Life – Page 3 – The Word Worker

Important

The world is full of wars, conflicts, political arguments, societal inequities, and many other unpleasant things we humans deem important. We fixate on everything that is wrong, twisting ourselves into knots trying to figure out who we are supposed to hate, who or what is the enemy. We bury our noses in news, gossip, and arguments while life goes on around us. This week has brought a particularly negative onslaught, but as loud as it has been, it’s really a very small part of life around the globe. Many seemingly tiny, insignificant events occurred to bring joy.

My last baby turned six years old. As mommy, every birthday observed is a little bittersweet, as pieces of myself grow to be more and more independent of me. For my big girl, every birthday is exhilarating. It means she is one year older, with new privileges and skills on the horizon. It means cake and decorations that she has chosen to reflect who she is in this moment. It means people she loves gathered around her focused entirely on her for at least a little while, a privilege often craved by a child in a large and busy family. For my little diva, one short party is just not enough, she’d like a few days! It means presents, all of which from ponytail holders and handmade pictures to a new doll are equally delightful. Because of all the joy it brings, my baby turning six was one of the most important events happening in the world.

My ten year old son lost his first molar. The tooth fairy has not had occasion to visit our house in some time, although several teeth are being subtly encouraged to invite her, so this was quite an event. We had to take pictures and make sure every family member knew about this momentous milestone. Notes had to be written with dubious spelling but painstaking care so that the tooth fairy would leave the tooth for the treasure box that every little boy stashes somewhere. The prize left alongside the hoarded tooth, a simple rubber chicken target game, brought hours of side-splitting entertainment for every kid in the house, since the chicken darts managed to stick and dangle from the oddest places though never from the intended target. Because of all its simple joy, my son’s lost tooth was one of the most important events happening in the world.

We live in the country and rarely mow our yard until well into spring. Every year it becomes a carpet and then a prairie of wild-growing things filled with happy pollinators. This year the clover has been especially abundant, and my little Irish-blooded crew loves to hunt treasure in the leaves. The finding of three four-leaf clovers in the space of half an hour caused an uproar to rival election day victory. These precious gems were displayed with aplomb and recorded on screen for the benefit of anyone not immediately present. All three have been carefully pressed in the big dictionary for posterity, in case such a rare find is never repeated, while the heralded searchers rest on their laurels. Because of the innocent joy it inspired, finding clover treasure was one of the most important events happening in the world.

These critical events of my everyday life leaves little room for me to worry about the hazards of politics and war. They leave me with little desire to fight over disagreements and hate my fellowman. I pity any who cannot bring their focus to even the simplest of blessings or appreciate even the smallest of celebrations. Where else can we find a way up and out of misery? Where else can we find the ingredients of peace? What could possibly be more important?

Blame Culture

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From the very beginning of the world, when Adam and Eve tried to deflect responsibility for their rebellion, humans have relied upon blame culture. Anything wrong is always someone or something else’s fault. Children do it to get out of trouble. Adults do it to avoid dealing with problems. Each generation blames whatever is unfamiliar or new for the failings of the next to avoid facing their own flaws.

Blame is easy. “It’s the company’s fault!” “It’s the phone’s fault!” “It’s my parent’s fault!” On and on it can go. I can’t be wrong because someone else did it. I can’t fix it because I didn’t do it. Why doesn’t someone fix the problem already?! You don’t understand my situation, which makes my problems your fault.

Sadly, blame culture creates side effects. Instead of looking for solutions, we begin looking for more problems. Instead of respecting innovation and hard work, we slaver for indifference or stagnation to feed our indignation. Instead of being strong we wallow in victimhood.

We are not and have never been victims of anything but our own selfishness and laziness. We scream about the dangers of and ban all use of technology that allows mass communication so that we never have to teach how to communicate properly. We bang our pitchforks against the doors of those with whom we disagree, ensuring that those doors remain barred, so that we never have to examine anyone’s motives or face disconcerting truths. We excoriate entire groups of people for the debauchery of our society so that we never have to sit down and answer our children’s hard questions. Despite having all the power and responsibility for change, we use it merely to bully others from a position of cowardice.

I refuse to participate in blame culture any longer. I refuse to leave my children vulnerable to victimhood by never teaching them how to rise. I refuse to consign my own or anyone else’s soul to eternal torment by avoiding the hard process of connection and understanding. God took responsibility for our salvation, knowing full well that we would never live up to His perfection, knowing that we would fight and rebel and take the easy way out over and over again. He placed His power in me and I am no victim; I have no one to blame but myself if I waste it, and neither does anyone else.

