Rocks

When I was a child I collected many things.  I collected baseball cards, football cards, rocks, sea shells, coins, cuts, bruises, wood ticks, toads and stains on my clothing.  Some things I collected on purpose, while others were purely accidental.  I didn’t go out seeking wood ticks…but as a young boy living a life of adventure on a small imaginary farm, wood ticks came with the territory.  I am not sure that my mother appreciated most of my collections.  She could tolerate the baseball cards and football cards but only until I was married, at which time she came for a pleasant visit and dropped the large bin of cardboard photos at my feet saying, “Here you go! I’ve stored them long enough! It is your turn now!”

I had a small coin collection that I have to this day.  In fact, I have some rare pennies that might be worth up to one cent…maybe even twice that! 

When our family would go to the lake, I could often be found collecting sea shells.  Truth be told…there were just snail shells or clam shells, but I was convinced that they were valuable and worth keeping.  I often would load my hands with them to a point where I could no longer carry any more.

I also collected rocks.  As an elementary school student I had found some whitish quartzite the size of baseballs…maybe golf balls…but they seemed so big to me at the time…that I was convinced were magic crystals…with no magical powers.  On a family trip to the North Shore of Lake Superior I scooped up rock after rock, agate after agate.  I filled my pockets, my hands and my shirt with as many rocks as I could hold.  As I continued to add to my supply I found that I dropped more and more stones at an accelerated rate.  In fact the more stones I tried to collect…the less it seemed that I could actually keep in my possession.  I remember seeing an exceptionally large and attractive agate next to the gooseberry river. I have since named the agate, The Big Beautiful Agate. I carefully knelt beside the tennis ball sized stone and tried to pinch it between my elbows.  Not only was I unsuccessful, I lost more stones in the process and ended up leaving the big beautiful agate behind.  Incidentally, my mother made me leave all of the other stones on the ground before I got back into the car…empty handed I came…empty handed I left.

I consider the story of a rich young man who meets Jesus in Matthew 19:16-30.  This story reveals how this young man is holding onto so many treasures that he cannot obtain the one treasure that clearly outweighs the others.  Jesus even invites him to let go of those treasures, (“…sell everything that you have, give it to the poor and come and follow me and you will have treasure in heaven…”).  In the story, the man goes away sad, because he is unwilling to give up that which he cannot keep to obtain that which he cannot lose.

May we come to respond to Jesus’ invitation.  It is an invitation to trust him and follow him, to the point that we understand that nothing in this world can compare.

 Helpless

I remember leaving the hospital, with the first of our four children.  I must admit, I was pretty clueless as to what it meant to be a father.  Contrarily, the nurses must have had some idea of my inadequacies as I was mandated to engage in countless classes and videos teaching me to change diapers, care for infants and properly buckle the required 5 point harness for the approved car seat.  Despite coming to a place of mastery with the 5 point harness, being able to secure the buckle with one hand while cradling the baby and a hot cup of coffee in the other without spilling a drop, I still felt relatively helpless as a father.

 I recall walking into the house with our new baby girl thinking, “Now what? I have no idea what I am doing. I feel utterly helpless!”

Irony struck me then, as I took her into her room for the first time.  As helpless as I felt, the child that I was now tucking into her crib…(tucking without blankets or anything soft, comfy or squishy, because I learned of their dangers on a lengthy VHS cassette), I realized that this young life was absolutely helpless.  She could not eat on her own, move on her own, change clothes on her own and disappointingly…not able to change her diapers on her own.

I would spend the next 21 years helping this girl to not be helpless…and yet, I see what Jesus says in Matthew 19:13-15, where he again references children.  Culturally speaking, the children at this time, as well as in many ways our cultures today, are helpless.  It is this very characteristic, that Jesus seems to be pointing toward!  Does Jesus really want us to be helpless?  I many ways, I think that the answer is yes.  I think that it is in our helplessness, that we find our deepest realizations for our need for help.  We are in fact desperate for a helper because we are truly helpless.  We are helpless in meeting our deepest spiritual needs.

May we come to see our own helplessness...and the helper is there for us…to take care of our spiritual needs. 

Barbie

I should have seen it coming…but I didn’t. Before I knew what was happening I came face to face with Barbie.  Yes…Barbie herself, with all of her hard molded plastic head, flowing blond locks and painted eye shadowed face.  The next day when my friends would ask me what caused the black and blue egg shaped welt on my forehead, I would have to confess that my sister hit me in the head with her Barbie Doll.  But it was ok, because if ripped the doll’s head off thereafter. 

