Why my blog posts have declined of late...

Which man are you?

Dropping Keys
by Hafiz

The small man
builds cages for everyone
he knows.
While the sage,
who has to duck his head
when the moon is low,
keeps dropping keys all night long
for the beautiful,
rowdy
prisoners.

Margie, Bobby has something to tell you.

Remember when you were little and committed a minor transgression, such as pinching your sister when she kept taunting your abundance of freckles, and a frazzled yet determined adult negotiated with you to "say you're sorry"? Usually, you ended up muttering a snide apology to avoid being further criminalized. If you happened to be the sister who was pinched, your job as the "nice", wronged person was to quote with a note of smugness, "I forgive you."

Okay, so we're taught these roles when we are youngsters, and then really never taught a very grown up way to forgive. Either we refuse to forgive people, thinking our stonewalling will somehow "show" them or we pretend that they are sooooo unimportant and insignificant in our lives that of course we forgive them, in fact, we don't even need to forgive them, because their decisions matter so little to us.

So we're going along, socially set, and then one day we hear that forgiveness is "about you", not about the other person. This new age fluff really doesn't make much sense. Those other people were the ones who were wrong, nasty, rude, insensitive clods! They should have to earn our forgiveness. Duh. Weren't these do-good forgiveness preachers ever kids?

The excerpt below is the least "do-good" and most sense-filled explanation I have read in some time on why forgiveness really is about the restoration of your soul and why unforgiveness (fortunately or unfortunately) doesn't actually affect the other person much. Also, it explains why maybe those controlling yet well-meaning adults might have had something right about the importance of "saying sorry". The excerpt is lifted straight from Sacred Intersections (Chapter 5) by Steve Adams. After you finish it, if you still want to control add some rules to your relationship crashes, consider heading over to Dr. Gary Chapman's site to find out your apology language. There is nothing like being able to tell someone who is trying to apologize: "You're doing it wrong!"  It's a useful self-awareness piece to understand why sometimes an apologize is meaningful and others times it's about as tolerable as your neighbor blaring "Blurred Lines" at 2:30am.*

Source

There are always at least three entities impacted in a relational crash. The first two are the individuals who run into each other, and the third entity is the relationship that exists between them. (Sometimes, of course, there are other relationships and individuals that are impacted as well.)

To whatever degree a person is at fault in a crash, the repair to his own personhood is his responsibility. The healing begins when he fully admits fault, expresses regret to the other person involved, and seeks forgiveness.

As for the other person--the one wronged in the crash--the only path to his personal restoration is forgiveness.

The third dimension, the relationship itself, can only be repaired when both of those personal dimensions are done--with honest regret on the one hand and forgiveness on the other. And, depending on how deep the relationship was and the severity of the crash, it may be relatively easy to pick up where you left off. Or it may take a long period of rebuilding trust for you to get back to a healthy place. 

Given that the knowledge of good and evil resides within us, it is not easy to admit our faults or to offer forgiveness. We have to work against our propensity to control things in order to do so. To admit a mistake and ask for forgiveness is to put the other person in control of the relationship. It does not, however, put them in control of you. In admitting your fault and seeking forgiveness, you are restoring your own soul. At that point, the response of the other person has no power over you. You are free to turn your heart toward them and be at rest in your own soul, regardless of how they respond.

Only the relationship itself is at risk at that point. And it's important to note that the previous level of relationship was already lost when the crash occurred. By asking for forgiveness, you are not risking anything that isn't lost already. If then other person forgives you, then you can move forward again. If not, then things merely remain where they already are. You may feel grief at the loss of the relationship, but the wellness of your own soul isn't lost.

Likewise, offering forgiveness is a personal choice that leads to freedom and wholeness in your own soul. On that level, it is independent of the other person involved. Unforgiveness, even if feels "justified", actually doesn't have any direct impact on the other person. It only gnaws away at you. If the other person doesn't admit any fault and hasn't sough forgiveness, withholding forgiveness doesn't do you any good. In fact, at that point, you have made yoru own sense of well being dependent on them. You ahve no control over whether or not they will ever admit to anything or accept any resonsibility. Instead of having power over them, you have given them power over you! You have made yourself into a victim and a slave to their choices.