Seasons

As many of you many have noticed, the blog has been a little neglected of late. Life comes in seasons, and my family has been experiencing a mildly difficult season. We needed time to work out some instabilities, and that has made writing difficult to accomplish. It also proved to be a time of refocusing and reevaluating.

My children are growing older and maturing into new interests and abilities. My oldest rapidly approaches the teen years and leaves any lingering babyhood behind. My baby at five embodies Megamind and can’t decide whether she wants to be a child or attempt world domination. More and more often our quiet time together involves the great stories of the ages rather than the delightful picture books of childhood.

Economic instability has made the need for better financial planning abundantly clear. Work that is dependent upon the good graces of employers is no longer reliable, and chronic health conditions make meeting imposed hours and standards increasingly difficult. We have begun to take steps toward owning our own businesses and becoming more economically independent.

Our church family is undergoing a period of upheaval as well as the passage of time and evolving needs change the shape of our fellowship. Adjustments are painful and time-consuming, and much more of our time is devoted to helping each other through than had been enjoyed in each other’s company for some time. This also leads to sleepless nights, hours of extra study and prayer, and an inability to schedule.

Because of all these developments and evolutions, there will be changes made here as well. You may find shorter but more frequent snippets of fiction, more spiritual/life reflections, and fewer but more mature book recommendations. Some weeks may be filled with content while others may be silent, depending on the needs of the time. Most importantly, throughout all these changes I will be here, sharing and writing and connecting to the best of my ability. And with book two of the Magicborn series in the works behind the scenes, you really don’t want to miss any updates or teasers that might come this way!

The Purpose of the Pattern

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When I was a child my grandmother made many of my clothes and taught me to use a pattern. If you have never sewed anything or seen a dress pattern, you might have the idea that it looks like the end result and that it contains all the details needed to produce carbon copy replicas. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

You see, patterns actually tell very little about the end product, and while some details are included and necessary, those details are few and far between. In order to create a garment that will shape and drape properly around a three dimensional human being, many smaller, odd shaped pieces must be fitted together. Some larger pieces must be folded and sewn into even more odd shapes. The size of some pieces must change depending upon the size and shape of the person who will wear the garment. The pattern contains marks to ensure correct joining, measurements for correct adjustments, and marks for sufficient seam width for the garment to hold together. These marks are often not labeled with language, however, and the person using the pattern must learn which ones are which and how to apply them.

The pattern itself cannot become a finished garment. Its purpose is to be applied to fabric with the appropriate markings for the individual transferred to that fabric, which will in turn be sewn together into the shape of the wearer. A pattern can be applied to any fabric, usually one reflecting the personality of the wearer. Different types of fabrics require different treatments; finer fabrics are more fragile, thicker fabrics can only be combined in certain ways, and still others stretch or slip easily so must be cut with great care to preserve the correct shape. The placement of designs within the fabric must be considered when a pattern is placed; the direction of the fabric weave must be carefully considered to avoid misshapen garments. Thread colors, trim styles, even fastener types can all be personalized to the needs or preferences of the wearer. The pattern itself doesn’t command any of this; the person using the pattern must take time to learn each person and each fabric before attempting to make the garment required.

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If the same pattern is used to make garments for three individual people, each of those three garments will also be individual. They will be similar, the same recognizable garment, but one might have more space in the hips while another is slimmer in the shoulder. One may be made of sturdy material with a more sober design, while another may be flamboyantly colored silk. One may zip and have no trim, while another may fasten with buttons and be trimmed with elegant embroidery.

My grandmother also taught me that our lives are to be made according to a pattern, the pieces of which can be found in the stories and lessons of scripture. As a child, still learning the basics of sewing, I didn’t understand what that meant, but as my faith has grown I have learned what a beautiful gift our pattern is. You see, God as Creator understands the incredible uniqueness of each individual human. He understands that with that individuality of nature comes difference in application. The pattern He has provided is minimal, with marks for connection and adjustment that we must learn to read as we learn ourselves, the fabric upon which the pattern is to be applied. Just as a garment sewn for a large person would not fit properly on a small person, or a silk garment would be inappropriate for a manual laborer, applying rules based on one person’s needs or preferences to someone with completely different spiritual requirements cannot work.

We all have the same pattern we are to follow. We are all different types of fabric, designs, and trim styles. We each have the responsibility to know both the pattern and ourselves in order to become a finished garment pleasing to God who created both.

