse to move.  I’m settled here in my routine.  My kids have neighborhood friends with whom they play regularly.  I have a good buddy next door.  I don’t want to pack up everything and move.  But life calls us to move out of the familiar and have the courage to risk change.  There are new adventures to be had, new friends to make, dreams to awaken.  Easter reminds us of this truth.

Easter is at once shockingly grotesque and sorrowful and yet gloriously hopeful and celebratorial.  Dorothy Sayers, the contemporary of C.S. Lewis, once said,  “To make of his story something that could neither startle, nor shock, nor terrify, nor excite, nor inspire a living soul is to crucify the Son of God afresh.”  This is a time of year to awaken from our slumber and face the central truth of life, that there is a God who lives, there is a God who takes the broken places in the world, in our lives, and grows beauty in those places.  There is a God who loves humanity so tenderly, so powerfully, that he walked alone down the path toward his own brutal death to buy them back from evil, to make them his own people again.

This paradox is especially vibrant during the springtime.  The ground has been hard and unbearing.  The trees have lain naked in the winter winds.  The sun’s light has been scarce.  Weary, bleary days have gone on and on until it seems they will be endless.  Then quietly, almost out of nowhere, spring begins to take us by surprise.  Baby green leaflets burst forth from the trees all around.  Bird chirp their hearts out, announcing that winter is almost over.  Redbuds and dogwoods bloom, subtle in their glory, all the while singing of the truth of God’s glorious reign over death and gloom.

My life has lately been a barren place.  I do not particulary feel joy or fruitfulness, at all.  I grow weary of the monotous calling of my life as a mother of young children, repeating the same tasks over daily.  My heart aches for rest and for fruit to grow from all this planting, all this tending to the garden.  I see a good deal  of sorrow around me, in my own family, and in the situations in the world at large.  I am tempted to lose hope; sometimes I do.  But spring arrives, and Easter with it, to shout to my hurting and weary heart, that God delights in surprising us with flowers that grow from death, with new life jumping out of apparent emptiness and barren places.

Jesus’ followers didn’t get it.  He tried to tell them he was going to die, that there was no other way, but they could not hear him.  They refused to listen.  They had another plan, another dream, that did not include such horrific sadness, loss, and hurt.  And yet, he walked the path his Father gave him to walk.  And their lack of knowing and understanding his plan, did nothing to hinder his fulfilling that plan.  He still triumphantly rode into Jerusalem, faithfully offered the last meal to his friends, agonizingly submitted to his Father’s plan in the garden, and resolutely walked the bloody path to Calvary. 

Holy Week took his friends by surprise.  They did not know the climax would be his death.  How could this be God’s plan for Messiah?  For a time, they were left with grief and utter disillusionment.  Then Sunday morning came to shock all their senses into hope of a whole new plan.  For now, let us walk through this week remembering the events of that precious time.  Maybe we will find new hope for our own journey, maybe spring will awaken new life in the wintry soil of our hearts.  This is my prayer for me and for you.

Yesterday I took my girls to our church to learn a song they will sing with the other children this morning in worship.  The song goes like this:

Ho-ho-ho-hosanna in the hightest!  Ho-ho-ho-hosanna, He’s the brightest!  Ho-ho-ho-hosanna the children sing, Ho-o-sanna to our KING!  Hosanna today, the little children praise, The son of David rides, wave palm branches high!  To Him blessings we shout!  He’s told us all about, God’s love for all men, how he forgives sin.  See Jesus riding near, sing hosanna clear.  Ho-ho-ho-hosanna the children sing, ho-o-sanna to our King!

It is a joyful thing to watch and hear the children sing these words.  It got me thinking about the children who were there on that Sunday about A.D. 37 when Jesus rode the donkey into Jerusalem and the people shouted and waved palm branches in praise of him.  Some of those dear children had met Jesus.  He had laughed with them, probably telling their version of knock knock jokes.  He had held them as babies and toddlers.  He had wiped a teary blubbery face.  He had tickled and chased them.  He had given them a strong embrace and a smile that said, “Get up, you can do it.” 