Withholding forgiveness from people who have admitted their fault and asked for forgiveness has the same net effect. Their own sense of well-being isn't determined by whether or not you offer them forgiveness. So, withholding forgiveness from them will only cause bitterness in you. Many people carry a grudge--sometimes for years and years--thinking that in some way they are hurting or harming the other person. They reality is, they are only harming themselves. With forgiveness comes freedom.

-End of excerpt-

*Yes, this really happened to me. Recently. And loudly. Very. very loudly. As an affront to my femininity and humanity. Also, as an assault on my sleep. No, the neighbor has not apologized. Yes, he/she remains unforgiven. And this just proves the point! The neighbor is trolling around in relative bliss, content in his/her misogynistic mindset, whereas I sit here days later with my soul steaming, spilling my ire onto social media, breeding bitterness.

What can you do?

Note: This post in its entirety is an excerpt from She Did What She Could by Elisa Morgan. The book discusses a phrase from the story in Mark 14:3-9:

Jesus was in Bethany at the home of Simon, a man who had previously had leprosy. While he was eating, a woman came in with a beautiful alabaster jar of expensive perfume made from essence of nard. She broke open the jar and poured the perfume over his head. 

Some of those at the table were indignant. "Why waste such expensive perfume?" they asked. "It could have been sold for a year's wages and the money given to the poor!" So they scolded her harshly. 

But Jesus replied, "Leave her alone. Why criticize her for doing such a good thing to me? You will always have the poor among you, and you can help them whenever you want to. But you will not always have me. She did what she could and has anointed my body for burial ahead of time. I tell you the truth, wherever the Good News is preached throughout the world, this woman's deed will be remembered and discussed."

What if instead of waiting to be invited, I jumped in, took the initiative, volunteered, offered my two widow's mites? 

As I look back on my life, I can trace a pattern of requests proceeding nearly all my involvements: Would you serve on the committee? Would you give your money? Would you help? A call. A question. An invitation. I tended to conclude that initiating action on my own was, well, pushy, bossy, even arrogant. Who did I think I was?

But Mary wasn't "invited." Strictly speaking, Jesus never said, "Hey, Mary, would you please do something especially outstanding for me right now? Something I can hold up as an example for all time to come?"

God gives all of us skills, talents, gifts, possessions, personalities. He creates us to be and to do, and to braid our being into our doing and our doing into our being. I don't wait to be invited to "be." Why would I have to wait to be invited to "do"?

A friend meets my eyes and offers a challenge: "What can you do that no one has ever invited you to do?" I make a list. I am amazed at the variety of very doable tasks I tally. I can put colors together in a room or an outfit. I can use word pictures to describe feelings and situations in ways that communicate clearly. I can see where efforts are headed before they get there. I can identify forces motivating relationships and negotiate through them. Most days, nobody specifically asks me to invest these abilities. Does that mean I shouldn't bring them forward?

Perhaps I need to grab hold of the reality that what God has equipped me to do, he has invited me to do.

Babies, Ducks, and Baby Ducks

Sometimes when all of life's gifts are being passed out, we spy one that is vibrant, tantalizing, and just perfect for us! We want it. We want that bold, patriotic duck. Suddenly, it gets handed to someone else, and because our heavenly language is limited, we don't understand why. That duck would have been perfect for us! We regarded it with awe and affection! We would have loved and cherished and chewed it. We would have named it "Quackers". Alas. We wander, bereft, confused about this rumored heavenly beneficence. Then, wonder of wonders, a voice calls our  name! It hands over a personally inscribed package on which is perched ANOTHER duck! A duck that matches our attire. A duck that speaks to our vivid personality. A duck for us to cradle and slurp and carelessly drop on the ground after the allure dissipates. Our duck. And we respond with joy and wonder and awe and never contemplate: did we really need a duck in the first place? Or does the tall being simply view our smallness, our newness, our simplicity and decide to be lavish once again?

