Affection

After dropping my oldest daughter off to college last weekend, my mind has been continually recalling a tidal wave of memories from my own days of institutional education.  Some of these lessons even occurred within the confines of the college classrooms. While other lessons were learned in the various realms of dorm rooms, hallways, dinning centers, roof tops, elevator shafts, “borrowed” college vehicles, professors homes…(both invited and uninvited), college auto shops, storage garages, the college mail room and other allowed and forbidden spaces.

I am astounded by the sheer number of laughs and memories that have come to mind, which I recall with such affection.  As I consider the fondness of these memories, I wonder what it is about them that draws my affection.  I have reached a conclusion.  It seems that each of these fond memories share a common factor…they are/were all shared experiences.  In some way or another, the affection for the memory is due to the fact that community was expressed in the memory.

For example, one fond memory is a simple time when I invited my, would be wife, (though she was clueless at the time,) up to my dorm room (open dorm night), for iced tea and chocolate.  It was a terrible combination but it is all I had to offer.  I remember with affection the savory sweet time of tea, chocolate, and conversation.

There were a few occasions when I made my way to the mail room to check my usually empty college mailbox that I was surprised to discover that I had a package waiting for me!  These are particularly fond memories.  Some of the most notable packages that I received were from my mother.  Her packages were always filled with the wonderful necessities of college life, homemade lefse and cookies, note cards and ramen noodles.  She always gave me enough to share…though I seldom did. 

It warms my heart even now to think about those packages, as they are to me a practical display of my mother’s affection.

I have come to believe that we all desire not only love…but also affection.  Certainly they go hand in hand. But let’s be honest, how many of us can say that we truly feel affection for the enemy that we are called to love?  It is like the difference between choosing to love a difficult person and actually finding yourself “liking” that person.

In Malachi 2:1-16, we will find God inviting people into an affectionate relationship.  He is not calling and demanding a bunch of robots to respond.  He is beckoning relational people to step into an affectionate relationship with Him, His Word and with each other.

May we come to see the deep affection that God has for each of us and be drawn to embrace the affectionate relationship with our Creator and Savior.

Genuine

We dropped off our firstborn child at college yesterday.  I knew that it would be a challenge for Sarah, but I did not know how difficult it would be for me.  Days before, I had been trying to prepare Sarah for the coming challenges with words of encouragement and hope. 

“Hey Sarah! When ‘Hurricane Hannah,’ is gone at college, think of how much easier it will be to keep the house clean!”

“Oh, don’t you pretend that you are going to be all happy,” she said, “You are going to miss her and you will probably even breakdown and cry.”

“Who me?,” I defended, “No way…I am a rock!”

“I would say that you are more like a stump…a rotting, crumbly, stump stuck in the woods weeping and oozing with fungus growing out your sides.”  (Sarah did not say these words…but her blue eyes clearly etched her feelings into my mind).

“I guess we will see,” I replied smugly.

We arrived to the college before 10:00 a.m. and after several hours of work I slumped to a sofa in the lounge and allowed beads of my sweat to run off my head and settle onto the faux-leather seat without caring.

“We need you to put together Hannah’s shower shelf, her shoe shelf, and then go shopping and buy some more shelves and some hooks to hang her hammock.”

“Hammock! What does she need a hammock for, doesn’t she have a bed?”

“She also brought a hammock.”

“Great Scott! Next you are going to tell me that she brought a referee’s shirt and a whistle.”

“The shirt…no…the whistle…yes.”

I rose from the now slippery sofa and did as I was told.

As the day went on, my mind would wonder back to the little girl I remembered from the past 18 years.  Emotion would begin to well up in my throat…and I would press it back down as quickly as I could to remain the sturdy rock that I claimed to be. 

After several more hours of work we were coming close to being done.

“Where are we going to put the whistle?” Sarah asked.

“I’ll find a place for it,” I proclaimed, and slid it into my pocket. “There…done!  Bye Bye!”

“Ryan, we are not leaving yet! We have a meeting for parents and students and then we have supper and then the farewell dessert.”

The longer the day lingered the more difficult it was for me to keep the water works at bay.

There came a moment during supper while I was gently scratching Hannah’s back, where suddenly she was once again the 3 year old tight-curly haired, gum chewing toddler singing “These Feet.” Water erupted from my eyes like a garden hose, which I quickly dabbed away, but the water kept coming…so I kept dabbing.  I dabbed so vigorously that I began to draw comical looks from those around me. 

