Friday, October 18, 2013

With the courage of a wild boar

And the blind and the lame came to him in the temple, and He healed them. But when the chief priests and the scribes saw the wonderful things that He did, and the children crying out in the temple, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” they were indignant. Matthew 20:14-16

One more time.   God doesn’t work how we expect. And it is pretty much always pretty undignified and messy and loud sometimes. And it’s always different. He touches each one of His children in His very unique way as each one is crafted and for their unique hole in their heart.

And it is hard to believe that I have only been awake for three hours. God has been speaking so much joy and courage and vision into my heart and mind.  And yes, I now believe that He has placed me exactly where I am for such a time as this.  And I will never forget when ol’ Bob Moffitt came to visit Alan and me in our refugee camp living room, and we let loose a litany of what was wrong with whom and how and what’s with that. And he listened. And listened. And when we at last took a big breath and ended our litany of injustices with a vaguely triumphant, “So what do you expect us to do about that? dare in our eyes, he looked down at the floor. Or maybe he looked out through the wooden persianas over the barrio, with the dusty pebble-strewn paths and barbed wire and scrawny chickens and naked children with water cans on their heads.

And he asked us this question: Is there wood to chop?
Then chop wood.

And my life has heaps of wood that need to be chopped. Not just the big fat logs from a downed tree waiting outside my front door. Where is Marco when I need him? But scattered everywhere. In the back bedroom with his permanent earbuds in place. Rocking back and forth in my science class asking for candy and another break and could we just not do anything today. Maybe he should move in with us because he is sort of at a stuck place in his life and needs people like you to feed into him. A big restless bilingual school across the street from an even bigger, more restless high school nestled in amongst midcentury homes just two blocks off from a street crowded with lost children and old men and lonely souls and bright colors and funky welded art garbage cans. Lots of heaps of wood.  

And I am following a carpenter. Who does wonderful things. Crafting beauty out of ashes.

And I am old and have lots of stories and have seen lots of things and have taken a jillion classes on just about everything and I love to teach and He has placed me here, just in this spot, for such a time as this.

So with an awkward bouncy on my toes stride out the door, I greet this day, and may I greet this life with a cheery sense of adventure and a healthy dose of His love. And open eyes.

And not a drop of indignation.