Fathomless Mystery

They arrive early on Saturday morning. But not too early to have a beer. Their handy carrying cases even have an insulated pocket for their brewskies to nestle. Sweat-faced and serious, they pull their frisbee dollies choosing with care which disc will be their winner. Men (sometimes women) who are, in every day life distanced from one another because of vocation, politics, and socioeconomics, join together in unity for this underrecognized and misunderstood sport (?).

I don't understand it. Can anyone help? Why is this fun? Why is "frisbee golf" challenging in any way? Perhaps I'm being snobbish, and I guess they may be writing on their blogs about silly panting runners who jog by them with that smirk on their face. Go ahead, I can take it.

Help!

(In no particular order)

1. Teach a course in Family Dynamics

2. Educate and encourage churches to become involved in social ministries (or strengthen their existing involvement)

3. Write a devotional guide for churches based on #2

4. Work in a church implementing small groups based on building community and outreach

5. Lead a church in a spiritual formation/social issues study

6. Preach a sermon series on #'s 2 and 5

7. Conduct burnout prevention training for social workers and clergy

8. Teach a literature and Christianity course

9. Work in hospice (particularly AIDS hospice)

10. Be a foster parent (not really a job, but a dream of mine nonetheless)

11. Own a stationary/journal/coffee-tea shop called "This and That" where I conduct journal seminars and retreats

12. Conduct ethnographic research on the Gullah people, including learning their language, songs, stories, ETC.

It seems that every one of these things fall under one of the following categories:
1-organizing
2-teaching
3-writing
4-preaching

Hmmm.............

Look at the color...note how many bruises there are and how dated...potty training is a vulnerable time for abuse...some abusive parents burn as punishment for not using the toilet...investigate what object the marks resemble on the child's body-- does it look like a belt buckle?...just so you'll know--adult bitemarks are 1.5" in length from canine to canine...sexual abusers often start the abuse with simple overtures that lead to sex...failure to thrive is a type of abuse where an infant receives little to no nutrients and much less nurture and stimulation...often babies with FTT look like little old people...the backs of their heads are caved in because they are never moved from their cribs...often they rock or hit their heads on their cribs to stimulate themselves...battered women leave their homes and flee to shelters on average 7-15 times during their cycle of abuse, before they're killed or leave for good, but still fear for their lives...methamphetamines give the user a high for about 20 hours while cocaine lasts about 3...it's also much cheaper and you can make it yourself in the privacy of your own home...look for rotten teeth and bumps on the arms...meth gives the user a "tingly" feeling which leads to the scratching.

This is a very brief synopsis of what I have been learning the last week. I sit at my desk overwhelmed--the thought of dealing with clients with multifaceted issues and how a naive person like me could make a ripple in the waters of this kind of brokenness leaves me feeling inadequate, to say the least.

My life's calling, at this point, has brought me into this place and to this training. Frederick Buechner says that calling is "where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." But does the hunger have to be this ravenous?

For some reason, I have been blessed with a life absent of abuse. I have lived more joy in my years than most people would in three lifetimes. BUT, I am still human. I have flaws, addictions and brokenness of my own, even if my junk looks more refined than my clients'. It seems like the real danger in this job is going to be losing sight of the evil of EVERY human heart, even if my heart doesn't commit acts that call for the intervention of the court system.

There's a great sign hanging on the wall of a local Alcoholics Anonymous meeting place. It reads, "By the grace of God, go I."

And so it is. And so I go.

mlg

It is my favorite season of the church year. The paradox is perhaps what draws me in-- the grief, sorrow and sadness leading to the joy and realization of the lavish grace we have been given.

I've learned something this Lent. The problem is not that I break my Lenten fast or fail to do the things I want to do to draw me closer to God. The real problem is that I forget. Every now and then I do think about Christ's suffering and death, but it takes a conscious effort to remember. My prayer each morning this Lent has been "God, help me to remember." My days ramble on, full of ungratefulness and only occasional focused living.

As I offer up my prayer to remember, it dawns on me that Jesus knew our hearts way before we did. He knows our propensity for forgetfulness so he addressed it specifically.

"Do this in remembrance of me."
"When you eat the bread, remember my body broken for you."
"This wine is to help you remember the blood I shed for you."

Perhaps the connection to remembering and the essential act of eating was intentional, knowing that just as food sustains us, so does the remembering.

I keep praying to remember and the strength to realize that I do not live on bread alone, but by the very word of God.

mlg