There was a girl there he had awakened from death, a child he had given back the ability to run.  These children had seen him, heard him, hugged him.  And I bet they were full of sheer joy as he rode into Jerusalem triumphantly on Passover Week.  I can just hear them shouting “Jesus, Jesus, look at me!”  I can just imagine them sqealing with delight that he has come.  I can see them running down the road to get their friends and family to come see.

Do you hear them today?  Are you with them as they shout, “Hosannah! (salvation)?”  He came on a donkey, fulfilling a prophecy from Zechariah 9:9  “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!  Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!  See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt the foal of a donkey.”  And they shouted their hearts out, “Salvation, salvation!!  He is here! He is here!”  My heart is so happy he has come and brought salvation to me.

I am a part-time mental health professional, that is when I’m not talking “pokemon” with my 8 year old, going to pet stores with my 6 year old, reading about princesses with my 4 year old, or going to eat yummy Thai food with my hubby.  Last week, as part of a new initiative to work harder and do a better job of saving the lives of those who are suicidally depressed, our entire staff participated in a day-long seminar about the prevention of suicide.  The information is so crucial I want to pass it along.

Although the topic is not a fun one to talk about, knowing the signs of a person who is at high risk to attempt to take his or her own life, can go a long way in preventing that tragedy.  Over the past year, in the small community in which I live, one teenage girl shot and killed herself, my neighbor’s son hung himself, and another neighbor down the street unsuccessfully attempted to kill himself by gunwound.  Undoubtedly and tragically, the same is true nearly everywhere.

The following facts are reported by the Center for Disease Control and Prevention.  More than 32,000 suicides occurred in the United States in 2005.  This equals 89 suicides per day; one suicide every 16 minutes, or 11.01 suicides per 100,000 population.  Worldwide the facts are even more startling.  Every year 1 million people worldwide purposefully take their own lives.  To bring this closer to home, within the county in which I live, 35 people take their lives each year.  That is one person in my county every 10 days. 

The Surgeon General has called on all health workers to make a concerted effort to lower these numbers.  One of the things you can do, even if you are not in the health field, is the increase your own understanding of the signs and risk factors of a person who is considering suicide.  You will be better equipped to notice these signs and take them seriously when you see them in a neighbor, friend, co-worker, or family member.  Of course, if you do find yourself as part of a support system for someone who is suicidal, be sure that person is under the care of a qualified psychiatrist or other mental health professional.

Here are the strong predictors of suicide or risk factors, as agreed upon by many experts in the field:  psychiatric disorders, past history of attempted suicide, genetic predisposition, impulsivity, intense hopelessness, loss of pleasure, loss of ability to react to positive events, mood cycling (this cycling is from dark to darker to darkest and back again), depressive turmoil (likened to a motor running inside turning over the thoughts of death constantly), unusual or pyschotic thinking (believing things that are not true, such as “this will never change.”), immediate triggers, such as anything causing public humiliation, increased alcohol or drug use, and making a plan (including an impulsive purchase of a firearm or other means of killing oneself or giving away prized possessions.)

Clearly, depression is the mother of suicide, whether that depression takes the form of a depressive disorder, bi-polar disorder, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, or any other psychiatric illness.

Horrifically, 75% of patients deny any suicidality immediately before they take their own life.  This means that just because a person tells you they will not take their life does not mean they are safe.  Therefore, it is not good enough for a person to deny suicidality. 

Here are a few more simple things you can understand if you are faced with helping a person through the risk of self-harm. (And please remember, it is absolutely imperative that the person receive professional mental health treatment. Over 90% of people with complete suicides have a diagnosable, treatable psychiatric illness.) With that said, the goal of the professional and the person’s support system should be to increase supports and lower risk factors. In other words, there are very measurable things that can be done to lessen the risk for a completed suicide, such as, among others, making sure lethal means are inaccessible, increasing emotional support and the individual’s sense of being needed within a community, treatment for alcoholism or drug use, and effective and correct dosages of medications.

God forbid that anyone would be reading this while contemplating taking his or her precious life.  But if you are, I urge you to call 1-800-SUICIDE.  This is a crisis hotline that is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and you will be connected to a hotline nearest you.  There is hope.  There is help, no matter how black it may seem at this time.  I am a living testament.  I was at a hopeless place in my life 18 years ago, where I truly thought nothing good would ever come to me again.  I truly wanted to die, to be erased from the earth.  Not only have I found help and hope, but I also lead a full, rich, challenging life.  God truly deliverd my soul from death.  There is a thief, and his name is Satan.  He loves nothing more than to steal, kill, and destroy.  I pray for you now that God’s mighty hand will deliver you as he has me.