I probably had it coming, as…(I know this is hard to believe)…I pestered my siblings to the point of violent retaliation.  I can’t remember the cause of the conflict.  It could have been me constantly interrupting her alone time, or verbally copying everything she would say including, “Stop copying me! (Stop copying me), Mom! Ryan’s copying me! (Mom! Ryan’s copying me!).  You get the picture.  I probably earned my bruise. 

Yet, I think that we can all agree…Ruth Handler did not create Barbie intending it to be used to whack older brothers in the face…unless of course she too had older brothers…then…maybe?    According to Wikipidia…which may or may not be true…Barbie was invented with the intention of enhancing how girls played with dolls. 

There is intention behind every great invention.  It is believed that the invention of the light bulb was to…make it light.  The invention of the swimming pool was to…swim.   The invention of the coffee pot was to…make me happy. 

Matthew 19:1-12 also reveals a picture of what God intended with marriage. I think that sometimes we lose sight of what God’s intent for marriage really is.  I think 25 years ago, I believe that marriage was in some way or another intended to make me happy.  Now, 25 years later I don’t think that marriage is intended to make me happy.  (Though in case my wife is reading this…I am happy…I am very very happy.  Our marriage makes me happy). I think marriage is bigger than my happiness.  I believe that it is intended to be an avenue by which I…we…get to express the heart of God to one another.  Additionally, I think marriage is a reflection of the promises of faithfulness that God makes to us. 

As a follower of Christ, I think the imagery of marriage is more about reflecting Jesus and the heart of God than it is about me getting what I want.  I think marriage is more about giving than it is receiving.

May we come to see the sweetness of God in the Matthew 19 passage and His heart for love, protection and forgiveness for people.

Wretch

I am not a proud man…mostly because I have done little to be proud of.  In fact, the antithesis would prove true…I have done many things that many…as well as myself, would consider to be shameful.  I am guilty of chopping into my grandfather’s sugar maple with a hatchet to obtain a sweet morsel of maple sap, only to blame it on my innocent cousin when I was confronted.  I crushed my little brother on the head with the jawbone of a cat, simply because I hated that little nose of his that my mother so adored.  As a teenager, I secretly ate all of the Christmas cookies from the freezer and abandoned my father to receive the full wrath of my mother. In fact, as he was reprimanded in front of me…I remained silent, watching him unsuccessfully defend himself beneath the scrutinizing questions of a scorned baker.  I cut down all of my father’s onion plants simply because I believed that onions were of the devil…or because I hated onions…or perhaps both.  Ironically, I have grown to deeply appreciate onions…only to still believe that they are of the devil…mostly due to the counter productivity of my digestive track. 

I have done worse.  I have allowed my anger to hurt the hearts of people that I truly care about.  I have allowed my own selfishness to take precedent over another’s wants, needs or desires. I have used carelessly placed words, which have both intentionally and unintentionally damaged the hearts of others. If my shame could be expressed on an artist’s canvas, it would be the equivalent of the Mona Lisa being covered in excrement.  I am a masterpiece covered in rubbish.

In the same way that the Mona Lisa could never clean herself up, I cannot deal with my rubbish. 

When my oldest daughter was young, she developed a pattern of car sickness.  I cannot count the number of occurrences, when our oldest child shared a little something extra with the others in the vehicle.  On one such occasion, our little 11 month old daughter allowed her mother and I to also enjoy her recently consumed supper.  The aroma of regurgitated sweet potatoes and pureed chicken quickly wafted through our 1991 Chevy Lumina.  Our daughter was filthy and stinky and crying. I humbly admit that I do not have a high gag tolerance.  In fact, I have been known to be a sympathetic vomiter…if you vomit…I may vomit right along with you.

There is zero part of me that wanted to deal with the mess that had just been created in the backseat.  It was disgusting, gross and vile.  At the very same time, there was zero part of me that wanted my daughter to stay and sit in her own filth.  I hated the vomit and I loved the girl.  Therefore, since my love for the girl was so strong, I did what she could not do…I did that which I needed to do…I cleaned her up.  I cleaned up the car and I cleaned up her car seat.  I dealt with every bit of slime and every last projectile chunk. I did it…not because I loved vomit…but because I love her. 

I see the ways of Jesus in this picture.  I am covered in shame that I cannot shed on my own.  Shame covers me in the same way that my daughter was covered in her own retch.  I am just as helpless as she was.  Likewise, in the same way that I was compelled by love to deal with her yuck, Jesus is compelled by love to deal with my yuck.  In Matthew 18:21-35, Jesus shares a parable on forgiveness. This parable reveals how one man who is covered in his own yuck (debt), is unwilling to forgive the yuck (debt), of another. 

May we come to see how deeply we have been loved and forgiven, that we too can learn to love and forgive as Jesus did.