“Good,” I thought, “I am being amusing...this will help distract me from my emotion.”

When the meal and the dessert finished, we escorted Hannah back to her dorm.  It was time to say good bye.  My throat suddenly shrunk, and I began to choke as I said, “I have a little something for you Hannah,” but sounded like “A ha e eigt umig au u ahah.”

I slipped a large bag of Peanut M&M’s into her hands, hugged her and blubbered, “I love you, I am proud of you…Good bye. Ok everyone, get into the car.” My eyes were blinded with tears and I smashed my knee into the vehicle as I tried to scramble in before any bystanders would see me in my authentic mess.

The rest of the family began crying too.  “Look at them…they can’t even hold back their tears,” I thought. “Let’s go girls…enough crying it’s time to go!”

“Oh stop!, you were crying too!” Sarah retorted.

“Only because I gave away a big bag of Peanut M&M’s…you don’t know how difficult that is!”

I have to level with you.  My tears and my emotions were real.  They were genuine. My love for Hannah is incredibly genuine.  It always has been.  I remember the very first day that I set my eyes on her and held her.  She looked right back at me with her newborn eyes, and then I planted a kiss on her forehead. It was a genuine act of love, just as genuine as that gift of the candy.  I could feel these acts coming from the depths of my soul as an expression of deep love and emotion.

In Malachi 1:6-14, we find God calling His people to be authentic, real and genuine, in their worship of Him.  He knows their deeds, and their deeds are but mere empty actions.  They are simple tasks attempting to appease the God of love.  God doesn’t want their meaningless sacrifice…he wants their love…he wants their authentic love and their genuine worship.

May we resist the stalwart efforts of appearing to have it all together and open ourselves to a real, genuine and authentic love and worship of the God of love!

 The Little Bother

“Oh! NOT FAIR! Why does he get to stay up past 10:00? We never got to do that when we were his age!” I cried to my father.

To which he flatly replied, “Well, that’s because we love him more.”

My mouth dropped open in astonishment and readied myself to speak…but nothing came out.  Certainly, I had wondered if my parents loved my siblings more than me, as it was obvious that I was the victim of unfair treatment for years.  Yet, I couldn’t figure out as to why that could be the case.  My little “bother” was nothing but a nose-twitching pain in the neck.  Every time I looked at him I wanted to punch him in the face.  I couldn’t understand why my parents wouldn’t naturally feel the same way.  It seemed obvious to me and I was convinced that everyone must secretly feel that way. 

I remember when he was 5 years old.  My parents chose not to start him in kindergarten and keep him home from school for one more year.  I took this as more evidence that he was too dumb for school.  I have always thought of myself as being more intelligent that my little “bother”.  It didn’t matter that he received nearly straight A’s all through school.  I was still smarter.  It didn’t matter that the teachers all thought that he was a perfect little angel.  I knew better…he was the little bother. 

Even today, I am smarter.  Sure he has a PhD and wears a white coat to work.  Yes…he can understand the complexities of the human genome.  Yet, it is I who knows where his GI Joe action figure was hidden…and still lies…snuggly in the basement wall secretly behind the drywall.    

Considering all of my own personal feelings of superiority, it is no wonder that my dad’s words took me by surprise. Yet…the words HAD BEEN spoken. 

“Well, it’s still not fair!” I finally retorted.

I know that I am not alone in these feelings.  I hear some of the same phrases coming from my own children like a constant drip from a leaky faucet. 

“Not fair! Why do I ALWAYS have to be the one to walk the dog?”

“You don’t…now go walk the dog.”

“Not fair! Why am I ALWAYS the one who gets into trouble?”

“Because you are ALWAYS the one who is doing something wrong.”

“Not fair! Why don’t I get any ice cream?”

“Because I paid for it…and I ate it all.”

“Not fair! Why doesn’t Erica ever get into trouble?”

“Because, we love her more.”

Even my wife, Sarah, has experienced the “not fairs.”  Recently she was sorting through a box of papers that her mother had kept from her childhood.  As she was reading through some of the old articles and notes, she came across a brief message that had been written to her parents.  “Nobody loves me…TRUE!”