And if you are suffering from the loss of someone you love to suicide, my heart goes out deeply to you.  I am so very sorry for your loss.  You are not alone in your grief, and although time may not heal your wound, it will certainly make it more bearable.  You may find this website called Survivors of Suicide to have some helpful resources or stories.

Finally, if you want to learn more or find out a way you can be active in raising awareness and saving lives, check out the website of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

God is good all the time.

I love that saying, and it is true.  It’s easy to say he is good when things are going well, or when he answers a prayer, or when a medical test turns out the way we had hoped, or when life is chipper.  It’s not so easy to see his goodness during a tough, disappointing, lonely time, or in the midst of a war, or when our bank account is empty, or we have lost a loved one or a cherished dream.  But whether or not we see his goodness, whether or not we believe it, it is true, all the time.

The fruit of the Spirit is goodness.

There’s a psalm in the Message that says “You are good and the source of all goodness.  Train me in your goodness.”  (Fill me with your goodness.)

You know, I have an interesting relationship with “goodness.”  I grew up in a legalistic environment, an independent Baptist church, where the teaching was largely an emphasis on “being good and doing right.”  It was so much so, that I began to think I was better than others, that I was somehow on the fast road to pleasing God because I attended church, obeyed my parents (at least outwardly), and read my Bible.  I have a rather compliant personality, and I love to please, so I could perform well, or at least look like I was doing what was expected of me in this culture.  I was wrongly equating goodness with doing the right thing or a simplistic morality.

Later, I began to question this teaching, and I heard some new thoughts (to me) on total depravity.   As I began to realize the depths of my sin, I had  hard time believing I was good at all.  It was a scary place to be, for someone with an extra sensitive conscience.  Because I had not yet learned to rest in what God had already done for me in Christ, I struggled and strived to do more for him.  There was always a nagging sense of guilt and doubt that I had done enough.  There was often a fear that God was frowning on me when I was doing anything that wasn’t “spiritual.”

The problem with all this “doing good” was that it was not done from a deep sense of trust in God’s finished work for me.  Not out of gratitude and assurance of my own forgiveness.  It was often done from a sense of fear, not sure I was pleasing God enough. 

There came a turning point for me, a huge “Aha” moment, when I realized more fully what the gospel really means.  That God gave me the goodness of Christ when he took all of my imperfections, failures, outright rebellion and hatred on himself.  The truth finally began to grip me that God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness (goodness) of Christ.  2 Cor. 5:21

The fruit of the Holy Spirit in his redeemed ones is goodness.  The word in Greek is agathosune, which signifies goodness of heart, a desire after goodness, a kind activity on the part of others.  This throws a wrench in the self-righteous part of us that wants to be good so that we can boast we are better than others or so that we can feel happy with ourselves.  The goodness of God is for the benefit of others, and it is always kind.

Life is hard.  There are spots in all our lives where we will walk through struggles, questions, groanings, spells of lonliness.  God is good.  All the time.  And he has this way about him of using these dark times for our good and his lifting up.  Let us groan and yearn with the Spirit within us for the goodness of God, his kind intentions, to be grown in us and shown to the world around us.  What a need there is for this sweet aroma of Christ.

Again, I’ve been reading Bread and Wine Readings for Lent and Easter, and yesterday I came across a disturbing, yet important bit of work called “The Cross and the Cellar” by Morton T. Kelsey.  Here is a portion:

Each of us has underneath our ordinary personality, which we show to the public, a cellar in which we hide the refuse and rubbish, which we would rather not see ourselves or let others see.  And below that is a deeper hold in which there are dragons and demons, a truly hellish place, full of violence and hatred and viciousness. . . In the cross, this level of our being has thrust itself up out of its deepest underground cellar so that we humans may see what is in all of us and take heed. . . This destructiveness within us can seldom be transformed until we squarely face it in ourselves.  This confrontation often leads us into the pit.