Thoughts

On Aspiration

Per usual, today's to-do list began over-ambitiously and became completely overthrown with new, immediate requests. Unexpectedly, I found myself in Vons with only two items to purchase and an "Express Lane" that was dawdling all the way into the food aisles. On the premise that it is better to be behind one person who has a truckload of groceries than ten people with a handful, I stationed myself resignedly behind a transaction in the works and a middle-aged blonde who was busily unloading towers of frozen food boxes. All of a sudden, the blonde cheerily offered, "Would you like to go ahead of me?" and graciously affirmed my obvious relief. As I left the store, my mood was disproportionately lighter thanks to my lucky -- and kind -- break. Emerging into the sun, I thought, I want to be that kind of person! Someone who is naturally  helpful in small, undramatic ways. If I set my mind to it, it could grow into an unconscious habit. Belatedly, it occurred that the sole reason I was in Vons was to buy a gift card for people in need whom I had met fifteen minutes earlier while at the post office sending out gifts. ... It's a surreal moment when you realize you have somehow (slowly? surely?) become the type of person you always wanted to be, at least for one day.


On Bad Choices

Due to my unusual hobbies, I have spent a substantial chunk of emotional energy the past year being angry with people who "blame the victim". The situation that gets me the most is when people reason (or fail to reason) that somehow a "prostitute" is responsible for her circumstances, not the man who sexually abused her when she was young, the trafficker/pimp who controls her through terror and mind games, or the "customers" who purchase her body. Somehow, she is purportedly responsible for her circumstances because she made "bad choices". Since I know a little bit about how young people usually end up in prostitution, I look at her situation and think If all she knows is abuse disguised as love, broken relationships, and poverty; if she mentally, emotionally, and physically controlled by someone who is violent and vicious; if she does not have anyone to come rescue her and nowhere to go if she left -- then how can she have the freedom to make a choice? And somewhere in my anger about prejudice towards the oppressed, I became prejudiced towards people who are ignorant of the oppressed. 

Mental breakthrough: People certainly need to be held accountable for their choices, but sometimes they are not able to make a healthy choice. Unconsciously, I often hold people to the standard of my life experience when deciding whether or not they had the ability to make a healthy choice. That's just plain silly. Also, remarkably self-centered. And certainly unprofitable. It's easy for me to see that many women who are prostituted do not have the freedom to decide to leave. It took a bit longer to realize that the person who is condemning victims of sex trafficking may not have enough knowledge of the situation to prompt a compassionate response. So now when I find myself frustrated with people's choices, I ask myself if they have the ability, including knowledge, to make a healthy choice. This practice has considerably lessened my private diagnoses of "self-satisfied nincompoop".



On Expectations

Healthy people usually make healthy choices. Unhealthy people usually make unhealthy choices. A person's mental, physical, and emotional states of health are partially a result of their choices and partially a result of other's choices and sometimes a result of nature freakishly intervening. Sounds pretty straightforward, right? Then why do we keep expecting sick people to make healthy choices? Someone whose spouse abruptly ran off is probably doing well just showing up to work, so don't expect him to be able to be generous or a good listener for awhile. And why do we think that a healthy choice for a sick person looks identical to the choices for healthy people? Someone with a broken leg will only hurt it further if he tries to simply walk on it with no cast or crutches. The under the table job for someone with a criminal record might be the only way for him to quit dealing. Life is messy. Are we willing to be the support for hurting people? If not, then it is entirely unjust for us to expect them to behave as if they were well. (See thoughts above on ability before responsibility.)



On Timeliness

Actually, I have nothing constructive to say on this topic, as I appear to be running late for yet another engagement. (See opening sentences of "On Aspiration".)

