Care

 

Our oldest daughter moved to Georgia this past week.  Not the country…the state. Yet, to my heart it feels as if she has moved to the moon. I know that I am not the first person who has had to navigate this chasm between the “new home” and the “no longer home” transition of a child.  I have to admit, it is even harder than I expected. 

I try and take some encouragement from some of my friends who have children living in California, Montana, Kentucky, Georgia, Florida, Texas, Maryland and Germany.  Somehow it seemed easier for them…though I doubt that it was. 

There are aspects that help reduce the sting.  Such as, face time, Spirit Airlines, unlimited talk and text and the fact that Christmas is only 31 weeks away…yes, I’m counting. 

As I ponder, I can only consider one thing that would fully remove the sting…and that is, if I didn’t care.  If I could somehow stop caring about her, about seeing her, about being with her or about helping her…then, I think it wouldn’t hurt. But, I think I’d rather have the hurt.

I don’t want to live my life without care.  In fact so many things in life hurt. If I could stop caring, then maybe the hurt would go away.  But…again…I think I’d rather have the hurt.

My parents stopped by this last week to say goodbye to Hannah as well.  It was easy to see that they too were experiencing the pain.  It was obvious…they cared.  In fact, I watched my dad slip some cash quietly into Hannah’s hand and with tears in his eyes he choked out, “This is a little something for your new place.”  I couldn’t help but think during this sweet exchange…”Who are you? You are not the dad I knew growing up! You are not the same person that gave me one penny per piece of wood that I hauled into the house in a form of an IOU.”

Despite my own feelings of injustice, I didn’t miss the beauty of the care that was expressed. 

On the day that Hannah drove off, I may or may not have sobbed off and on from 4:30-6:30 am....and battled tears throughout the day…and the next…and the next…and even now.

The lack of action doesn’t necessarily mean that we don’t care, nor does our action guarantee care.  However, I am convinced that if we hold to genuine care, action would have no choice but to follow.  You could see it in my dad’s actions and you could see it in my tears. 

All the more, you can see it in the life of Jesus.  Matthew 15:29-39 reveals yet another distribution of the deep care of Jesus to people.  In fact, every time we encounter Jesus having compassion on people in the Gospels, he follows it with action.  In this case, Jesus once again has compassion on a crowd of people…primarily Greek people, and once again he feeds them, he cares for them. Once again Jesus takes action fueled by his compassion. 

May we come to see, that Jesus cares much more than we could ever think or imagine.  We don’t always understand the ways of God, but he understands us and he cares for us deeply, longing to spend eternity with each of us.

Crumbs

I often write about the unfortunate being that is known as our dog…Coda.  I have told of his aversion toward me, his breath of death, and his ability to overtake other being’s spaces.  For example, every time we would take him to my parent’s home, he would, despite his slight nature, overtake the sleeping space of their dog…which was twice the size of Coda. 

One thing that Coda hasn’t done much is beg for food from the dinner table.  We have worked to train him in this way and for the most part he complies.  However, I have noticed that after our son moved home for the summer Coda has been much more active during meal times.  The dog seems to continually pace in circles beneath our son’s chair.  One might consider this strange until you watch the boy eat. 

Isaac’s dining habits have been compared to a blue hairy Sesame Street monster chomping cookies and letters while crumbs fly everywhere.  Our dog loves it when Isaac is home to eat.  Coda finds more than his fill of table scraps as they fall to the floor in an explosion of consumption. 

Jesus uses a parable like this in Matthew 15:21-29.  Here he is encountered by a Greek woman whose daughter is possessed by a demon.  Jesus uses this picture to reveal the beauty and power of the Gospel that is for all people and available by faith. 

May we come to see that even the crumbs of the Gospel are more than enough! Jesus has enough grace and mercy and love and care and power for everyone and everything.  He is more than able and he is more than enough. 

 The Bedroom

For as far back as I can remember, my older brother and I shared a room. We even shared a room briefly in college. Not now though...we are both married...that would be weird.  We have always gotten along well together…as long as he did what I said…which he usually did.  My little brother on the other hand would often not do as I demanded, which as anyone could see, would cause conflict between the two of us. If only he would have humbled himself a little bit as a child, obeyed and submitted himself to his older and dominating brother, we may have had better childhood relations. 

Imagine my dismay when one day my dad approached my older brother and I told us that he had decided to move our little brother into our room.  He “said” it was for “safety reasons.”  I tried to argue, “What is so unsafe about a basement bedroom tucked in the corner of dry rough cut lumber next to a wood burning furnace and absolutely no windows?” It seemed fine to me.  But dad insisted that we “try it” for a few months. 

I regret to tell you that it was the worst “few months” of my life.  I don’t remember why…but I do remember hating it, so it must have been terrible. After a few months I decided it was time to confront my father on the issue.  I took plenty of time to gather my thoughts and reasoning.  I rehearsed my speech and was ready to answer all of the hypothetical questions that I could imagine. 

When I was confident that I was ready, I marched upstairs with a purpose and approached my dad in the kitchen.  “Well Dad…It has been a few months…and well…it’s just not working.”

“What’s not working?”

“Rory in our room. It is time for him to go back to his own room in the basement corner.”

I knew that my dad would argue, but what I didn’t know, was that I was about to receive a tongue lashing unlike anything imaginable.  My dad verbally lit into me before I could even argue any of my preconceived points.

The worst of it was, that he was saying that “I” was the problem and that my little brother wasn’t the problem! I wondered if he had even ever met his third born son.

When the dust cleared, I went back to my…the room…that three boys still shared.

In that moment, I fully believed that I was in the right. Even after the lashing, I couldn’t see my own depravity. 

I am reminded of what we find in Matthew 15:1-20.  In this passage we find Pharisees and Scribes coming from Jerusalem to confront Jesus.  In a similar fashion as I received, they receive a tongue lashing from Jesus that reveals their depravity.  Sadly, they…like me…refused to see it.

May we come to see the sweet beauty of God’s ways…and follow them…as opposed to our own.

Incidentally, I am pleased to say that my little brother is not nearly as annoying as he used to be...he must have matured a great deal!