The quote makes me think of the scene from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowhip of the  Ring, in which Gandalf  battles the great underworld demon Balrog for his friends, shouting with authority, “You shall not pass.”  And then he is swept unknowingly into a battle for his life in the underground world of darkness, evil, and fiery demons.  Watch the clip:

The cool thing is knowing that this is what Jesus has done for us.  Though we will continue to fight many battles with demons within and without ourselves in this world, the battle of deepest and fiercest darkness has been fought.  And won.  If it had been up to us, if I were left to face these demons within my heart alone, all would have been despair.  But we have a Savior.  A real one.  And I am so very glad.

I’ve been pondering a few readings from Bread and Wine - Readings for Lent and Easter, and I came across this portion of St. Augustine’s Confessions:

The Maker of man was made man, that the Ruler of the stars might suck at the breast; that the Bread might be hungered; the Fountain, thirst; the Light, sleep; the Way, be wearied by the journey; the Truth, be accused by false witnesses; the Judges of the living and the dead, be judged by a mortal judge; the Chastener, be chastised with whips; the Vine, be crowned with thorns; the Foundation, be hung upon the tree; Strength, be made weak; Health, be wounded; life, die.  To suffer these and suchlike things, undeserved things, that he might free the undeserving, for neither did He deserve any evil, who for our sakes endured so many evils, nor were we deserving of anything good, we who through Him received such good.

This is more of what I love to call the “upside down gospel.”  Life, even the spiritual life, is not as it often seems.  It is through paradox that we find truth.  We fail, and we find that success is a gift for losers who know they need it.  We hate, and forgiveness melts our hearts into love.  We try to be strong until we are so weak that we realize it is his strength we need and that it is only found when ours is gone.   We’re astonished by our wickedness, and even more stunned by the One who knew all along and gave us his goodness. 

Good stuff, this upside down gospel.  It means it is not up to me.  It has already been done.  And to quote my man, Bono, on his new album (Did you think I could pass up an opportunity to do so?),  “It’s not if I believe in love, but if Love believes in me.”  Take some time to think of these things as the season of Jesus’ suffering and death approaches.

(Above picture compliments of St. David’s Church, Houston.)

Last weekend, my hubby and I kindly declined an offer to go with grandparents to the ”Greatest Show on Earth.”  We told his parents our life is a three-ring circus all the time, so we didn’t need to pay to see one.  Instead we sent the kids with them to the circus, and we had a nice Mexican dinner and went to see Slumdog Millionaire.

The smashing hit movie, with its 8 Oscars, is an amazing story.  If you haven’t seen it, go.  A moving, inspiring story of love and loyalty, betrayal and dashed hopes, redemption and life reborn.  It is life at its worst.  And best.  The link below shows the dance scene at the end of the movie, English subtitles included.  Jai Ho!

It’s Victory!

Sometimes I ask myself this question about my parenting.  The answer is usually much less than desirable in several random areas.  For example, last night, when my mother called to ask me a question, my 8 year old son picked up the other phone and began talking loudly into it while I was trying to answer her.  Not to be outdone, my 6 year old daughter interrupted him to scream a loud hello into the phone.  His choice words to her were a bit lacking in kindness, “Put down the phone, you rat.”  Or what about last night’s sit down dinner?  One after the other three kids did something vexing.  Jonathan prayed a silly prayer.  Anna kept on burping out loud.  Mollie informed me that kids don’t put their napkins in their laps - they keep them by their plate so they can reach them better.  Note to self: no formal dinners with children for another decade.

Okay, okay.  “Uncle” already!  I give.  I can’t be a perfect parent.  I can’t raise my kids faultlessly, on their sweet days, nor on their beastly ones.

However, I can continue to attempt to emphasize the right things.  By the way, I take a rather laid back approach to this parenting thing.  Don’t get me wrong - it is dreadfully important to me.  I just almost went insane trying to do it “right” my first year or two at the profession.  I’ve learned to enjoy it a bit more, and I take a kid-friendly approach.  We paint on our windows.  We jump on our couches.  (Sometimes.)  We  build forts with blankets that take up the entire den.  We watch t.v. and take naps snuggling together.  You get the idea.

