Rejoice in Your Fear

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

The newspaper is like the genie in the bottle, a monster emerging from the words. It stares down at me, huge and menacing. My teeth quake as I glance at it, trembling. I am afraid.

I am left in the corner, quaking, the monster guarding me, bidding that I say right where I am, crouched in the corner. It is watching for when it is safe for me to come out.

But it never is. Another scare. Another news item. One crisis after another. I crouch and hide, obedient to my fear.

But when I attempt to rise on quaking legs, and when I stand, holding, as a crutch, the arm of the One standing next to me, I feel a bit stronger. But my head still spins.

Come, He seems to bid. Take just one step, my child. One step and then another. I focus on Him, who steadies me when I walk.

His face becomes a bit clearer. The arm that I rest on feels a bit more solid, and less a figment of my imagination.

And my fear, which once dominated me, returns to rest deep within the newspaper, where it belongs. It is always lurking inside there, and within the words of some others that I meet.

But I realize now that fear is too strong for me. I cannot tame it. But it can be supplanted by my intense, prolonged, focus on the One who is not afraid.

And then I walk. And then I run. And then I give a cup of water to the thirsty. And then I wash the smelly feet of the hurting stranger, the one who, also, has been terrorized into a shell of herself by her fear.

“Come,” I bid. “There is One who will help you to walk. Let’s take the first step, together, sister, brother. I will show you how to lean on His arm a bit more often, a bit more of your full body weight supported by Him the next time you fall. Don’t let go.”

And as we tread upon our fear, He is raising up a great army. He passes you the weapons that are needed for this great war: love, compassion, humility, dependence, servitude.

Only the weak are strong. And thus, my fear has strengthened me, as I have been pushed, ever more into the loving arms of My Father, who holds me as I cry. Let’s not miss the opportunity that our fear points us toward.

Don’t panic. I’m with you. The Message

Let’s rejoice in our fear because we have been pushed, more often and more deeply, into His arms of comfort. What are you afraid of, sister, brother? Come and be comforted in the arms of the greatest comforter, so that you too may be a comfort to others with the comfort you have received.

What is one step that the Father may want you to take today, to live out of love, and no longer out of fear? How can your fear strengthen you, as you remember that it is the weak that are actually strong?

Jesus Guided, Through Food, To Heal A Child’s Diagnoses

/ Lori Lawe / 2 Comments

Like a gentle wind, warm, encircling me, comforting, I heard Him speak. Not unlike a confirmation in the heart. Pay attention, He seemed to whisper. Our physical bodies tell our minds, too, when it is time to run or to fight – eyes dilated, heartbeat pumping, energy surging. Pay attention.

So it is in the spiritual realm.

He spoke as a spiritual whisper as my friend mentioned a diet she had used for her child. The GAPS diet. Her child had symptoms that were completely opposite to our daughter’s. In fact, we weren’t even sure that our daughter had any real symptoms. Wasn’t she just a late bloomer?

Pay attention.

So I bought the book. I bought two books, actually- Gut and Psychology Syndrome which outlines the GAPS diet, and Nourishing Traditions. For many people, these books go together, like two sides of an Oreo cookie. The cream in the middle, the glue, is the person implementing the suggestions in the book.

Me.

Would I look at the pages over tea, and relegate the cookbooks to the back of my shelf, or would I roll up my sleeves and get to work?

I rolled up one sleeve, partway, and implemented a few suggestions. After the tea, the suggestions seemed hard. Too much to change. And why? I relegated the books to the back of the bookshelf where they collected dust for many years. “I tried, God.”

Many years later, the doctors gave us a list of diagnoses they wanted to label our child with. Ouch. A smack in the rear. A wake-up call. Maybe she was going to have a harder time than some other kids doing the regular things of life. Understanding school. Making close friends. Riding a bicycle. Not being racked with random stomach pains.

And the heart of a mother emerged, out of desperation. Pay attention. Heartbeat racing, ready for action, energy surging – how can I help my daughter? Eyes dilating – where do I focus? The heart of a mother, her desire to help her child, is a force to be reckoned with.

Get out of my way.

“All of those diagnoses are listed on the front cover of that book you bought”, that same friend reminded me. Oh yes. Were they? Where were those books anyway?

