The Opposite of Love

Elie Wiesel, who translated darkness into words in his Holocaust memoir Night, once said, "The opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference." You have heard of the many who stood by, hungry for their own personal security, as millions of innocents shuffled helplessly into gas chambers.  Wiesel mentions some of them in his book.  He recalls marching with his fellow breathing corpses through German towns, watching the Nazi soldiers flirt with the girls who lived there, knowing those citizens witnessed injustice and stood by without a word.  Silence can murder.

Surely in this modern era, in the most prosperous country in the history of the world, we cannot be capable of such atrocities.  Surely not. 

Stroller wheels spin as I march into the mall on a mission. "Just two stores." I reassure my boys we won't be long. But a panicked face meets my eyes beside the 25% off jeans.  "Dominic!" she calls.  Silence.  "Are you OK?" I ask.  "I can't find my son.  He was just here.  Dominic!" I and one other lady sift through clothes racks straining for a glimpse of a yellow shirt.  We call security.  

A store full of consumers stare as they stand in line at the register and decide which color tank top they must have.  "What's wrong with you?" I want to scream.  "This is a little boy!  He's lost.  Why are you just standing there?  Help this mother!  Can't you see the terror in her eyes?"  But my dry throat and my own cowardice can't mouth the words.

I scan the kiosks outside the store.  Maybe someone saw him.  I ask each kiosk worker, "Have you seen a little boy.  He's five, this tall, wearing a yellow shirt." Nonchalant answers return to me as one worker paints her nails and another finishes his sandwich.  "This is a person!  Put yourself in this mother's shoes," my soul screams out, but I move on and search the food court, where I meet a security guard slowly strolling towards the frantic mother.  "Do you know there's a lost child?" I ask.  "Yeah, we found him," she carelessly replies.  They found him near the carousel.  Tears flow freely from the mother's face now that the crisis has passed.  

But the crisis of self-centeredness is rampant, attacking one heart after another, leaving its victims cold and indifferent.  It is not enough to simply not do bad stuff.  Avoiding harming others is not enough.  It is passive.  We must act, and we must act in love.  What can we do, what can I do, to avoid letting our lives be just about gaining security and peace for myself?  How can I make sure I am constantly aware of others' needs, of others' hurts, of our world's injustices?  And what am I going to do about it?  

Redeem the Time

The purpose of learning is growth, and our minds, unlike our bodies, can continue growing as long as we live.   --Mortimer Adler

Coffee stains, tomato splatter, and watermelon juice polka dot my kitchen floor.  Didn't I just mop two day ago?  Yes, but I have two little boys.  Mopping used to be one of my most dreaded chores, but it's become my favorite because I decided to redeem the time.  

When tired little bodies, exhausted from the days' work of rock throwing and brother wrestling and ant watching, cozy up under the covers, I learn.  I've imbibed college courses and countless sermons so that in the process of scrubbing my house, I've also been given the tools to scrub my own heart.  

I will never stop learning.  My funeral will be my commencement ceremony.  Long drives and long walks are other occasions when I redeem the time by learning something new.  If you are commuting to the latest pop tunes or only listening the roar of the vacuum cleaner when you do housework, here are some of my favorites to download to your iPod.  All of the following can be found on iTunes for free!   

Mark Moore--a professor at Ozark Christian College.  Puts his courses online to educate the church at large. http://markmoore.org   

Tim Keller--one of the brightest minds in Christian thought today. Pastor of Redeemer Presbytarian Church in New York City.  Author of Prodigal God and The Reason for God, two must reads.  Redeemer Sermon Store

Matt Chandler--pastor of The Village Church near Dallas, TX.   Village Church Resources

John Piper--pastor at Bethlehem Baptist Church in Minneapolis.  Author of countless books.  Find resources from him at desiringGod.com.

Mark Driscoll--pastor at Mars Hill Church in Seattle.  Go here to download his stuff.  

TED--TED is a non-profit organization dedicated to Ideas Worth Spreading.  TED is a conference that brings together great minds from all over the world.  TED.com

Nate Bush--pastor of New City Christian Church and my husband.  :)

Do you have any favorite speakers you listen to?  

   

   

Girls Are Yucky

Micah: I met someone at swim class who's going to kindergarten too. 