First Chill

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The hay was in. The last two bales perched like strange giant eggs at the edge of the field nearest the house, securely wrapped in their white rain guards. Not that the sky gave any reason to believe the guards were necessary; the colors of the mountain grasses shone in brilliant contrast under the cloudless late summer sky.

Looks were deceiving, Uri knew. The mountains played fickle games with the winds, churning storms into existence within hours or stubbornly channeling every wisp of cloud away from the valleys between them. Little grew in the rocky soil, but the grasses seemed to have some special charm that left them untouched by drought or flood alike and held their roots firmly attached to the bedrock. This year’s crop was exceptional, and would feed the family’s small stock through the temperamental winter to come.

Tomorrow he and Bjorn from higher up the slope would make their yearly trip to the city to resupply the root cellars and pantries before the first snows at the peaks. He smiled, a somewhat grim twist to the corner of his mouth nonetheless. The haying had been late, and the first storms would come soon. It would be the mud that trapped them first, deep and miring. Not even a sled could cross the gullies then. They would need to be quick to prepare in time.

A gust caught his shirt where he stood in the cropped field staring up the mountain. He closed his eyes and let it whip around him, alert for the subtle daggers of cold mixed with the last of the summer warmth that would signal the wild end of peace for the year. There it was, an eddy from above, just the smallest tickle at his bare neck. He breathed deeply and shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d better call Bjorn before supper; they’d need an early start in the morning.

Opportunity and Prejudice

Recently I posted a series of questions on social media. I wanted, and received, feedback revealing how we as a society understand certain concepts that are central to a civilization. Need, work, and identity are necessary in order for a culture to thrive, but perception of what constitutes those things varies widely. When those varying perceptions clash in a battle of wills, a civilization teeters on the brink of collapse. Differences of opinion don’t have to be a death knell, however; if considered carefully without prejudice, they can become a stronger, more stable framework that incorporates every possibility.

As evidenced by many of the answers given, we often get stuck in one pattern of thinking, a pattern that applied to a particular society with particular tools at a particular time. We look back with disdain on past eras, talk with pride about progress, celebrate increased opportunity for prosperity, while at the same time treating everything that led to our current situation with contempt. New ideas, different opportunities, can’t be good ones because our grandparents didn’t have them. New tools must be luxuries because our grandparents didn’t need them. Little consideration is given to how new ideas, new opportunities, and new tools changed the civilization in which we live.

As little as a hundred years ago, the automobile was unaffordable by all but the wealthiest. Roads were narrow and unpaved, traveled by pedestrians or horse-drawn vehicles. Some of the bigger cities might have the convenience of streetcars or elevated trains, and long distance travel relied on the railroads, but even those were recent developments. Communities were smaller and more self-sufficient; schools were smaller, with their primary focus teaching basic literacy skills, as children entered the workforce early to contribute to the family’s support. The children were educated in the factories, the fields, the construction sites, or if they were very lucky, behind the counter of a store. The arts were expensive pursuits that the common citizen could not afford to pursue and that the wealthy, although they enjoyed the entertainment gleaned from artistic production, considered demeaning. The wealthy, focused on increasing their wealth and status, pursued a classical higher education and built careers in business or politics. Information about the world outside one’s immediate community was limited to rumors or newspapers, and arrived slowly if at all. Telephones existed but were expensive and often communal.

Now, a century forward, our nation would be unrecognizable to the people of the past. Not only are automobiles so common that roads, communities, and cities are built around access by car, but the train has been made obsolete by air travel, a possibility barely even imagined at that time. Schools are not only available to the average citizen, but require attendance of every child under a certain age. Not only does every citizen have access to higher education, but lack of a college degree has become a barrier to employment or advancement. Not only are telephones common, but the invention and development of computer technology has turned phones into handheld instant access to information and long distance communication. Improvements in transportation and communication opened up the world beyond the community, allowing the average citizen access to opportunities impossible in small communities. Family businesses can now become large corporations with worldwide customer bases in a relatively short amount of time thanks to the ability to network and market via the internet. Creative pursuits are now not only possible for the average citizen but often extremely profitable, even independent of established circles.

The world has changed, and with it the definitions of concepts. Bare subsistence by the definitions of a hundred years ago is now considered a moral standard to be achieved, as if barely avoiding starvation and exposure in a world of plenty makes one virtuous. The opportunity of exercising one’s God created individuality by using one’s God-given abilities to support oneself has expanded the definition of work and jobs, yet we cling to the outdated insistence that only doing manual labor in the employment of another is “real work.” Intellectual pursuits, although glorified in the form of insistence on college attendance, are still despised as leaching off of the “real workers” of the world. Those same opportunities only exist using the great connective powers of modern technology, making technology a necessity in our culture, yet we call it a luxury and religiously advocate to prevent the pursuit of our God-created identities.

