Neighbors

Strange events happen to me sometimes, and I recently had an urge to put some of them to digital paper.

It was late at night a few months ago. I don't remember what I was doing that night, but I was returning home at around 11pm. Driving down the street that leads to my apartment complex I saw a strange sight. I made out the shape of an older woman in her nightgown - she was standing on the inside of the gate facing out and had both of her hands on it. I opened the gate using my clicker and the woman stumbled forward into the middle of the street. As she approached closer I could tell that something was wrong. I lowered my window and asked her if she was OK. She came up to my window, grabbed me, and told me, "I am not feeling good."

She was definitely very drunk. I parked my car and proceeded to talk to her for a bit; Stanton is not a safe place for anyone to be wandering around at night, especially drunk. I introduced myself to her and she told me her name. I'll refer to her as Ann from now on. Ann told me that her husband had passed away, she was in deep debt, and she had been in and out of alcohol abuse centers multiple times. She apparently lived on her own and had few close friends and family to care for her. I escorted her to her friend's(?) house who was decidedly unhappy about seeing my neighbor in her state. After some discussion and back and forth we both escorted An to her apartment in Briar Oaks.

Do you ever experience a situation that strikes you? Maybe that feels surreal or a situation in which you remember details very vividly? I can remember walking Ann up to her apartment that night and very vividly remember seeing the disheveled state of her patio and living room. Chairs and pots in disarray, looking like they haven't been tended to in months. Old newspapers, TV dinner trays, and trash scattered about. Thinking through that scenario, the sorrow that I felt being there with her is still very palpable to me today.

What words of comfort did I say? Did I take the time to preach the Gospel to this woman? What words of mine could have assuaged her and met her in her time? And there's the rub - I did talk to her for sometime, I brought up talking to social workers, gave her some phone numbers for assistance, but I never followed up with her nor did I explicitly express the Gospel in words to her. I have not seen her since that night several months ago. God be merciful to me and enable me to love people to the extent that you love me.

Review: Wrestling With An Angel

Haven’t reviewed a book in a while. So a miracle has happened and I have indeed finished a book and feel good enough about it to actually write something concerning it. Most of the time, when I finish reading a book I usually don’t have a strong compulsion to want to tell people to go out and read it right away. This however is not the case with “Wrestling With An Angel”. This book by author Greg Lucas has become one of the touchstone books of my life. I don’t think I am saying that too lightly.

Greg Lucas operates a blog that I was pointed to by Jason Chang (hat tip engage). Gauging from how I responded to reading some entries in his blog, I clearly recall telling Susan right before I started reading, “Susan, I think this book is going to ruin me.” Wrestling With an Angel is a collection of short essays that Lucas has written, recounting experiences he and his family have with his mentally handicapped son. In humorous, heart wrenching, and pride crushing honesty, Lucas recounts how God has worked both in his life, the life of his son, and the life of his family. The absolute best thing about this book is his willingness to not back away from the hard truths of scripture, to look unflinchingly into what the Word of God says about our sinfulness and to accept it. Here’s an excellent excerpt:

“(Speaking of the Gospel) But how is this applied in the life of an individual who cannot respond in faith or who does not have the ability to comprehend the basic truth of the gospel? I’m not thinking of the native in a distant, unreached part of the world, someone who at least has a general revelation to point him towards more specific revelation. I am thinking about my 17-year-old son, who literally has the mental capacity of a 2-year-old.

Many Christians approach this sticky theological topic with their feelings, bypassing biblical study in the fear that truth may not be as comforting as their emotions. We want to believe that infants, very young children, and mentally disabled people are basically innocent in the eyes of God. Should they die without having attained a certain degree of mental capacity, we assure ourselves, they are necessarily saved from His wrath. Certainly this is how God would do it, right? This rationalization feels good and makes sense to our heart.”

Amazing! Certainly true and certainly things that I have thought. This kind of intellectual and theological integrity drove me to find comfort in the cross and in the love and grace of God. So theologically and intellectually this book is a complete win.

On a personal and emotional level, I have never read and cried as much as I have when reading a book. I wept at almost every other page. My crying and weeping must have been terribly distracting to Susan at Starbucks since she was trying to study and the folks around us were probably wondering what was going on. The best way I can describe my personal response to this book is that it feels like I am reading someone who has walked the same path I have walked, just who is a little bit ahead of me. Reading the book both reminded me of my past, my present, and my future as I read about Greg’s past, present and future. I wept for a lot of reasons. Another person who is a firm believer and is walking the difficult line in caretaking. The moments of, “Oh I remember feeling just like that…”.

The book is relatively short, its tenth chapter finishing up at 99 pages. I read it in its entirety in an hour and a half. That is not to diminish the book's great worth – some of the best and most profound reading I have done has been in short books that were concise and relentless in their points (Knowledge of the Holy).

I highly recommend this book, even if you do not have experience in dealing with the mentally handicapped. The lessons and principles that Lucas shares in his book are valuable to all believers at any stage in their lives. While we struggle and strain to love those who may or may not ever learn to love us back just the way we want we can only be deeply humbled and broken and the deep, rescuing, adoptive love of God.

Travelogue - Minneapolis, MN - 1

Hello. Writing in from lovely Minneapolis, MN. We've all arrived safely and I am currently sitting in the hotel room. Gotta say upfront that my roommate is a bit on the eccentric side. Oh well.

Anywho, I'm going to go ahead and recount some of the events of the day so that my future self might actually remember what happened to past self.