As much as it likely pains my little “bother,” my parents did love me.  In fact, it is quite possible that they even loved ME more.  I love my children more than anything.  Sarah’s parents loved her…even in the midst of the note.  Yet, we often fall into our own self absorption and cannot see the truth that exists right in front of us.  I find it ironic…that in an act of cherished “love,” Sarah’s parents kept that little note of sorrow. 

The book of Malachi reveals the truth of the unconditional love of God.  In this incredible book we will see the patient and unending love that God has for us…even when we don’t see it.  Like the keeping of the note in a box, Malachi 1:1-5 reveals the evidence of the love of God. 

May you be assured that God loves you…and God love me! 

What do you think of that Little Bother?

 True or False

I remember sitting in my Principles of Biblical Interpretations class in college.  Dr. Lanpher, being true to form, began his Monday morning class as he did all of his Monday morning classes…with a single question pop quiz.  Each quiz was based off of the assigned reading from the previous class.  In this case the one question pop quiz consisted of…“True of False…The Bible contains the actual words of Jesus.”

Score! This was a no brainer! The answer was so simple…of course it was true…it had to be true.  Just then, it occurred to me…it seemed too simple.  The question lingered with the rotten odor of the answer seems to obvious smell. The confidence I held just a moment ago began to ebb away as I began to ponder the possibility…could it be false?  “It must be false!,” I concluded, “Why else would he as the question THAT way?”

Yet, It had to be true.  The Bible is the Word of God…and the words of Jesus are in the Bible…“It must be true,” I countered to myself. 

“Put your one word answer on your paper…PLEASE ensure that your name is clearly printed on your paper and turn it in.”

“Wait!” Several students exclaimed from around the room, “I’m not finished!”

“What is so difficult?” Dr. Lanpher asked. “It is either True or it is False…write one word on your paper and turn it in.”

Oh! How I wished that I had read the chapter! My pen shook as I sat there…believing that he wanted each student to write “false” on their paper and turn it in.  But I couldn’t do it!! It went against everything I have believed and held onto when it came to the inherency of scripture.  I…I…I wrote TRUE on my paper and turned it in.”

After the quiz papers had been collected, Dr. Lanpher asked, “All right students…what is the answer.”

Nearly the entire class echoed together with a resounding, “True!”

“False,” He said.

“What! How can that be?,” several students rebutted.

Dr. Lanpher replied, “The New Testament was written in Greek…and Jesus spoke Aramaic…it is impossible for the Bible to contain the exact words of Jesus.”

“THAT IS A TRICK QUESTION!” Shouted my Hmong friend Vu Yang.

“This is college Vu.” was Dr. Lanpher’s curt response. 

It strikes me as interesting, as to how I was holding to a belief that was not as substantiated as I had previously thought.  Did the Gospel message change? NO! Did the inherency of scripture change? Absolutely NOT! It was I who was deceived…by…myself.  The message of Christ hadn’t changed…just what I “thought” that I knew about it.  What I believe is not what truly matters. What is TRUE is what really matters.  Yet, we often believe things that are not true.

It is so easy for humans to be deceived and to deceive ourselves.    

Paul challenges us to be careful of this very thing…self deception.  As we have read the book of Galatians we have found that Jews had been deceived.  False teachers had been deceived…and were deceiving others.  Gentile believers had been deceived. Paul challenges every believer to NOT be deceived.

If humans are so easily deceived…how can we avoid it?  I think that we can find the answer in Galatians 6:14, where Paul says, “May I never boast in anything…but in the Cross of Christ.”  I think that is it. We can easily be deceived into believing in and boasting about every kind of crazy thing in life.  But, if we can keep the Cross of Christ before us…and boast in that, then I think we can learn to trust the Spirit to guide us into all truth.  Let us therefore keep our eyes on Christ and the Cross, so as to not be deceived.

 Community

My first real experience with community was in middle school when our church youth group went swimming at the nearest “community” center.  In this case, the nearest community center was 18 miles away in the neighboring town of Staples, MN.  I had certainly been exposed to community prior to this event, but in my self-absorbed, egocentric, middle school mind, all other community aspects in my life, like family, church, school, etc…would have been lost to the fact that life was all about me and not to the communities in which I dwelt. 