A hundred years ago these opportunities did not exist. People didn’t have a choice. The average able-bodied citizen was forced to ignore and repress individuality in order to survive. Life was hard and the people who endured it often equally so. Those who possessed physical or mental disabilities couldn’t conceive of even the limited opportunities available to the able-bodied and able-minded. Most were institutionalized, tortured with experimental treatments for conditions that no one understood, and often died young. Some few with undeniable gifts in the arts found patrons who allowed them a semblance of a normal life, but even they were often ostracized by society for “scandalous” behavior and ended up self-destructing. Their lives held no value to other humans because as far as society was concerned they could not contribute a fair share.

In our age of information, understanding, and opportunity, attitudes haven’t changed. Oh, we talk a good game, but we still insist that everyone meet the same standards, perform the same work in the same way, rise to the same challenges, produce the same outcomes. In an age where individuality is so obvious and tools are so readily available, we despise differences and try to force uniformity. In an age of plenty, we try to force poverty. In an age of information, we try to force ignorance. In an age of opportunity, we try to force disadvantage.

In this incredible time and place, we have the greatest of opportunities. We can choose to value every life, every contribution, every ability, every effort, and every challenge without prejudice. We can support the intellectual and the manual laborer with equal respect to the different types of effort required. We can accept the vast amount of time and skill required to produce an artistic endeavor and take time to enjoy the result with respect that the artist cared to bring joy into our lives in the form of entertainment. We can provide relief for our loved ones who suffer from visible or invisible differences in ability, and ensure them the opportunity to contribute in their own equally valuable way. We can recognize that need is as individual as individuals, and support each other without disdain or dismissal. We can break away from conformity made unnecessary by opportunity, and choose to celebrate the designed individuality of every member of God’s creation.

Book Review: The Lady and the Spider

A spider finds her perfect home in a cozy head of lettuce in a lady’s garden. The leaves collect water and tasty insects buzz and crawl within easy reach. The lettuce even provides quick shelter from larger animals who might turn the spider herself into a meal!

When the lady harvests her lettuce she doesn’t notice the little spider hiding in the leaves. The poor little spider endures quite a terrifying adventure as the lady prepares her lunch. When the lady does finally notice her plight, what will happen to the spider?

This book is a simple, precious story that will capture children’s hearts while teaching unconscious lessons about how we treat others. In this story there is no hero or villain, only two characters with vastly different perspectives. Each has a purpose, and they must learn to understand the place of each in the garden.

Hard

We like to think that hard only happens in stories, that hard is a thing of the past. But it isn’t. We like to think that the ultimate achievement would be to eradicate hard from our memory. But it wouldn’t.

A young woman breathes deeply through the pain of her muscles contracting. Her skin stretches to its limit as a tiny head presents itself to the world. She collapses in exhaustion, sore and weak, but lifts her arms to receive a screaming, wiggling new life. Her breasts ache with pressure of milk flowing, and she winces at the tug of her baby’s eager tongue. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A toddler struggles to his feet, swaying a little on unaccustomed legs. He reaches for support, but it’s just too far away. Slowly he leans forward and shifts one foot slightly. He falls forward but catches himself with his hands and struggles upright again. Undaunted, he lifts his foot again and manages to move it two inches before he sways and nearly falls again. Encouraged, he tries the other foot. This time he does fall forward, but his daddy’s hand that he reached for from the beginning is there and he has taken his first steps. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A mom of five lies awake long after her family is asleep, her mind churning. One of her children has challenged her will, determined already at five years old to plot her own course regardless of destruction. Another struggles with an alien within that tries to destroy him against his own will. Another blossoms rapidly into womanhood, her gentle innocence challenged by changes she does not yet understand. The mom weeps alone, praying for the wisdom and strength to face another day trying to fulfill all the needs. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A man, his hair prematurely gray, fills the fuel tank of his old truck with grim resignation. He has been near broken so many times he lost count long ago. This latest seems beyond his power, and he prays for resolution. War looms, the meager contents of his wallet stretch thin, and he can’t seem to collect resources quickly enough to ward against what threatens. He didn’t want this; someone far away with more power than is healthy chose their own temporary gain over true good. He counts through a mental budget yet again, trying to balance his family’s needs against ever shrinking ability. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A soldier shivers with pain, tears burning paths in his cheeks. All he wanted to do was respect the country he loves, and make his family proud. He never expected to fight a war, to stare down the barrel of a weapon at living people he was tasked to kill. He never expected to purge himself over mutilated remains beneath rubble, or to have his gut ripped open with shrapnel from a carelessly launched missile. He never expected to be lying in his own blood on foreign soil, wondering if that would be the last thing he ever saw. Hard. Necessary. Anything but beautiful.