Don't Think Pink

Last week I was invited to a concert featuring Joan Baez and the Indigo Girls.* The Indigo Girls in particular have amassed a largely female following. On considering the band and audience, one male who was invited to the concert commented to me, "It's a good thing I'm secure in my masculinity!" Little do people know that off-handed comments inculcated by cultural norms percolate in my over-active brain for days on end. So...for the past several days, I have been contemplating for the six dozenth time:

1.) Why do males feel that identifying with traditionally female interests will somehow damage their masculinity? 
2.) In a partial answer to question 1, why is it that the primary definition of manhood seems to be NOT to identify with anything "feminine"? How can you feel secure in something defined by how NOT to be?
2.) Why do you never hear a woman say, "It's a good thing I'm secure in my femininity!"? 

Although I am grateful to be of both my sex and gender, I rarely feel secure in my femininity. My grandmother watches more television than I and junior highers are much more up with the times, but I'm not immune to the constant messages reducing females to only the flesh. Building up my self-image and joy in my gender takes conscious WORK. But more than that, I've never been concerned that being around male interests would somehow taint my femininity. My femininity is not something that can be lost or hurt by adopting male hobbies. While other women may feel differently, I maintain that the fear of damaging one's gender identity by exposure to the other gender's interests is, by and large, a male fear.

When a woman wants to enter a traditionally male field, I applaud her, knowing how much harder she is going to have to work to prove herself and gain respect. When a women is good with tools or knows about auto mechanics, I am impressed. It seems to make her MORE, not LESS. My interests are psychology, the relationship between God and mankind, social justice, social services and nonprofits, literature, appreciating art, and friends. Prominent writers, civil rights activists and abolitionists, artists and psychologists from all civilizations throughout history have a common demographic factor: male. Do I need to protect my femininity against these evidently hyper-masculine interests?

Much of this discussion comes down to silly yet strident distinctions between "male" and "female" pursuits and interests. In Thailand I saw many young boys sporting pink shirts and school bags. Pink is not a gendered color, and males and females are free to enjoy or avoid it as they like. Hurrah! Who assigned your gender labels for you? Your parents? Media? Peers? Do you give them absolutely authority over your morals too? The origins of culture are not biological or spiritual. Culture is created and maintained by small and large groups of people. There is much more to our genders than mandated behaviors and appearances, but until we embrace or at the very least admit this truth, we cannot discover it but only continue to reduce each other by brandishing our favorite cultural norms.

Today in my online wanderings re: social justice and human trafficking topics, I came across this short video** that highlights some of these questions: 



What is the value of a girl to you? What is your value as a girl? As a woman? How would you feel if someone described your action as being "like a girl"? As a person whose snarkiness seems to be more frequently erupting these days, next time someone describes me as such, I'm going to smile and rejoin: "Oh, thank you! I value women, so that is a high compliment. Very kindly meant, I'm sure."

Yes, a snark stalks among you. Like a girl.



*The concert was last night. The harmonies were bliss. Joan Baez must practice yoga. I know this because I saw her spryness from the front row.
**Part of me applauds the effort, but the cynical part says, "Gosh, a 'feminine product' company is running a marketing campaign on the value of women. Even a positive message turns out to be a money-making scheme to get women when they're vulnerable."

The Bordered State of Being

Good music moves us. It moves our hearts and, hopefully, our minds. A few months ago, I was at the Ensure Justice Conference at Vanguard University when I was introduced to a song that has been ringing through my spirit ever since. Here are the words. (Click here to listen to the song.)

"Oceans (Where Feet May Fail"

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand
Will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You've never failed and You won't start now

So I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

This song ran through me after a day of being challenged yet again to fight the evil of human trafficking. It is a cause and calling so great that it can distract from the One who is doing the calling. The line "Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders" trumpeted through my Spirit. It reminded me that I have a deep and abiding trust in God that STOPS SHORT in certain areas. This image of a border caught me. It's one thing to pray "God, let me trust you more" and another thing entirely to find yourself at the limit, the border of your trust "where feet may fail and fear surrounds me." Hearing that line immediately changed my perspective on a decision I had been debating for some time. The real problem was not the degree of complication but that I had hit a border of trust. My trust did not need to go deeper; it needed to go FURTHER, extending into the area that I wanted to control myself.