The Staples Community Center, was the ONLY community center within a 50 mile radius or more from my home town of Wadena.  In fact, it held the ONLY indoor pool…with a diving board…that I knew of.  It is a widely held belief that a community center is called a community center, because it offers all kinds of wonderful opportunities for everyone in the “community.”  However, as I look back on those care free days of community center living, I can easily spot the real reason for the less than flashy title.  I am convinced that the title is derived from the fact that at places like these…everything is “shared” with the “community.”  Here we find that the showers, lockers, benches, the diving board, experiences and influenza are all shared.  I remember watching one particular 6 year old boy share a head full of snot with everyone in the water, when his sneeze sent floating currents of mucus across the pool’s surface.  Next to him, my friend Matt obliviously sucked up water in his mouth and shared it with others as he shot it at the cute girls in a pre-pubescent effort at flirting. I won’t even mention the small children wearing…or not wearing…swim diapers.

When our youth group finished up with all of our “sharing” within the “community” center, we all shared a ride home, and we shared stories of our chicken fight victories.  The next day we would all show up to church with red blood-shot eyes and itchy skin as a sign of the solidarity of our community.

Since I have grown older, I have learned two things about community. Number 1: Community pools are gross. Number 2: Community is much deeper, more powerful and vital, than I had ever realized before.

Living in community is difficult, but it is worth it.  Interestingly, one of the greatest challenges to community is conflict, while one of the greatest builders of community is…also conflict.  Living in community is exhausting. It is inevitable that conflicts will arise and we will become tired of investing so much time and energy into many of our relationships.

Likewise, Paul recognized this in the Galatian churches as well, so he encouraged them to persevere.  Paul encouraged believers to carry each other’s burdens, to not bite or devour each other, and to not grow weary from doing good.  To Paul, the Gospel in community was so important that he called the believers to endure.  He also spurred us on to “not grow weary.” The he exhorted that if we will hang in there, that a harvest will be reaped if we do not give up.  As I look at this passage, I believe that Paul was speaking these words to and in the context for community and the relationships within the community.

May we not give up on relationships.  May we not grow weary for doing good, and may the Lord bring the harvest of restored relationships within the community.

 Hand

A few years ago, as I was single parenting the children for a weekend, the inevitable happened.  It never seems to fail, that some unexpected, perhaps even catastrophic, event will always occur during these, “Mommy is gone, Daddy is in charge weekends.” It could be a vomiting 5 year old or a concussed toddler.  It could be a broken, glass mixing bowl or a small fire in the oven.  Nothing is really off limits.

On this particular Saturday afternoon, I sent my son Isaac out to the minivan, which was parked in the garage, to clean it.  I commissioned him to throw away all of the trash, which there was A LOT of trash. He was to remove the items that didn’t belong in the van, (i.e. bowls, spoons, notebooks, pens, toys, etc…) and vacuum out all of the dirt.  While he was diligently working in the van, I was still in the house working on cleaning up other areas of the home.  I empowered the 3 girls to help me.  I encouraged them with exasperated exclamations, beckoning them to clean up their messes…and stop making more messes. 

Isaac had been at his work for about 20 minutes when, between my barks at the girls I would hear a periodic… squeak…from somewhere that I could not place.

“Girls! You need to take care of your Lego Friends and your dolls!”…squeak…

“Ok, Daddy!” they replied…but continued to do nothing. …squeak…

“Girls! Why is there milk spilled all over the kitchen floor? I just cleaned it!” …squeak…

“We don’t know Daddy!” they squawked back cheerily.  …squeak…

As this squeak continued…it seemed that the noise began to take on a literary form.

“Girls! Why are your clothes on the kitchen floor!”  …Dweack

“We used them to clean up the milk Daddy!”  …Dwaaadck

“Girls! Do you hear something?” Dwaaaaad!

“Like what Daddy?”

“Quiet girls!...Listen…” … … …Dwaaaaad!...

“There…did you hear that?”

Dwaaaaad!   The sound squeaked again.  It sounded as if it were coming from the garage.  I went out to check on Isaac, and as I stepped into the garage, I heard the squeaking sound much clearer.  My son’s small but muffled voiced echoed from inside the van.

“Daaaaaad”

I looked and saw his screaming face through the window of the sliding side door of the van.

 “Daaaad! Heeeaaallllppp!”

I reach to open the door. It wouldn’t move. My son continued to scream.

“Daaaad! Heeealp! Ouououch!”

I scurried to the other side of the van and opened the opposite door and crawled inside next to him. 

“What’s going on?”