I’m just hoping to continue emphasizing the important things, and eventually the other stuff will either be forgotten or hopefully we’ll all laugh about it.  (Definitely not winning any parenting awards here.)  So, what is the important stuff?  I don’t know - kindness (not ours to each other, but God’s toward us), the grace and love and power of God, things like that.  I overheard a conversation yesterday that put a little swing in my step.  In the car, my 8 year old and 4 year old were talking.  It went something like this: 

Mollie (4):  Once there was this really good angel.  But he wanted to be God.  He is a meanie head, and I hate Satan.  I had a dream that he was trying to get me. (I know, I know this is heavy stuff for a 4 year old.  It gets better.)

Jonathan (8):  Don’t worry, Mollie.  God will put his mighty angels around you at night, and Satan can’t bother you. 

Mollie:  I used to dream about baby angels after mommy would pray that for me.  I thought the angels were snuggling with me and they had pacies too.

Let me tell you, we all had a hearty laugh about that one.  Angels with pacies.  Definitely some theological issues there.  But the love of God had translated.  She was a baby, and even then God was meeting her.

How am I doing?  Some days I have no idea.  Others I feel okay about it.  Still different days, it is so hard and I’m failing so much I want to quit.  Maybe a better question is, “What is God doing in spite of me?”  Now that one I can see plainly.  And it is good, good news.

Okay, thanks to my dear friend, little redhead, I found animus to make a fun activity a bit more of a January tradition.  She was inspired by the book Night Tree to make a new Christmas tradition of filling a tree with all kinds of goodies for nature’s animals and critters.  We weren’t that far ahead of the game to take action on the idea in the full month of December, plus we needed some fun activities in quiet January, so we adapted it just a bit. 

We strung popcorn and cranberries and made bunches of pinecone and peanut butter bird feeders.  Then we chose a tree in our own back yard to fill with these goodies.  The kids helped me decide on the name, “The Giving Tree”, because the birds and other creatures do get a bit hungry in the long cold winter, and it must be such a delightful surprise to them to find such a richly loaded tree in a barren season.  We finished our tree early this week, and so far we’ve seen doves, chickadees, squirrels, cardinals, and finches having a hayday with the goods.  We threw some extra popcorn on the ground, and tossed out a few orange and apple slices also. 

I love the visual art representation below, called Ode to the Giving Tree by Tjasa Owen.  It is a fun tradition, but it is also a word picture of what I want my life, and my kids’ lives, to be - a source overflowing and giving nourishment to any and all who find it, especially in wintry times.

Yesterday we were having one of “those” days.  You know, the kids had been sick for several days, it’s coooooold outside, and we all had cabin fever.  It was about 5 o’clock, and they were beginning to fight.  Like cats and dogs.  I was grumpy.  My son was sad because the neighbors couldn’t play.  Not a good picture at all.  And quickly going from bad to worse.

Then out of nowhere the kids came up with a plan.  They decided to make some fun out of nothing.  They began to plan a party of sorts for the evening.  It began with “pin the tongue on the froggy”, a picture my middle daughter had colored that day.  Then we had dinner and brownies with pink icing that they helped decorate.  We rolled around on the floor and did flips and airplane rides on flying feet.  Finally, we relaxed in front of a cozy roaring fire (my husband’s specialty) and played games.   Animal rummy.  Uno.  Break the ice.  And our all-time favorite - Old Maid.  You should have seen the suspense on the face of our four year old Mollie as she hoped against hope she wouldn’t draw the Old Maid and the silly giggling when she did.  We laughed so hard we cried.

But the grand finale by far was the hide-in-seek-in-the-dark with flashlights.  Imagine this.  Every “hider” had a glow stick bracelet.  The only light on in the entire house was the fire in the fireplace downstairs.  The “seeker” held a flashlight that wasn’t turned on until the loud counting was complete.  Then the sound of small feet padding on the stairs as we took turns running  to hide.  Concealed giggles as we searched in the dark for those glowing bracelets or for some give-away sound.  The eruption of roaring laughter and screams of surprise when discovered in dark hiding places.  The suspense was a thrill even for me.

It was such a disater of a day.  And those delightful kids turned the evening into one to remember forever!