And so a journey began. A journey with Jesus, Him holding my hand, urging me onward, together, with Him. This time I was ready to hold His hand, to walk in His direction.

Desperation made me humble.

I’m ready now, to try anything.

And today, years later, we have a remarkable story of a child thriving in joy and in physical, mental, and social strengths.

None of the labels stuck to her in ways that were expected, praise be to God.

It turns out that science is increasingly backing up this nudge from the wind of God, too, but that is a discussion for another day.

God, help us to take your hand as You long to lift us from despair concerning the struggles our children encounter. We desperately need your guidance.

Help us to roll up our sleeves, and to do the hard, counter-cultural work that we may need to do, to allow healing food to help some of our children with some of their struggles, we pray.

Don’t Laugh At Me Yet

/ Lori Lawe / 4 Comments

No. It isn’t funny. We concur with you. We empathize. We feel your pain. We’ve been there. This is NOT funny……. (yet). We turn away when the snicker rises up. We don’t want you to see the guffaw. Not YET. Yet is the keyword.

My daughter is a minor chemist. She has mixed and remade so many versions of slime that she could create her own YouTube channel if she wanted to (in fact, she does and likely will). She was thrilled with the quality and texture of her most recent recipe, bounding down the stairs to lay her magnificent creation before my unappreciative eyes.

“Oh yes, it’s more stretchy,” I expressed, grasping to appreciate homemade slime. She couldn’t hear my lack of astonishment. She was a momma and this new batch of slime was her baby. No one, nothing, could tempt her to see a lack of wonder towards her beloved. This I could understand.

But it was unbelievably annoying when later that morning, after using our bathroom, I automatically rested my hand where the hand pump soap sits, and … nothing. The soap was gone. I actually thought I was going mad. I couldn’t find my teaspoon measure (again) later in the day. Random things seem to appear from thin air in bizarre locations, and others disappear with no rhyme or reason.

So it wasn’t funny. Yet. Can we not even keep soap in the bathroom, this hygienic essential? What is wrong with our household? I stumbled to the coffee machine in an effort to increase brain cells, to seek comfort from another cup of java. How is it that we don’t even have what we need to function at the most basic of levels? I asked myself.

I was discouraged. My identity was somehow wrapped up in a $6 bottle of hand soap. If I’m the one directing this ship, together with my hardworking husband, why is there another hole in the boat?

Coffee wasn’t solving my problem. But laughter did. Unentangling my identity from the bottle of hand soap helped. Waiting for the YET, which I could sense somehow, was coming, was the relief that I needed.

So, of course, our daughter used the family bathroom hand soap to make her most recent batch of glorious slime. Why wouldn’t she? And yes, she did put it . . . somewhere. Now where was it?

Here is the YET. I am NOT actually incapable of having enough of the basic essentials available to avoid a major health hazard. I am homeschooling. And my daughter is the inventor. Of COURSE, we may not have soap to wash our hands every now and then.

Relating this story to a friend later that day was long enough for the YET to arrive. Pull my hair out, question my ability to safely homeschool my children a few hours ago. And now it’s funny.

Because our little inventor is ridiculous. And so am I. Who ties their self-worth to the state of organization of their home? We need each other, her and I. God has plans for us both.

So she returned the soap. I had a laugh with my friend, who relayed a similar homeschooling mishap, and we went on with storytime together. And I am learning again, that because I am ridiculous, and because I live with those who are ridiculous, funny stuff happens.

I see your lips twitching the next time I share my frustrating homeschooling mishap. It’s math time. Has anyone seen all of our pencils? You look away, trying not to burst into laughter in my face. Not yet.

But you are the ones chosen by God . . . chosen to be a holy people … from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted. The Message‬‬

Do you sometimes throw away your identity as a child of God and link your self-worth, instead, to a $6 bottle of hand soap, or other expectation for yourself as Captain of the ship? Are you frantically bailing out a sinking ship, or is this just not funny (yet)?

Pretend You Don’t See My Mess, Please – I Prefer Bondage

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

Jealousy. Green sticky goo must come out of me somehow. I am jealous. I hide my hands behind my back. A cover-up; I will pray for you. But behind my back the goo leaks. No one notices until the puddle of goo forms at my feet.