“Myyyy haaand! Ahhh!” he squelched as tears flowed from his eyes.

I now saw that his hand had been slammed in and was stuck in the closed door.  I reached across and attempted to open the door.  It still would not open.  I checked the lock.  It was unlocked, but completely stuck with his hand caught tightly inside.  He couldn’t pull it out and I couldn’t open the door.  He continued to wail as I hopelessly worked to open the non-functioning door. 

Finally, all I could do was brace my feet on the opposite side of the car while pressing outward on the jammed door, and performed my best horizontal squat.  I gritted my teeth and growled in effort, pushing as hard as I could against the door, not knowing what I could actually accomplish.  To my relief, I was able to create just enough clearance for his hand to slip out of the lodged van door.

I think that this is the picture that Paul is referring to when we read Galatians 6:1-5.  Paul describes a person who is “caught in sin.” In Paul’s context, to be “caught” is to be “trapped.”  Paul then calls for those who are “walking in step with the Spirit,” to help restore them.

Consider how absurd it would have been for me to walk away from my son who was trapped with his hand stuck in the door.  Consider how absurd it would be for me to sit down next to my screaming son and tell him how foolish he was to close the door on his hand and tell him how messed up he really is.  It wouldn’t make sense.  Likewise, when we are following the Spirit…we are led to help one another…we are led to “carry one another’s burdens.”  Paul is calling people to help one another out of the trap of sin.  Paul is not calling us to point out everything that a person is doing wrong.  There is a huge difference.  Yet…we are responsible to HELP restore!

May we come to see the Spirit’s work in our lives and help to carry one another’s burdens.

 The Race

“Hey Dad, do you wanna race?” asked my 8^th grade son.  It was the spring of 2020 and the entire country was shut down due to the COVID 19 pandemic…including the schools.  The snow had recently melted and the ground was still soft and soggy as the frost worked to break free from the grip of winter. 

“No, I do not want to race,” I replied.

“Why not? Are you afraid that I will beat you?”

“No…I am not afraid that you will beat me…I am afraid of getting injured.”

“Oh, come on! We can race just one lap around the house.”

“One lap is plenty of distance for someone to get injured…namely me.”

“Oh, come on Ryan! Race the boy!” interjected the wife of my youth.

 “I will probably get sore muscles in my legs!”

“Oh Please! With all the biking that you do, I don’t think that is going to be your biggest pain.  Your biggest pain will be the blow to your ego when you realize that your 8^th grade son is faster than you.”

“That’s it! Fine…I will race!...Let’s go!” I barked, and then I took off without warning. 

I realize that some may call this cheating. I would have to argue.  Though technically I did leave before anyone “else” said go…someone in fact DID say “go.”  It was me…and thus…I went.  My head start garnered me at least a 10m lead before my son took up the challenge and sprinted behind me.  I held the lead around the first two corners and as I came up on the North side of the home I could foresee a dilemma spread before me.  The North side of our home was a muddy swamp, residual from the still melting frozen winter ground.  The North side wall had been shielding the ground all spring from the penetrating and drying effects of the sun. 

I made the decision to run right through the swamp, as straight as I could.  My path veered wide, allowing a wide gap to my left…the “inside” of the path, that could potentially allow a would be runner…a younger runner…an 8^th grade runner…a faster runner, to get past me.  But, I knew better than to try and get traction and “turn” while immersed in the wet ground.  The 8^th grader behind me…did not.

As Isaac tried to cut in and pass me on the inside, he lost traction.  His feet went out from beneath him and he landed hard onto…no…into the wet, swampy, muddy ground.  I finished my race by trotting the rest of the way around the house.  I was both dry and injury free,  My son however, was not.

I am convinced that if Isaac had continued to follow my path.  If he had gone in the exact same spot and the exact same way as I did, he would have beat me around the house.  He was faster, but, I knew the way.  I find a picture of what Paul is talking about in Galatians 5:13-25 here.  In vs. 16 and 25, Paul says that we are to be led by the Spirit.  When we try and take our own path rather than the path of the Spirit it leads to the perpetual slip in the swamp of life.  So often in my life I think that I can be better if I just try harder.  It is in times like this…when I lose sight of the Spirit and rely on my own strength or confidence that I find myself, “down on my backside”…in the swamp.  Oh may we come to keep in step with the Spirit.  May we trust in the way that He is leading.