Where are your borders? What are the relationships on which you've given up, the hopes you've deferred, the callings you've abandoned even though you fully believe that God offers healing, hope, and strength? Maybe your trust does not need to go deeper. Maybe it needs to CROSS OVER the borders in your heart and mind.

May your faith be made stronger in the presence of your Savior, and may you grow in love with the One who calls you.

The One

Today marked a first in my research on human trafficking. Today I read about a victim who shares my name.

The quota was $1,000 a night.

That's how much Katie Rhoades, then 19, was forced to make having sex with men for money. Every night. For three years.

"If you got good at manipulation, you didn't have to turn as many tricks," said Rhoades, adding that beatings and emotional abuse befell the women who did not obey the sex trafficker's commands or bring in the $1,000. "If you don't think there is an out, you learn to survive within it."

In 2002, she was a homeless, drug-addicted stripper barely out of high school when the pimp and his "bottom girl" -- the one responsible for luring girls and women, training them, and enforcing the "rules" -- trapped her with promises of a better and more glamorous life as their recording studio production assistant. Instead, 72 hours after she moved from Portland to San Francisco with them, she was held captive and forced to strip and have sex with men for money.

(More details about this period have been omitted from my reposting. You can read the original story here and more about her new advocacy group here.)

Eventually, she was able to escape and get help from a former family physican to enroll in a drug rehabilitation program miles away in Minnesota. She got clean, earned both her undergraduate and graduate degrees in social work and now runs a victims' advocacy group, Healing Action. She also helps train hotel staff to recognize sexual trafficking.

Not only does this woman, roughly my age, share my  name, but she earned her MSW (I start mid-August) and is actively campaigning against trafficking. We have similar outcomes from drastically different paths.

Those of us in aid work and social services often have to focus on "the one". In other words, the cause we care about is often too complex and overwhelming for us to continually think about as a whole. Instead, we must focus on the individuals affected. In them we see change and healing and growth. Today "the one" hit close to home.

Another quote from a yoga teacher

Source

"Balance is not about not moving. It's about being flexible when change comes." ~ Hazel Patterson

Isn't this the opposite of how us organized, Western, choice-laden types think about balance? Whenever anyone talks about the importance of balancing one's life (work, home, community, faith, etc.), I always envision creating the perfect schedule each week with precisely allotted times for each type of activity. The formula for deciding how much time to give each person and endeavor has remained a frustrating and elusive mystery. 

Tonight balancing on one foot in tree pose, I imagined the freedom of adjusting and adapting to my circumstances instead of trying to plan them (i.e. control them) beforehand. Perhaps this is what people are trying to convey when they glibly spout: "Expect the unexpected!" 

Groceries wilt in the fridge, Craigslist doesn't actually list every apartment available, husbands snore*, and traffic is more than a default excuse for tardiness. Little plans change frequently and life plans change more often than I would like. Healthy balance can look like swaying, toes spread wide, rib cage lifted, and hands pressed gently.


*Disclaimer: the mild and inconsistent sounds emanating from my model are not to be construed as the source material for this example.

The times, they are a-changing

In the past 45 days I...

Exchanged vows (i.e. got hitched)

Moved across the county

Completed Sexual Assault Crisis Counselor training

Restarted SAT tutoring

Represented Hope Rising at several community events

At the end of May, I will be traveling to Thailand as the co-leader of the Hands that Heal training in partnership with Hope Rising and Zoe International.

I like being an abolitionist. Thanks, husband, for being the primary donor to this worthy (and charming!) cause.

Dance with your nose up!

