This Classical Life

Yesterday Kate asked me to read her a “black history story” since she was sad their black history month unit was over. So, we read Martin’s Big Words. Afterward, she asked me some questions about why people hate each other, and why the police didn’t do more to protect Martin. I gave her some answers rooted in history, not spiritual in the least.

She was quiet for about a minute, then asked, “When there’s the new heavens and the new earth, will it last an hour or a day or a week?” I wasn’t sure where she was going, so she asked again, “When the new heavens and the new earth come, will it be for a day or a week or a month?” “No, baby, the new heavens and the new earth will last forever, forever and ever.” “And there will be no sickness and no one sad and no one dying and no hate forever and ever?!” “Forever and ever.” “I wish the new heavens and the new earth would come right now.” “Me too, baby.”

I know that she will continue to struggle towards longing well. When she tempers her “Come, Lord Jesus” with “after I have my first kiss” or “after I can drive” or “after I get married”, I will understand. But I hope her simple, sweet faith will continues to encourage me as I keep learning to long.

After two months of daily blogging, I took a few days respite. As I ran errands today, I was thinking about what I ought to blog about. Walking through Wal-Mart gave me several things to consider blogging about such as how annoying it was that the organic fruit snacks are up high and the “bad” ones shaped like princesses are at child’s eye view.

An hour and cart full of groceries later, the girls hit their breaking point and melted down over who was going to get the orange juice out of the case and put it in the cart. (At least they fight about helping, right?) My nearest fellow customer glared at them, and then at me. I tried unsuccessfully to mediate and then, a man walked toward me.

He was an older gentleman, and he reminded me of my great uncle Joe and his posse of Italian old men. Dressed in one of those old man tracksuits, with glasses and shaggy hair, he approached me with a smile. He clasped both his hands around mine, and I felt something pass between us. When I opened my hand I found two small lollipops. I thanked him profusely, then handed the candy to the children, who in their preoccupation with juice had missed the exchange completely. “Where’s this candy from?” they asked. “That nice gentleman there.” They bounded over to say thank you, and he returned once again. I watched as he reached his hand into his unzipped pocket and pulled out a big handful of butterscotch candies, giving them to me. We shared a smile, and he walked away.

It’s funny, two minutes earlier I had been thinking about 1 John 4, where it says that love is from God, and everyone that loves is born of God, and knows God, and more than that, God abides in us and His love is perfected in us. When I least expected it, I found love in the dairy aisle at Super Wal-Mart. I hope to be that gracious, to reach out to the harried and discouraged, and to remind them that they are not alone. At minimum, I hope to be a little old lady with a big purse full of lollipops.

Over the last few years, I’ve read and learned a bit more about mercy ministry and what has been shown to work and not work, what is and isn’t helpful. I really appreciated this article by the relief director of World Vision debunking some common myths in light of the recent crisis in Haiti.

“Realized moral excellence does not necessarily constitute holiness and may contradict it. Holiness is visible as faith’s penitent cry for forgiveness and mercy, its appeal for God to do what the Church cannot do for itself, namely, to keep it without sin and to gather it into the company of the saint in glory.”

We were singing this in church yesterday and Lexi started dancing in the aisle, REALLY dancing. I caught a few friends’ eyes across the room and they were all cracking up. We sing it to a pretty danceable beat, all things considered. That probably would have bugged me more five years ago.

Depth of mercy can there be
Mercy still reserved for me?
Can my God his wrath forbear
Me the chief of sinners spare? (more…)

I’m making King Cake today, and thinking about Epiphany. In the children’s hymn about the church year, we sing “In Epiphany we trace / all the glory of his grace.” We discover his glory revealed, first to the wise men, then through his baptism, his first miracle. He did not remain hidden, rather Christ showed himself to us. Epiphany is an extension of our meditation on the incarnation that began in Advent. He dwelt among us, not in secret, but with public words and deeds that all may see him and worship.

May Christ bless you and your house today, and throughout this season.

“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. Hence, present distress must not be viewed as if it would last for ever; it is not the end, by any means, but only a means to the end. Sorrow is our sowing, rejoicing shall be our reaping. If there were no sowing in tears there would be no reaping in joy. If we were never captives we could never lead our captivity captive. Our mouth had never been filled with holy laughter if it had not been first filled with the bitterness of grief. We must sow: we may have to sow in the wet weather of sorrow; but we shall reap, and reap in the bright summer season of joy. Let us keep to the work of this present sowing time, and find strength in the promise which is here so positively given us. Here is one of the Lord’s shalls and wills; it is freely given both to workers, waiters, and weepers, and they may rest assured that it will not fail: ‘in due season they shall reap.’”