I stand back in shock. That must be someone else’s jealousy I am standing in! I take a step to the left in horror, trying to kick the green goo off my feet, legs, trying to be free. My friend smiles at me compassionately. She understands that the green goo couldn’t possibly be mine. I am HER friend! She stands in a puddle of her own goo. I pretend not to notice.

And so the mutual self-denial is edifying. Let’s bow our heads, hold hands in unity, and pray for the one that we esteem so highly. We are spiritual. We aren’t jealous. But when we are done, our hearts pump specks of charcoal throughout our bodies. Death has touched our hearts. We won’t speak of our sin, and so our sin holds us captive.

But in my room at night, where no one can see, I cry out to God in desperation. God, look at the state of my heart! It is singed with death! I try to pray, but my prayers go up in smoke. Can you help me? Name it, He speaks, gently. Name why your heart is smoldering now, a smoking log and not a blazing fire.

Looking down in shame, I speak. “I am jealous.” And the Lord dances. He dances with joy, pulling me out of my despair to join Him. Well done, he whispers softly into my ear. And I am joyful. Like a toddler covered in mud, who made a mess of their surroundings, I am free. The mud washes off, easily.

My mess does not define me. I am defined by Him, the truth, because I speak the truth. I see myself through His eyes, forgiven, when I am honest with Him, myself, others. Not overly self-deprecating. Not hiding. Just honest.

I bring my problems, like a difficult math question to my Father, for help. “Why am I jealous?” I ask Him. He points to weeds in the garden of my heart that I have neglected to uproot, yes, but He also shows me that there is green goo in the air, everywhere in our culture. I breathed it in, and it took root, simply because from grade school, we compare the one to the other. An unhealthy system has infected me as well.

And it doesn’t matter, actually, why I am ill, or how I contributed to the growth of the ugly mess. The doctor has come, to innoculate me with His love. And I can dance again.

And so the next time that my friend and I stand in pools of our own making of green sticky goo, I can get out the broom, the one that Jesus gave me. I can offer to show my friend how Jesus helped me clean up my life, to sweep away the goo. Do you want to borrow the broom? Holding the broom with Him, you and He can sweep away your goo, too. And He will dance with joy, as your heart is revived, refined a little more. And we are free to soar.

We don’t have to hide.

If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—simply come clean about them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing. The Message

Consider asking God if there is any strange goo at your feet that you don’t want to see. Holy Spirit, set us free, we pray. May we be courageous enough to see ourselves the way we really are, so that our eyes can begin to see with clarity the vision You have for our futures, as we connect our lives to You, we pray.

I Choose Slow Death! Now, Go Away!

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

We are not seeking perfection on our journeys but progress.

And progress always begins with honesty.

The food that we eat is probably crap.

People in Canada consume almost 50% of their daily calories from ultra-processed foods . . .

Highly processed foods accounted for two-thirds of the calories consumed by youth. . .

We all may need to change our diets a bit.

No!

We hold our hands over our eyes! We don’t want to see! We sneak an ultra-processed potato chip into our mouth. Hmmm… heaven. Potato chip heaven.

I know that you know and that I know that, “Ultra-processed food is probably bad for us.” And we agree with our friends. We all argue on the same side of the debate. We all argue for less processed food. Yes, processed food is ridiculous! We agree.

We leave their house and stop on the way to the grocery store to pick up Doritos, Nestle chocolate chip cookies, chocolate bars, and pop. Why?

Our hearts.

Our brains know a little.

Enough to spout off the assurances that WE KNOW that ultra-processed food is probably bad for us, at least too much of it is. And who eats too much? The person down the street, the one who looks less healthy than us and who rarely leaves her house probably eats too much processed food, we ascertain. But not me. I eat less, we reason and so I’m fine.

Do we live in denial?

Our hearts do not REALLY agree with our minds. And our minds only know one or two facts about processed foods. We haven’t dug into the literature, sat there for a while, and let it really sink in.

Why? Because our eyes are closed. We don’t WANT to see. We like Cheezies, chicken nuggets, and Mars bars. GO AWAY.