Travis spent the night. I didn't sleep too well, got up at 6am, and off to the airport. By the way, I've never really traveled within the continental US that much so this was kind of a new thing for me. Anyways, got a bit turned around within John Wayne Airport. Eventually things righted themselves, or I did, one or the other. Found Ivan, ate McDonalds, jumped on the plane, and a few hours later we found ourselves in Denver, CO.

I wish I had taken a picture of some things that I saw while we were in the confines of the airport, but suffice to say that I was having a good time. Signs about tornado shelters and franchise stores that I have never heard about fascinated me. Ridiculous of course, but fascinating nonetheless.

We flew, I slept, and then we landed at St. Paul airport in Minneapolis. Things went into high gear for a bit as we hurried to catch up with some of our other coworkers. We took the light rail system (which was awesome, functional, mass transit makes me very happy). Demographics were interesting. We found out hotel, checked in, ran out and walked several blocks to get to the convention center.

Here's our little corner of the "International Marketplace". Our booth definitely stands out from many of the other booths that have already been setup. Many of the other booths, from such organizations as OMF have photos and large bold font proclaiming who they are. I think we've gone the opposite route, with a large, red, cryptic banner, some t-shirts, and a single LCD TV.

Speaking of that LCD TV, we had to run out and find a Target and buy that TV and then run it back to the convention center before 7pm. We made it, but it was a lot of fast walking. Anyways. Time to turn in for the night. It's.....11:03pm here...9:03 for you PST folk....weiiiiiiiird.

The Perils of Waking up

So remember that blog post from a couple days ago. That same thing basically happened again today. Except probably a bit worst since my grandmother and myself suffered some injuries. I am a tangled mess of frustration this morning. Waking up to basically a physical fight is taking a toll on me.

On this morning. It is with tears that I say that I am thankful that the Lord is compassionate, even on me. It is an impressive and overwhelming statement to make to say that the Lord is compassionate and slow to anger. This morning I was the opposite of those characteristics, and in short order as well. I can't believe how patient, slow to anger, and compassionate God is to us. It is easy to be compassionate for those who have a sense of themselves. Those who can see the errors of their ways and who we perceive as being people who can 'get better'. But I perceive no such future sometimes with my brother and that weaves tangled webs of frustration, bitterness, depression. Oh how I weep at how little I am actually able to do in changing him.

God have mercy on me, forgive me for my not being slow to anger, patient, and compassionate. Forgive me God for being angry and harboring hatred towards my brother. God have mercy on me and my family, I am so weak.

The Perils of Living

This morning I realized yet again the far reaching consequences of my somewhat unorthodox upbringing.

My brother got up out of bed and then proceeded to not listen to anyone about anything and decided that the best position he could be in would be a ball on the floor. This poses a problem for myself, my sister, and my grandmother since my grandmother usually has been taking him to day care. We're all usually on a schedule so there isn't always the luxury of waiting for him to decide he's ready to do something. Sometimes we just have to push him out the door and into the car. That's probably the least fun thing you can do with my brother. As I tried to coax him onto his feet he reached out to strike/scratch my hand. This provoked a response from me that I would describe as somewhere between anger and rage. I reprimanded him for trying to hit me and then we got him down the stairs. He tried to strike my face. And again later my arm.

As my grandmother drove away I am filled with emotions. Fear. Anger. Disappointment. I returned to my room, simmering in these feelings, punched the wall, and then sat on the floor. Why so angry? I spent a moment praying to God why I am the way I am, and why my brother is the way he is. The thought that came wasn't what I expected it to be.

Physical violence was pretty much the standard for me being raised - when I was resistant, non-compliant, or just didn't brush my teeth I would be thrashed. Simple as that. And in an extremely perverted understanding of justice I want my brother to understand:

"In my day, you don't try to hit your parents (older brothers). I was damaged because of that. I want you to know just how much of that you are avoiding because of the fact that we're in a different place."

It's impossible, of course, for my brother to understand my complex reactions to physical violence, his non compliance, and our mutual father. But I REALLY want him to understand. These are the days where humility, peace, and patience are garments that I need to put on. They're just so threadbare sometimes.

Ultimately, as I sat on the floor thinking for a few minutes, it dawned on my that my reactions to my brother are heavily rooted in my past with my father. I have to say that I frequently think: "I'm over my father. No big deal. It's all in the past." Except I seem to be in situations that make me relive the past and then I uncover the darker parts of my heart all over again.

I feel like Job,

"Then I would still have this consolation—
my joy in unrelenting pain—
that I had not denied the words of the Holy One.

"What strength do I have, that I should still hope?
What prospects, that I should be patient?"
Job 6:10,11

And like the psalmist,

"6 Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro:
He bustles about, but only in vain;
he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.

7 "But now, Lord, what do I look for?
My hope is in you.

8 Save me from all my transgressions;
do not make me the scorn of fools."
Psalm 39:6-8

May the Lord be with all people who are fathers and may he guard me in the days that I become one.

-jr

Prodigal Radio 002 - Recorded - Now in Post-Production

Hey Everyone,
Just writing to let ya'll know that we recording an new, eclectic episode of Prodigal Radio. Keep an eye on ProdigalRadio.com for updates. The task of post production is quite daunting...I'll see you on the other side.


Oh nut - also, here's a PSA for gamers out there:
Ever play the Mechwarrior series of games? Well, Mechwarrior 4: Mercenaries has recently been released for free download at mektek.net. I'm pretty sure that their site is still down from being massively overrun by the nerd masses, the best I can help you with is to either locate the .torrent of the files, or find me, I have the files on my trusty usb stick. That is all. :)

-jr

One Person's Trash...

Today after the youth led service (which by the way, the young folk did very well) we assisted with setting up the rummage sale. And well...I'll try and show you the rest...