Hard makes us who we are. The specific hard we endure makes us individual, whether it’s the hard of providing for a family, the hard of dealing with illness, or the hard of facing pain and death. Hard is meaning and purpose; hard is the reason the human race still exists. Hard is necessary. Usually, hard is beautiful.

Shepherd Authority

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The word “authority” is often brought up in certain religious circles, usually in context of arguing whether or not something is allowed or spiritually “legal.” Certainly the word is used prolifically in scripture, but when speaking of God’s authority over man, the Bible paints quite a special picture.

God is most often envisioned as a shepherd and humans as sheep. The shepherd has total authority over the flock, but he does not rule them with laws. Something far deeper and more abiding holds the sheep under his will, and it begins at the birth of a lamb.

A shepherd’s life is bound to his flock; he must keep eyes on every sheep at all hours, and know everything that happens among them, no matter how large the flock. When a lamb is born, he is there to warm it, ensure the mother feeds it, and guard against the predators that lurk for the one minute his back might turn. He cradles the lamb in his arms, whispering to it and carrying it to a safer place. The shepherd’s voice is known as soon as the ewe’s, and is immediately associated with comfort and safety. If the ewe rejects a lamb, the shepherd feeds it himself, adding recognition of the shepherd as the source of life.

Such a beginning establishes both a father’s affection and intimate knowledge of the lamb in the shepherd, and unbreakable trust of the shepherd in the lamb. This trust and affection mean that for the rest of its life the sheep will do anything for the shepherd, and the shepherd will do anything for the sheep. If the shepherd calls, the sheep will run to him immediately; he is the source of everything good in her life, and she wants whatever he has to offer. If the sheep becomes ill or injured, or is separated from the flock by distraction or hunting predators, the shepherd can instantly sense that something is wrong and will quickly find the sheep to fix the problem.

There is no need for the shepherd to beat or threaten the sheep; in fact, such treatment would only confuse and frighten the sheep. There are no rules or laws to be enforced, no “command structure” to keep organized. Sheep operate on instinct and have no need of such things. They follow the shepherd because he feeds them, protects them, heals them, rescues them. They follow wherever he calls, stop wherever he rests, eat whatever he provides, simply because he loves them and they trust him. They are connected to the shepherd as surely as if they were part of him, and cannot conceive of life without him.

This is the authority of God for His people. We allow Him to provide for us, to lead us, to protect us, because He loves us and we trust Him. When we struggle, we call for Him; when our souls are threatened, we run toward Him. When He calls, it doesn’t matter what we think or want; what He offers is better and we rush to receive it. He loves us with incomprehensible love, and knows every part of us even more deeply than we know ourselves. There is no need for laws or command structures, no possibility of quibbling over legalities. We are connected to Him, part of Him, and cannot exist otherwise.

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Water and Mud

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The images of flowing water and being washed clean dominate the scriptures, but one in particular is my favorite. Revelation paints a picture of a river rushing down from God’s throne through the roots of the tree of life to cleanse the world of a great curse. That image has always fired my imagination, and I sometimes can almost feel the water rushing through me carrying away every trace of unwanted filth.

There’s another image that often troubles me when I think of the great river, an ugly one not specifically painted in Revelation but one nevertheless seen in the behavior of mankind from the garden to now. It’s a person, unrecognizable under layers of grime, half buried in thick heavy clay. This person, upon seeing the flood coming, instead of rejoicing in the power that can free them from the mud and grime, begins to frantically use globs of their muddy trap to build a wall to block the water, growing dirtier and sinking deeper in the mire with every handful while salvation flows mere inches away.

In a way it’s an understandable reaction. We tend to be terrified of power held outside of ourselves, and our terror focuses our efforts on desperate self-preservation rather than reason. Perhaps, in the physical world, there is purpose in such a reaction, but spiritually it makes no sense. Christ’s sacrifice offers freedom from the mire of uncertainty and fear, a return to the purity of our origin and connection, peace unreachable from the muddy banks of human opinions and demands. Clinging to anything stemming from human concerns builds a wall between us and that cleansing, life-bringing flood.