We flip the channel and forget about this conversation. Our TV show is only infrequently interrupted by upbeat, colorful ads suggesting we enjoy Mcdonalds, Wendy’s, and A&W. That looks good, we think without thinking. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have lunch there. The program resumes, and we feel refreshed as we tumble into bed.

What if we are asleep before we climb into bed? What if we have been asleep our entire lives?

What if the food we crave doesn’t really taste GOOD, but we are addicted to sugar, processed fat, and salt?

What if enjoying healthy food is a learned skill?

What if, in two years, we remember what we eat regularly now, and that food makes us feel ill?

Because it probably should.

Because it probably is making us ill.

Ready, listening?

Ready for a journey, friend? Every journey begins with the first step. We have a long road ahead of us. But there are friends, here, in this community to cheer us on, to celebrate our first steps.

We have been there too, and are holding your arm, cheering with you as you learn to walk a little more securely and stably on your own, as you then help your child along, to make one more right choice, to choose life instead of death.

Ready to set aside your cola for a few hours? Come join us, friend, as we take steps, together, toward our future health. Food is one of the very few places where every person has influence. Let your light shine, helping others to walk a little further before sitting down with a full box of Oreos.

No one here judges us. But every journey starts with a first step. And the best first step is to peel our hands off of our eyes. Are you ready to see, yet, how you have been deceived?

It’s time we find a better way, together, and learn to soar, friend.

Come . . . —buy and eat! …Why do you spend your money on junk food, your hard-earned cash on cotton candy? Listen to me, listen well: Eat only the best, fill yourself with only the finest. The Message

God, how may we be blind regarding honesty in our food habits? Can you please help us to WANT to choose that which brings life, both with physical and spiritual food?

Did You Find A Crumb Of Hope For Your Teen Yet Today?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

The dawn of a new day. I can sense the inspiration.

A blank page.

A new life.

The possibilities are endless. We are inspired.

Parents spend thousands of dollars on baby clothes, cribs with matching wall decor, and expensive lotions for baby’s butt. We are inspired. The possibilities are endless. We haven’t messed this up yet.

We have hope.

But in the depths of the dark of night, on the page that has been written on, crossed out, erased, for the teenager who has messed up big time, inspiration and possibilities seem like a closed book. Every corridor that can be walked down from here seems dark, foreboding.

For the sullen teenager, a disappointment, we toss her an iPhone and watch her walk to her room. His life feels like the depths of night, right now. We must have messed up as parents. We spend less time with her and feel more frustrated. The dark corridors all seem to point to the same place, the place we don’t want to travel down. This is your journey, we say.

Good luck.

But what if his silence is imploring you to walk down the darkest of corridors with him? What if the light at the end of the tunnel will be so bright, so warm, that it will heal your soul too? What if the savior of your kids’ life isn’t you after all, but is the One through whom all things are made? What if, at the end of the journey, you find a piece of your soul?

And so we pray, on our knees, for our lost son, forgotten daughter. We pray until our hearts are transformed. We pray until we have some extra love left over, poured out to us from the Father, to give to our children.

We pray until we can find a tiny bit of hope to grasp onto, and then we continue our journey, offering a morsel of hope to our child when the opportunity arises. And we pray some more.

And in the transformation of ourselves, a tiny bit piece of beauty comes from ashes. The possibilities are endless for us and for our children. They are, like a new life, even this day, as are we. The page written on, erased, still has room for new words. Hope is born this day. And all is well with the world. I nourish my soul with today’s food and pass on a crumb to my child. It is enough to sustain her, for today. And He is pleased with His child, with you.

Oh! May the God of . . . hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope! The Message

God, though we have left a trail of continual failing as parents, and though our teens look back on a similar trail of constant failing, You never stop reaching your arm of love down to us and helping us to stand, again, to keep walking. Would you help us up again today, to continue our journey as parents, though we are tired and discouraged? And may we show the same grace to each of our children we pray.

Can’t Yet Walk In the Royal Shoes God Offered?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

If I was a stranger to myself, reading this account of my attempts to step into my identity, I would think I was a loser. But it’s a lot easier to believe lies about ourselves than it is to step into the royal robes that Jesus is holding out for us. The dress is too big. There is room for us to grow.