Well, folks, I'm getting hitched in eleven days. That's right. You didn't think I disappeared from the blogging world just to paint my nails and ingest unsulfered mango, did you? I've been trudging away discarding excess silverware and unworn skirts in order to cram my dowry into my fiancee's abode. In honor of my impending nuptials, today I am sharing 3.5 minutes of two of my favorite things: Vince Guaraldi (aka composer of the Charlie Brown music) and interactive live music with elders. According to Ben, the first gift I gave him was a compilation of Vince Guaraldi songs. Sorta like a modern version of a mixed tape, except that I was more concerned with improving his quality of life than with making a move. Hope this snippet does the same for you!

Better someone else...

I have strange hobbies. One of them is reading extensively about human trafficking and the brokenness of the human condition that contributes to it. This past week I have absorbed several more books as I continue to learn about this human rights crisis. The following except from the conclusion of The Natashas: Inside the New Global Sex Trade by Victor Malarek manages to succinctly describe our inability to "love our neighbor as we love ourself."

Government bureaucrats lament that their nations lack an adequate legal framework to tackle the problem, with the implication that their intentions are thwarted by inadequate laws. Well, let's get one thing straight. Assault is assault. Confinement is confinement. Rape is rape. And since the sanctions for dealing with these egregious offences already exist in every law in every nation on the planet, nothing prevents them from prosecuting traffickers under their own criminal codes.

With few exceptions, most governments and police forces view trafficking in human beings as a far less serious crime than trafficking in guns or drugs. Most approach it primarily as an illegal immigration issue, and this may have something to do with unspoken biases. Better someone else's daughters, the thinking goes; at least whoever's frequenting them isn't out raping our own. Such views rear their ugly heads not only in back-room whispers but also in public debates by people who should know better. How can we ever expect to stem this odious trade if we think it is acceptable to buy, sell and rape any human being?

Other social biases also come into play. In the minds of most people, these women are prostitutes who have willingly chosen their route. Why should we give a damn? As heartless as it sounds, this thinking is ingrained in the minds of most cops on the beat. They steadfastly believe that virtually any woman who accepts money for sex must have entered "the world's oldest profession" with eyes wide open. They can't fathom that anyone could be so naive as to fall for the promise of "real jobs" in far-off foreign lands. As a result, the cops on the front lines rarely look beyond the mascara and the stiletto heels, and the authorities seldom investigate whether the women were abducted, tricked, or coerced. First and foremost, trafficking is not an illegal migration issue; it is violation of human rights.

Victor Malarek is one of many voices helping to speak against the lie that people are defined by their circumstances and experiences. Reader, your job and your role are not your identity. I am more than the sum of my actions. For victims of sex trafficking, it is especially devastating when all of society is echoing the lies told to them by their pimps, "clients", and previous abusers: you are a prostitute. A slut. A whore. You are worth only what twenty minutes of abuse can earn. You are unworthy of love or respect. You deserve your suffering. These are evil lies, but what disturbs me even more is that people seem more inclined to clutch or spit these lies when viewing minority groups. Whether it is Cambodian women who are trafficked into Thailand or Moldovian women into Italy or Thai women into America or even foster care children in Los Angeles--it seems that there is always a group of people to whom it is more "acceptable" that fate be cruel and ruthless. 

Our capacity for prejudice is astonishing, but the good news is that the Gospel counters with greater astonishment. We are called to regard those who suffer as people with equal value to us. Even more astonishingly, God tells us to give them preference. To respond to their plight as if it is Christ Himself who suffers. To love that much is incomprehensible, but I am walking in that direction.

If --> Then

These notes from a training on working with survivors of human trafficking are helpful in examining how we approach our faith.

Christians often treat their faith as transaction: if --> then. If God loves me, then He will protect me (and so on and so forth). Present faith as transformational, not transactional. Never make promises on God's behalf. 

Transformation is a disruptive force which seeks to disturb the status quo with the aim of aligning lives and communities to a higher order of love that is shown in the Gospel as God’s rules of love.  Soul Care

We also establish transactional relationships with each other. Attend this Bible study, and we we will give you attention and guidance. We will pray for you but expect you to react in a certain way. (Note that victims are often pleasers who may feel the need to appease your faith.)