“Stir up your power, O Lord,
and with great might come among us;
and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins,
let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us;
through Jesus Christ our Lord,
to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit,
be honor and glory now and forever. Amen.”

From time to time, complacency and unbelief creep in, and we forget our own poverty, our own need for the gospel. We live from day to day trying hard enough, doing well enough, and we lose sight of the cleansing blood of Jesus and our utter dependence on him. Sometimes we wander so far on our own devices that grief and pain are the only things that drive us to craving deliverance, grace, mercy. Whatever our circumstances, may we always return with Advent’s longing to cry out, “Stir up your power, O Lord! With great might come among us!”

This time of the year, about half of the searches that lead people here are dealing with the question did Mary suffer labor pains? Michael posited that question a few years back.

I answered then, and still believe now, that she did. My labors (even Lexi’s at home and unmedicated) remind me so much of what Jesus says in John 16, when he is telling the disciples about the sorrow they will feel at his death being so overshadowed by the joy they will experience when they see him again. “When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a child has been born into the world.”

She labored in pain and then she rejoiced, at her son, who had come to save us all.

Advent, of course, means coming. It is good and right that we have a time to remember the longing for Christ’s incarnation, remember that we are longing for his second coming when he will put the world to rights. One thing that struck me this week in a new way is how much Christ’s coming is not just a past and future event, but something that is happening continually.

When a friend drops everything to be with me when I need a friend, Christ is near. When our hearts break with those in sorrow, when we fight for the oppressed, Christ shows up. When we gather at his table, Jesus comes and meets us there. He has come and is coming again, but He IS risen. And that has present implications.

I am still longing for the new heavens and the new earth, for all things to be made new. But I am comforted as I see the ways that he is near, even now.

Everyone’s back to school. Michael’s searching for summer work for 2010. Lexi started ballet. I’m driving from Southside to Woodlawn or Crestwood (and back) 3x a day, fighting the UAB students for parking, and, of course, running a business.

It’s all just the same. The grind. Different grind, but the grind all the same.

In tweaking some godly play lessons for our church, I worked on one lesson about the church calendar. The original version talks about how time will cycle on and on, forever and ever. I made an addition of “until one day, when Jesus returns and everything is made new. Our circle will be broken with the new time of the new heavens and the new earth.” This concept of new time was not one I had ever thought of, but I am starting to long for that part of eternity, too.

Whatever this season is in the life of our family, it isn’t one of blogging. It is busy. So busy, I smocked dresses this spring and finished them a week before Easter morning but haven’t carved the time to construct them. I said that I’d do it before Eastertide passed, but it has. Work has consumed a lot of my time and Michael’s as well. His 1L year is done and I’m proud of how well he did. This summer he’s working hard doing lawyerly things and I think he’s going to be a great attorney someday.

Now that the girls are out of school, I wish that I had a little less to do so we could spend more time at the library, pool, etc. but we’re making it around to such things regularly, which is better than not at all. They did just finish a week at backyard ballet camp and you can view a precious video of their recital on facebook. When Kate was born, I daydreamed about when she would be five and I could dress her up in her jumper as “kindergarten Kate.” That day is right around the corner, with her birthday next week and the uniforms needing to be bought. It’s a strange feeling to watch someone grow up before your eyes. Whomever said the days are long, but the years are short is full of great wisdom.

Every year I see more and more my need for community, probably because we’ve never lived in the same city as our families or lots of people we’ve known forever. And little by little, community grows, even when I feel like I have so little to offer my family let alone those beyond it. It’s a beautiful thing. We sang this hymn on Sunday, that talks about the windows of God’s grace where we see the Lord, and to me, that’s often through kindness, empathy and encouragement. The manifestations of community are the goodness of God to me in a very real way. Anyhow, every time I hear this hymn, it sticks with me, so I’ll share it with you, kind reader, until I post again (sooner or later.)

I love the windows of thy grace,
Through which my Lord is seen,
And long to meet my Savior’s face
Without a glass between.

Oh that the happy hour come
To change my faith to sight!
I shall behold my Lord at home
In a diviner light.

Haste, my Beloved, and remove
These interposing days;
Then shall my passions all be love,
And all my powers be praise.
–Isaac Watts
(more info, sample, CD, etc. found here)