Will we wear the dress anyway, the shoes too big, the crown tottering on our tiny heads, as we hold His hand, and peer into His eyes, receiving His next gift for us, His beloved child. Growth will come. Will we trust the process?

Are you also a loser? With a process a bit like mine, where you kick off the royal shoes in a temper tantrum, frustrated because it’s easier to wear smaller shoes, the ones that you can tie on yourself?

Sure, the old kid’s runners feel a bit tight at the tips, but even walking feels impossible in the fancy big shoes that He has given you.

But of course, He offers His hand, His arm to lean upon, as you learn to walk as royalty.

No, learning to walk as royalty is not as simple as putting on dress shoes and waving goodbye to Jesus as He looks at you sadly, and hit the red carpet. He knows your heart, mine. So He gives us shoes that are too big, at first, so that we need His hand, His arm to learn to walk. We almost fall, again, and catch hold of Him. He smiles at us lovingly and encourages us to try again. So we do. And every touch from His arm, every tear shed that falls near us, every look of love from His eyes transforms us. Our feet and our hearts grow a bit bigger.

So becoming who He calls us to be is a painful process for us, simply because we can’t yet clearly see who we are becoming. Because we don’t know where we are walking, the journey is often long and fraught with falls. But He is calling you, too. Do you hear Him?

He holds out shiny dress-up shoes to you too.

Yes, they are too big for you and you will need to cling carefully to Him. Are you ready to take the first step? Are you ready to get up off the couch, to give Him your old runners, the ones that are a bit too tight? Soon you’ll be running, with Jesus at your side.

But for now, you may feel a bit like a loser, too. Recognizing ourselves as who we are, as a small child with no vision for our future, instead of the captain of a ship is the first step to our destinies. Are you ready to run into your identity, eventually, as a royal child of the King? The first steps will feel a bit uncomfortable. Your rear end may get a bit sore. You may even feel like a loser when you try to explain your journey to another, one day.

Why were you such a slow learner, you lament? Growing up takes time.

Realizing we are still a child takes even longer.

I still have many things to tell you, but you can’t handle them now. But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is. The Message

Lord, help us to take the first step of humility by taking off the familiar shoes that are too tight, as You call us to step into our identities as sons and daughters of the King. Help us to see the vision that You have for us, as threads of a tapestry in Your Kingdom. Help us to have the humility to recognize our need for Your arm, as we learn to walk down the new path You are calling us to.

Ask God “What new thing are You calling me to?” Your Kingdom come Jesus, more fully on earth as each one of us surrenders our calling to Your voice calling, we pray.

Christianity Is Not THAT . . .

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

There is another side of Christianity that differs from what many associate with the word “Christian”.

Like the coin that is worn down so thin on one side, that no insignia can be observed, so does the present term “Christian” no longer resemble its original design. (Sorry for the shock.)

Flip the coin over, and we can just discern the head of the Queen and the date. There are hints of the real thing, of true Christianity, if we look a hairsbreadth away, within a slice of each believer sometimes, but we have to look closely.

What do I mean? Well, ask the modern-day person what their definition of a Christian is, and they would probably say something like, “A Christian is someone who dresses up a bit on Sunday mornings and goes to church. They sing and listen to a speaker for a bit, then come home, and eat lunch . . .

. . . but the rest of the week, they are exactly like us.”

The divorce rate among Christians and non-Christians is equivalent, premarital and extramarital sex is equivalent, and depression and suicide are equivalent.

But sometimes, if we break into a sweat polishing the coin, we can JUST discern the profile of the Queen.

The divorce rate of students who attend a PARTICULAR Christian college, tracked after 15 years, is 3%.

Huh?

The elderly couple who attend the church mentioned above, who dress up on Sunday – they smell nice. And not a smell that one can sense with the nose.

They are the kind of people that you find yourself wanting to be around.

The people that end up hearing stuff that emits from your gut involuntarily. You can trust them. There is a hint of the divine in them, if you look hard enough, past their Sunday best jacket, and look, with the eyes of Jesus, into the heart.

There are bits of char in their hearts too, however, which is the confusing part. We were looking for a Saviour, someone we could look up to, and the more we know even these saints, we are left disappointed, continuing our search.

We only found some friends.

And I guess this is the way that it is meant to be.

The people we meet on our journeys, who help us up when we fall, who hold encouraging signs saying, “Keep going! That way!”, and hold us up in their prayers, are only dirty fellow pilgrims, on their own journeys.

They can’t lead the way.

They can only shout encouragement from the sidelines.

And I guess that is the way that He likes it best. We are the ones responsible for our own journeys.

There is a certain terror in this realization once reality kicks in. WE are responsible for choosing right or left at the next fork in the road, and at the next and the next crossroads at a dizzying speed.

Can’t we just follow someone for a change?

At this exact point of desperation, when I was finally fed up and stuck, terrified that I was going the wrong way, trying to drown out the competing voices that shouted for my allegiance, I finally called out to God, pleading, “Who can I follow?”

He arrived, with an arm outstretched, offering to help me up out of the dust, brush off the tears, and to give me a hug, and a pat before gently steering me in a particular direction, onto a lonely path that few have travelled, arm in arm with Him.

There are so many rocks and roots that I was sure I would fall. He knows this. But He was there at any point to help me up again, dust me off again, point me in the right direction again. He will for you too, should you ask Him.

Should. You. Ask. Him.

That is the key question.

Will you ask God for help? He is waiting on the sidelines, one of the voices shouting encouragement.

Will you take the time today, to listen? He is waiting for you, longing for you to finally show up for coffee with Him, and to pour out your heart. He has the best advice and He will show you the way out of the briars, and onto the open road.

Don’t assume you have found the path simply because someone is cheering you on. There are cheerleaders on every path, and some are evil, disguised, of course, as good.

Come on traveller, let’s go.

Jesus is just up ahead.

Let me introduce you to Him so that He can hold your hand as you walk together. Good luck on your journey!

I turn, looking for the next traveller to cheer on.

May you do the same for the travellers you meet along the way.

Now you’ve got my feet on the life path . . .Ever since you took my hand, I’m on the right way. The Message

How To Avoid Spiritual Head Banging

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

It started its day by banging its head against the window. “Aw – poor little bird,” I thought. I wondered if it accidentally flew into the window. But then I heard it – thump . . . thump… thump… This bird had been caught in a Mobius loop, a cycle without exit.

“Must. Bang. Head. Against. Window!” it thought, its determined little mind hurling itself again and again at its reflection

I felt compassion for the little thing. These glass window panes are a menace to little birds with walnut-sized brains. Seeing its reflection in the window, it tried desperately to fight itself off.

It will get tired in a few minutes and fly away, I thought optimistically. When minutes turned to hours, I was starting to admire the little guy, in a “you’re crazy” sort of a way.

I scared it away, using my most terrifying howl. I won’t see that bird again today, I thought, pleased with myself. Not even a full minute passed before the little animal returned. BAM. Flutter, flutter. BAM. This thing is brave.

I placed pillows, and miscellaneous items against the window to hide its reflection. The bird merely defecated repeatedly on the pillows before flying slightly higher and slamming itself against the window pane. BAM. Fly fly flutter flutter. BAM.

I taped black paper on most of the window. Like the cat in “The cat came back” National Film Board feature, this bird flew to another window of our house, and then another and another. I followed it from window to window, covering pangs so it couldn’t see its reflection.

Soon I felt like I was living in Britain in WW2, with black paper from my daughters art supplies covering almost every window. Wham… wham… wham…

The black paper helped for awhile but with determined insanity, the bird found my loopholes. A week later, I found it delightedly smashing it’s little head against a forgotten garage window. BAM! It didn’t even back away when it saw me this time. It was busy.

Guess how long this has been going on? A few hours? Nope. A few days? Nope. So far we are at more than three WEEKS plus one day of thumping. The little guy is determined, for sure.

We left for a holiday, and when we returned, I was amazed to find the little bird still thumping, not wanting to miss even one day of it’s morning routine. Clearly now this bird was just in a habit. A VERY bad habit.

I saw another dark-eyed junco this morning, as I peered through the small hole of black paper taped to the window to peer cautiously outside. This little bird was pecking at the ground, fluttering about, doing regular bird stuff. It seemed to be having a better go at things, a more joyous life.

Why was the other little dark-eyed junco stuck?

And us? I see the same thing in other parts of life. In my church. Instead of standing back, offering our activities to God, seeing what God is offering new this season we “Must. Do. The. Same. Things. Over. And. Over” too. Even if it’s dangerous to our well-being. We are determined.

Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. The Message

Why don’t we ask God where we are banging our heads against the window, because, we too, like that stuck little Junco MUST. DO. THE. SAME. THING. OVER. AND. OVER.

Stuck spiritually?

Dislike reading the sacred text, the most influential book of all time?

Hate to pray?

Maybe it’s time to try a new approach.

Let’s pray together. I am excited to announce an online prayer time, and you are very welcome to join!

Details coming soon!

Jesus, teach us to listen, and to obey your voice into the bright and exciting future you have for each one of us, that we may, by Your power, share Your love with the world.

Let’s awaken, listen, respond.

Holy Spirit, what is the new thing that You are calling our hearts to soar into?

Not Wanting to Hear = Rotten Brain

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

If I hide in a rock cleft of a remote mountain, forage roots for my meals, and don’t speak to another human, will I then . . . yet . . . be an independent thinker?

No. I would become a lunatic, a crazy person, seeking human society with every breath of my lungs.

And so, we accept who we are.

Humans are social beasts, like horses.

If you exclude a horse from horse “society”, the mother keeping him for a few moments from joining the herd, there is exquisite pain for the foal. The foal adjusts his ways and becomes more amenable in groups.

So with people. We are made to share food, inventions, ideas. Caught off guard enjoying some roasted beetle grubs by the community fire, the cave person encounters a new idea. Does she grab hold of the idea, assess it, and look at all angles before inserting it into her brain, that this idea is TRUE?

Certainly, there are some ideas, perhaps too unusual to be ignored, or too infrequent to have a well-worn route along neurons to be inserted into the brain, that she will take hold of before it enters her consciousness. She will evaluate, re-examine. Some ideas she will toss.

But many, many ideas slip by her unnoticed, as she is distracted with the latest joke and a swig of fermented taro root. Sure. That idea sounds fine. And now she believes it too. We believe each other. We are social animals.

And this is how culture is born.

A beautiful thing is culture, which is defined as a set of shared attitudes, values, goals, and practices. It is amazing to see the variety of costumes, foods, and yes, ideas that a community of people who live in proximity share

Except when we are wrong.

Time WILL expose the ideological rot within our culture, that is currently hidden, like a large piece of lettuce covering rotten meat.

Germans shouting allegiance to Hitler was cultural rotten meat in the brain.

And every culture has widespread beliefs that are, well, wrong. Including MY culture, including YOURS. Including MY brain, including YOURS.

Knowing that some of the stuff that YOU believe is a rotten, filthy mess is a good place to start in the goal of healthy ideology.

Time to dig out the old ears, polish ’em up, reattach them, and give them a listen. How may you be wrong?

And the wider question, which is just as important but crucial to reevaluate and assess ideas before we absorb them unthinkingly is, “How may the majority of people that you currently listen to and trust, your culture, be wrong?”

Truly independent thinking perhaps begins here in the nuanced tightrope of understanding what my trusted group believes and what the OTHER group believes. Do you have time to truly listen, to re-evaluate, to toss some of your OWN cultural rot?

Freedom begins here.

. . . some of the people of Jerusalem said . . . “And yet we know where this man came from. The Messiah* is going to come out of nowhere. Nobody is going to know where he comes from.” The Message

Lord, help us not to be like the people in the quote above, who demonstrate ancient rot in the brain. They do not ask questions, or clarify. In fact, they were wrong. They are confident and wrong. The Messiah was to come from Bethlehem and was not simply to “come out of nowhere”, their own scriptures attest.

Help us, Jesus, to ask a question instead of asserting confidently, pulling out bits of our rotten brains for all to see. Help us Lord, to ask you and our neighbor questions, and to begin to learn to listen. Holy Spirit, would you gently nudge and remind us to consider your presence increasingly more often before we speak, today? And help us to keep our ears screwed on tight, we pray.

Blogpost Footnotes

*The Messiah is the foretold savior or liberator