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil, for you are with me."

Psalm 23:4

When I was younger, this verse reassured me that even if things are scary, I can trust God to be by my side. "Valley of the shadow of death" sure sounded creepy, but I (thankfully) had no real context for what that might mean other than darkness and vague fears. Now that I am older and have learned of the Holocaust, mass rape in the Congo, pedophilia within the Catholic church, slaughter of Koreans by Japanese and other horrors, I realize that the world is often a grim and brutal place. "Valley of the shadow of death" is more significant when you know some of the extreme trials inflicted by other people and by nature. Yet, a shadow is not a real object. It is a dark, misshapen representation of something real. So why did the Psalmist use this phrase? Was it just for poetic effect? Let's consider.

The Psalmist was a shepherd, renowned warrior, actively hunted fugitive, and king. He was often specifically targeted for death yet ended up living a long life, filled with valor and accomplishments but also dismal failures and griefs. In first Samuel, he tells King Saul that he wrestled with a lion and a bear in order to protect his father's flocks of sheep! He traversed the valleys of what is now modern-day Israel, a land with similar topography and weather to my own home of Southern California. This was a man who was intimate with life in the outdoors and with the immediacy and often unexpectedness of death. So, again, why the metaphor of shadows?

The context of Psalm 23 is that of a Good Shepherd caring for his sheep. The imagery likens the shepherd to God and the psalmist to the sheep. As a shepherd, David probably had experience herding his sheep down steep ravines into the lush grass of valleys and out again into new pastures. Doesn't life feel that way sometimes? Many of us use the modern metaphor of a "roller coaster" to describe this journey. What a relief that God leads us through the valley of the shadow of death--in but out again. At dusk and evening, the valley is much darker than the flatlands because the hills block out the light. Rocks and trees project shadows. Danger is imminent for the sheep in the form of thieves, wild animals, cliffs, and gullies. Yes, there is legitimate danger! 

And that, I think, is the point of the phrase "the valley of the shadow of death". Death is real. It is inevitable. It comes to us and to those close to us. And it comes not only to our bodies but also to our relationships and aspirations and dreams. It is often cruel, but sometimes it is a mercy. We spend much time contemplating if and when it will come. Think you don't? Replace the word "death" with "failure". How many of us live in fear and anxiety and hopelessness about our circumstances or the future even if we know we are in no danger of physical death? Sometimes we dread the end of a relationship so much that we can't enjoy the process of building it. Or we bemoan our physical decay to the point of ingratitude for our health. Or we fear a confrontation with a friend so much that we never have an important conversation. We're starting at shadows. We're spooked like sheep. See, it's one thing to know that death is out there and that it might affect us, and it's another thing to know what it looks like. We're not going to know what it looks like or what it feels like until it comes. 

Life is often scary. Sometimes our circumstances are dark and we can't see what is real behind the grotesque, shifting shadows around us. Often, I think we are not supposed to know. It's God's grace that hides it from us so that we will trust Him more and perhaps grow into being able to face it. Sometimes the hideous monster is really an overgrown shrub. Other times it really is a hideous monster. Either way, God is our Good Shepherd, leading us shifting, startled sheep through the valley of the shadow of death into green pastures. Even when death finally comes for us, if we are His children, we will arrive with Him into the greenest pasture of all. "And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Amen.

About as mushy as it gets...

Email subscribers click here for the surprising video above.

Congrats to me

The prolonged absence from my adoring readers is not my fault. You can assign blame onto the broad shoulders of BDR who had the overwhelming audacity to propose to me on Christmas Eve, thus inferring with my entire holiday schedule and hijacking all conversational topics for two weeks. Here is a picture of my reaction:

Okay, I lied. That picture was taken a few hours afterwards, but I think it captures the spirit of the occasion. I am dazed but happy; BDR is relieved. Ta da!