Me: Oh, yeah, are you friends?


Micah (with disdain): No way, she's a girl!


Me: That's not very kind.  Why can't you be friends with a girl?


Micah (with serious contempt): Because they smell!


Me (trying to stifle a laugh): They do? 


Micah: Yeah, they smell like girl. 


Me (so glad I'm driving so he can't see me grinning): What do girls smell like?


Micah: Like pretty stuff.

Me: Do I smell?


Micah: No, girls in your own family aren't smelly. 


Even though it was a few days ago, I can't stop chuckling over this little exchange.  I love to glimpse inside my children's logic.

While I'm hoping Micah's distaste for the opposite sex will remain intact for another fifteen years at least, I can't help but imagine the young lady that might capture his heart should it be God's plan for him to marry.

What is she doing right now?  What are her little girl dreams?  How is God preparing her right now to be my son's wife?


I know that my mother-in-law prayed for me long before she knew it was I who would walk down the aisle to her son.  And I'm sure those prayers, along with my own family praying for me, protected me from my own immaturity, sinfulness, and lack of wisdom to prepare me to stand and live and work side-by-side with Nate.


So I'm praying for you, little girls, whoever you might be.  Little girls whom my sons will cleave to when they leave me.  Little girls who will wash my sons' grown man socks.  Little girls who will rock my grandchildren to sleep.  Little girls who will interlock fingers with my sons and walk with them through the hard times.  I think I love you already.

Desert Rain

I stomped. I shouted. Grouchy reigned the day. A layer of dust covered my soul when I saw the clouds start to roll in over the wide-open mesa.

Because I grew up and lived most of my life in Florida, rain storms used to be a comforting afternoon ritual for me. But here in the desert they are a treat, a surprise. A rumble of thunder and everyone rushes to the window scanning the sky for a drink. 

I can smell the wetness wuthering in from far way, so I close the windows in anticipation. Rain in the desert has an unmistakable scent. The drops come in big splashes, and our yellowed grass seems to stick out its tongue.  My withered heart feels the freshness too as I watch the world being washed anew.  Desert dusty air is clean again, and I ask for a do-over. 

Do-overs began when our rings were still shiny and our eyes were still starry. A misspoken word or rolled eyes or unthoughtful actions could be recanted with a simple request for a do-over.  The lovers reconcile.  Sometimes apologies come in the form of "can we start over?" from our little boys who are enrolled in the University of Relationships in our own home.  Their momma is more than happy to respond with grace since she knows she often needs it too.

And that's what I did during the rain storm that literally cleared the air.  I got down on my knees and looked into a wide-eyed pair of blue eyes and mischievous pair of big brown eyes and told them I was wrong and asked for a do-over.  Hugs and cuddles and giving my children the opportunity to live the Gospel of forgiveness happens in the every day right next to the sliding glass door, where the rain drops glisten on greener grass. 


Does your family have any rituals that help your relationships flourish?

      

Fictional Reality

My favorite time of night.  The desert wind gusts through the screen and fans the pages glowing orange in the late summer sunset.  A freshly shampooed, curly head cuddles up close. 

“Is this the last chapter tonight, Mom?”

“Last one,” I reply with a bittersweet tone.  Saying goodbye to a friend is never easy.

The reality in the fiction hits my heart tonight.  Salty, halting words tumble out.

“It’s OK, Mommy, don’t cry.  It’s just a story.”

He doesn’t yet realize that the best stories are the most true.

But I’m doing it again.  He’s used to it.  I did it when Jack the faithful bulldog died, when Laura’s home burnt down, when Eustace was undragoned, and when Christian reached the Celestial City. I’ll do it again, I’m sure.  We’re only at the beginning of our literary journey.  So many old friends are left for me to introduce him to.

“I was just thinking about what it will be like to meet Jesus like King Caspian is meeting Aslan.”

“Oh, now I see why you’re crying.” A knowing missing-toothed smile soothes me.

After the covers are tucked in tight, I retreat. More tears and a deep longing. Deeper than hunger or thirst.  Deeper than love for a child, even love for a spouse, is my longing to know the reality of what sometimes seems fictional because it's just that fantastical.

Why Am I Writing a Blog?

In the words of Lord Byron, "If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad."