Racial Understanding

I grew up in a very white town. In my entire high school of 2,000 students, I can only think of 3 African-American students, and a couple Asian students. And I didn't have classes with any of them, so I really didn't get to know anyone who wasn't white.

My college was slightly more diverse than my hometown...but not by a lot. But my freshman year I volunteered for a tutoring program in inner city Chicago. Once a week a group of us from my college would head into the city and tutor a group of low-income kids, most of whom were black. And it was the first time I'd ever come face-to-face with white privilege.

I remember distinctly the day my eyes were opened to my privilege as a middle-class white person. I was sitting talking with a little girl while she colored. She was probably only 7 or 8. I asked if she had dreams about where she might want to go to college. She said, "I'm not going to college."

"Oh," I said. "What are you going to do after high school?"

"Kill myself."

I was speechless. For me, although I went through a season of not wanting to go to college, it was always an option. A given that that's what you do after high school. This little girl didn't have that option. And not only did she not have that option, but she saw no hope at all for life as an adult.

I suppose I could've had that conversation with a poor child of any race, but the fact is that our system is built in such a way that poverty persists among minorities far more than among whites. Opportunity, while not impossible, is harder to come by for minorities than it is for white people.

After college I went to another very white environment - a large Milwaukee suburban church. Milwaukee, by the way, ranks #1 in the country for being the most racially segregated. That said, I did live in a very diverse apartment complex, but most of my time was spent at my non-diverse church. And there I became friends with an amazing Latina woman, who is married to a wonderfully kind black man.

Her husband frequently studied in our church library during the week. One day he stepped out of the library to make a phone call in the lobby, and someone visiting saw him and reported a "suspicious man" in the lobby, wanting to call the police. I'd never witnessed this kind of racial bias first hand and it took quite a bit of pondering, "Why would they think he was suspicious?" before I realized it was his race. My eyes were opened that day to the realities of being alive while black.

I don't know the details of Michael Brown's death. I don't know if it was a genuine case of a cop exercising appropriate self-defense, or if it was racially driven. But I do know that race does sometimes drive people to fear. That it's possible this was a racially driven incident. And that we'll never have a trial to determine that.

The details of Eric Garner's case are much more clear. None of the ambiguities of Michael Brown's death existed. To me that is a clear-cut case of racism and police going way too far. And yet, no indictment there either.

But here's why I still have hope. I've never heard as much attention given to this issue as I have since Trayvon Martin's death. And while the toll continues to rise of non-prosecuted homicides of black people, I believe our country is poised to change. I've never seen this many people hungry for change, ready to be part of the change. These tragic deaths are losses that can never be justified, but I want them to at least not be in vain. I want them to be the catalyst for change.

I don't know what exactly that looks like. But I have hope that with all the attention people are giving, now more than ever we can change the system that the word "broken" doesn't even begin to describe.

There's still so much I don't know. I think that people in a privileged class are always hesitant to believe they are privileged, because they don't experience the injustice for themselves. And my limited witnessing of injustice doesn't give me the full picture. But I'm hoping that with hashtags like #crimingwhilewhite and #alivewhileblack, the awareness level will rise to a point where things change. Things HAVE to change. #blacklivesmatter

#AmISuspicious

Fear

In Exodus 32, the Israelites make a golden calf for an idol, even though God had just rescued them from Egypt and parted the Red Sea so they could escape the ensuing army.

And God gets mad.

He tells Moses the people are stiff-necked and he is going to destroy them. Moses pleads for God to spare them, and he does.

This anger makes total sense to me. They're worshipping an idol, unashamedly engaging in pagan practices even as God meets with their leader to create a covenant. Of course God would be angry. They've betrayed him.

Then I read Numbers 14. An almost identical scene—God gets mad and tells Moses he's going to destroy the Israelites. Moses pleads, and God relents.

Why did God get mad this time? Not because of an idol. Because of fear. The Israelites had sent a few spies into the Promised Land and gotten mixed reviews, so they decide it would be better to go back to Egypt. They decide to appoint a new leader, maybe even kill Moses, and head back.

It struck me as I read this that God got just as mad about the Israelites letting fear hold them back as he did about them worshipping an idol. In fact, fear is a form of idolatry. It's a way of saying, "Sure, God is powerful but this thing that I'm afraid of is more powerful."

The fact is, what God had for the Israelites was so much better than the alternative they wanted to go back to! They had so much more to fear heading back to Egypt than heading into the Promised Land. But Egypt was known—they could rely on themselves. Heading into the Promised Land was unknown, and they had to trust God to get them through it.

I've never worshipped a golden calf. But I have let fear keep me from doing what I know God has for me. I have chosen the path that seems easier, just because I know it and can trust in myself. And that hurts God just as much as worshipping a golden calf.

Moms and Dads

Although I'm not a parent, one thing that really bugs me is seeing the way moms and dads are treated so differently. It's insulting to men and unfair to women.

A church I drive by had a sign up this week for Father's Day: "Honor your fathers. Fathers: Be honorable."

I reflected on whether a church would put up a parallel sign for Mother's Day. And I highly doubt it. A Mother's Day sign would be more apt to read: "Honor your mothers. Mothers are honorable."

You see the difference there? It's typically assumed on Mother's Day that moms are already doing a great job. But dads, they need to be admonished and taught to be better fathers.

And perhaps they do. No one is a perfect parent. It's the gap that bothers me. You see it in the media, too. On sitcoms fathers are always bumbling idiots who have no clue how to parent. If they're left alone with their children, chaos ensues because really, they can't be trusted. T-shirts are made for babies to wear that reflect a similar concept: only moms really know how to parent.

Around Mother's Day a video was circulating about a job posting for the world's hardest job. Its description included long hours, being at constant beck and call, having no bathroom breaks, and so on. Not surprisingly, the job turned out to be a mother (although the people in the video were shocked). But it outraged me that the job was mother, not parent. Dads don't work hard at parenting, too?

We emasculate fathers, we lecture them to do better and assume they really can't, but then we complain that many fathers are absent or partly absent from their kids lives. But why wouldn't they be? We've reduced their role to sperm-giver and babysitter. While the reality is that they're extremely important to raising a child, the message we send is that we really could do it better without them. So why should they stay?

I've been making perpetual calendars lately with squares for Father's Day and Mother's Day. I used a heart as the pictogram on both of them. Many might use a heart for moms and a tie for dads. But dads are so much more than suits making the money so moms can raise the kids right. I believe they should be equal to mothers in child rearing. That raising a child is best done in partnership. I believe good dads are represented by love just as good moms are.

Not only is this unequal treatment insulting to men, but it sets women in a light that has often made motherhood seem very unappealing to me. While dads can be people who have lives, a part of which is being a dad, moms are often seen solely in the role of a mother. That's an ugly flip side to this coin. Dads are idiots; moms have no life. Neither is a picture anyone wants to be.

There are certain roles in parenting that only women are physically equipped to do. But those represent a small and short-term portion of a child's life. This Father's Day, I'm celebrating all the dads I've seen who take an active role in their child's lives. The dads who aren't bumbling idiots who sometimes "babysit" their children. I'm celebrating real dads.

Identity

I can't remember if I've already blogged about this, but since I'm not sure I wanted to make sure I do it now.

In 2012, the main thing God did in my life was teach me who I am and re-shape my identity. I'd just gone through a divorce and was on my own again for the first time in 5 years. I was ready for a fresh start, ready to discover who I really was—a whole person, made in the image of Christ.

I spent most of that year reading just 8 or so different chapters of the Bible. Each day I'd read one or two verses and contemplate on what those verses said about who God is, and what that showed about who I am. I wanted my identity to be rooted in who God is, because I'm his child. It was a wonderful way to read the Bible, and I ended up memorizing much of what I read simply because I spent so much time immersed in just a few words.

Out of that time came this project. Each day I'd write on a mirror who I was and surround it with who God is.

It's hard for me to really put into words how 2012 changed me. But whenever I start to feel uncertain or worried, I head over to this mirror collage and read a few. And inevitably, it regrounds me and helps me remember that I have nothing to fear.

Sin & the Snooze Button

It starts with just nine minutes. Your alarm goes off and you think, I can hit snooze. It's just nine minutes. 

Then it goes off again, and you think the same thing. Like the proverbial frog in boiling water, you let nine minutes at a time fool you into thinking you're not that late. Until 45 minutes later you realize you've hit snooze 5 times and aren't going to be able to get that run in.

A couple days ago in the city I used to call home, two 12-year old girls plotted the murder of their friend and stabbed her 19 times. Thankfully, she survived. The two 12-year old girls have reportedly expressed little remorse even in the aftermath of this horrid event. They're looking at 60 years in prison. No high school, no college, no career, no husbands, no raising a family, no retirement party. Their futures are over before they ever started.

What does it take for a 12-year old to get to the point of trying to murder her friend? I think it's a series of snooze buttons. They didn't wake up suddenly one day after playing My Little Pony and think, "let's stab our friend." They gradually allowed darkness to creep into their lives through gruesome fictional stories. They gradually let themselves believe these stories weren't fiction. They gradually—over a series of half a year—plotted and planned this stabbing. One little advance at a time, they let Satan into their lives. One little advance at a time until they were at the point of attempted murder.

When the alarm bells start ringing, we can't ignore them. We can't hit snooze. We can't say it's only nine minutes. Because those alarm bells warn us that the more we ignore them, the more we'll head down a dark path toward sin.

"But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.” - Genesis 4:7

Talents

I've been reading Brave Enough to Follow by Stuart Briscoe. And God's timing for when I started reading it sure is funny.

Someone challenged me to consider why I'd found success at work, why God led me to be promoted to leadership at a young age of 27. And my answer, which I said as if I was joking but probably reflected my heart pretty accurately, was "I always thought it was because I was awesome."

And that was the night I picked up Brave Enough to Follow. And read quotes like these:

"We often fall under the misconception that for God to do great work through us, we need to have the makings of greatness...the reality is upside down from what we think it should be. We don't have to have the courage to lead; we just need to be brave enough to follow." 

"It seems the more powerless the leader, the more glory God receives."

"If God always chose the obvious leaders to do his work, people would take all the glory for themselves. But if we are clearly weak and flawed, yet we have a part in establishing his kingdom, we cannot boast about ourselves but must instead boast that we know the Lord. God does great things through the not-so-brave among us, so the world can see that the glory is his and his alone."

Thanks, God.

Turns out maybe he's brought me to where I am because I'm not that awesome.

I think I tend to rely fairly heavily on what I perceive as my talents. I forget that even these are gifts from God, and that I can best use my talents when I'm doing so through his power.

After Peter catches the miraculous catch of fish, he tells Jesus to go away. He calls Jesus "Lord" and himself a "sinful man." In that moment, Peter saw how Jesus' power could transform his somewhat average fishing skills (and that particular night, subpar skills), and he knew God's glory. He was humbled.

I want to be the kind of person that shines God's glory through the work I do—not the kind of person that thinks I got where I am because I'm so great. I want God to transform my average talent into an overflowing net of fish.

Because He Said So

I've recently started reading "Brave Enough to Follow" by Stuart Briscoe. Like many people, I've often identified with Peter, so I thought it would be good to go through a book exploring his spiritual journey with Jesus.

The first chapter talks about the time when Jesus tells Peter to cast his nets into the lake. I'd never really thought about just how nonsensical this command seemed. In the cool of the night, Peter and the others had caught no fish. Not one. The fish would be far less likely to be present now, with the water warming up.

But here's the thing that really got me: Peter had already cleaned his nets. He'd put a lot of effort into a long night of fruitless fishing, and he'd gone through the trouble of wrapping up his day. Mentally and physically, he was done. And then Jesus tells him to put those freshly cleaned nets back in the water.

As a neat freak, I resonated with Stuart's point. Jesus was telling Peter to undo the work of cleaning his nets. And for what? Likely, for no fish...just to have to clean the nets again.

And Peter, who we know throughout the gospels is full of faux pas, acknowledges the silliness of Jesus' request...but then says this: "Because you say so, I will let down the nets" (Luke 5:5).

Last week in Sunday School a kid asked me why she couldn't do something and I said, "Because I said so." It was the first time I've said it, to my recollection! I guess you know you're old when you give a kid that reason.

But Jesus didn't need to give Peter a reason. Peter's the one who recognized that he wanted to obey just because Jesus said so.

At the end of each chapter there's a series of questions. One was "In what areas of your life is it the most difficult to let go of your agenda?" I scoffed in response, realizing I couldn't really narrow it down to just a few areas of my life. I blogged recently about not writing out a script to my life anymore. And that's good.

But I'm still a control freak. I still get annoyed when someone knocks over or moves something on my desk. I have a place for everything, and I like it that way. So I can just picture myself having cleaned and put my nets away...and I think I'd be a little perturbed that Jesus was messing with my system.

I think my whole life will be a journey of learning to let go. But this was another reminder to loosen up and give Jesus the space to speak into my life—even if it messes up my system.

Do You See Her?

Last week at LifeBridge, Rick Rusaw talked about loving your neighbors. A sermon I both resented and begrudgingly needed.

Here's what most stuck out to me. He looked at Luke 7, when a sinful woman, known to be a prostitute, comes and anoints Jesus' feet with perfume.

Those around Jesus scoff. In verse 39 the Pharisees think Jesus must not really know very much. Because if he really knew what kind of woman this was, he'd kick her out.

But Jesus reads their thoughts and tells a little mini-parable about how the more sinful the person, the more they need forgiveness.

And then he says this in verse 44, "Do you see this woman?"

I'd never really paid a whole lot of attention to that phrase, but I loved Pastor Rick's interpretation. This wasn't a vision test like, "Hey, see there's this lady here?" It was a heartfelt thought of, "Do you see her? Really see her? Do you see past the exterior of the life she's known for, into her heart? Do you see her hurts, her hopes, her dreams? Or do you just see her stuff?"

I for one tend to have a hard time seeing past people's "stuff." But Jesus never did. That's why he was always hanging out with tax collectors and prostitutes and sinners. Because to him they weren't just tax collectors and prostitutes and sinners. They were more than their labels. They were people.

I pray that I'll be able to see through the eyes of God, past the labels and into the hurts, hopes, and dreams of the people God has placed in my life.

Tickled by the Rain

Tonight I had an urge to sit on my back step, listen to my iPod, and just enjoy some time outdoors with my Creator.

And when I got to my back door, I realized it was raining. And I was disappointed. Here I was looking forward to a beautiful evening with God and it was raining.

But I went outside anyway. And as I sat there in the rain, I remembered this one day at Wheaton 11 years ago:

*not an actual photo. I know you might be misled.

(At the time I was keeping an illustrative journal of what I've come to know as God Sightings.) And on this particular night, I was sitting on the swings outside my dorm, where I liked to go and pray sometimes. And it started to rain that night, too, as I was praying about all my worries about the future. What if I never found a job? What if I couldn't make it as an adult? Would God really bring me a job I would love? What did I even really want to do?

And then God send the rain. The drops were soft and they tickled my face. The rain hadn't bothered me then; I felt like God was reaching down to touch me and tell me that it was going to be okay.

I've been through a lot since that night. Good times, bad times. Times that shook my faith and made me angry with God. Times that strengthened my faith and made me rejoice in God.

So tonight I sat out there in the rain and listened to my iPod, and started to sing along. One of the songs I listened to was Never Once by Matt Redman.

As I sang memories of the past 11 years flashed in my head.

Seeing just how far we've comeKnowing that for every step, you were with us

I thought of God's faithful presence through all those times.

Carried by your constant grace
Held within your perfect peace

That night 11 years ago I was so worried that I'd fail. And I've certainly failed at times.

Knowing every victory was your power in us.

And I've had victories. But through it all, I never walked alone.

Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Yes our hearts can say
Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did you leave us on our own
You are faithful
God you are faithful

God's faithfulness has been the constant in my life through an internship, a first-job-out-of college, moving to a new state, going through a rocky marriage and a subsequent divorce, job changes and job stress, nearly losing my dad, heartache, and joy.

And that ticklish touch of tonight's rain was a wonderful reminder of God's faithful presence in every step of my life since that fretful college prayer in the rain in 2003.

Scripted

I've written before about my realization upon re-reading Psalm 139:16 that God is a better writer than me. But I'm seeing some ways God has helped me grow to more than just head knowledge of that.

There's this scene in the movie Must Love Dogs where John Cusack's character and his buddy are talking about women. And it goes like this.

"I think women have the whole thing planned. Really, the whole thing. An epic narrative in their heads. You know my theory about this? When you meet, they have the whole story written. But you don't get to read it. But if you go off script..."

"...right? They write you out of the story."

I saw that movie years ago and laughed at that dialogue because I recognized it as truth in my life. And I thought about it more recently as I reflected on how God is a better writer than me.

I used to have a script for my whole life. When I'd get married, what kind of job I'd have, when I'd switch to a different job, how each day would go...everything. Every aspect of my life was scripted out in my head, a carefully planned agenda (that never seemed to stay on script anyway). And I would do whatever I could to keep things on script.

And I recently realized it's been a long time since I've had a script. I mean sure, I plan out what I hope to accomplish in a day, but I don't try to foresee every little detail. I have no five-year plan. I have no one-year plan, even. I've always struggled with living in the present until one day I realized I was doing it! God changed me so gradually, so subtly, that I began to write less and less of my life script and leave that to him.

And that has led to a lot more peace and contentment than I ever had when I had a script.

I'm sure I'll face temptation to pick up my scripting pen again at some point (or several). But I hope when that temptation comes, this peace and contentment will help me keep the pen on the table and trust in God.