Well, Lent and Easter have come and gone almost by a week now, and I am amazed at all that God continues to teach me. Mostly because I'm so sure about all the stuff all the stuff I already know. But there is so much he has for me to grasp. And I seek it, knowing in the knowledge that as I seek hard after Him, He is there to be found.

I made it through another Lent soda-free. I did drink a lot more tea than perhaps I should have, but no soda. None at all. Though I know that giving up soda was something I did for a point (I'm way too dependant on it), I see clearly know what I did not 40 some odd days ago.I was looking for the wrong kind of brokenness. I saw something that was controlling an aspect fo my life, and I withheld it from myself in order to get out of its control, but I know I gave up the wrong thing. And I know, now, that what I sought God has shown me that I already possess.
But He has revealed something I did not understand.

I really need to live for Him more and more consciously. It is not about making the right decisions, it is dwelling in Him, and remaining in prayer. It is the acknowledgement that I have indeed been crucified with Christ, and that I no longer live. It is remaining in Him. It is not seeking absolution, it is living in it.

My broken teeth

For the past three nights, at least, I keep having this dream that all of my teeth are falling out. And not just "plop", there goes another one! More like they are slowly rotting and bits and chunks of them fall out at a time.

This is my nightmare.

Falling, getting eaten, being chased... none of these matter much to me in my sleep as compared to those where I lose my teeth. Its horrible. I see it happening and I can feel it happening, and all I do is try not to cry... I just keep thinking about how much I brush and floss and use Listerine... and it avails me nothing. Thinking about all I've done to prevent this comes to nothing. All I'm left with is a mouth of broken and bloody teeth.

If I were a greater man I would probably measure walls in my dreams, or see stars or ears of corn, and my nightmares my consist of dragons trying to eat women about to give birth (but as Buchwalter has taught me, that was no dream)... but even in my sleep my insecurities are ever present.

The queerest of conversations ever hoped for come too early

Yesterday was a great day.  The sun was shining, and there were palm fronds in the hands of all the little kids in our church.  Palm Sunday, what a great day!  Its similar to the Christmas Eve anticipation that is set before the child.  But as a maturing Christian, I know that Christ is coming into Jerusalem to give any gifts wrapped in paper, just his flesh.

I would not say that the day was ruined by what ensued, but it certainly painted a different light.  Like Christ riding into Jerusalem, he would soon march into my 3 year old daughter's mind and life.  

I went back to pick up my girls from their respective Sunday School classes, and was met by a very excited teacher in Claire's class.  "Warwick, I have something I have to tell you..."  Lisa then told me that they had been talking about Jesus and Palm Sunday and Claire was answering a lot of questions correct.  I think that this has everything to do with me reading to her a lot, and I make this known to everyone.  And then comes the brunt of the conversation, and her excitement and my fretting...

"And then I asked where Jesus lives now.  And the kids answered things like in heaven, with God... and then I asked if Jesus lives in our hearts?  Claire looked at me and said that Jesus does not live in her heart and that she would have to ask her mom and dad.  Isn't that exciting?  Isn't that great news?"

My reply:  "No.  This just brings to mind all kinds of theological dilemmas."

Another parent joined in: "How can that be bad news?"

My reply: "Well, can a three year old truly grasp and cherish and understand the implications of such a decision?  What does this mean for her? It just raises all kinds of questions."

"All of your questions are giving me a headache."

"Well, at least you know you can start to have these conversations."

I took little comfort in the knowledge that I could begin these conversations.  I told Heather all about what had occurred while we were on our way home.  To which our front seat conversation was turned back to Claire to see what was going on her mind.  

"So, Claire, I heard you talked about Jesus today."

"Yeah, we made green hands and taped them and made them into palms."

"Thats right, today is a big day."

"Its Palm Sunday, so we made green hands." (I did tell her that today was a big day.)

"Claire, I talked to Lisa and she said that you answered a lot of questions correctly today.  Good job, Monkey!"

"Yeah, we talked about Jesus."

"Well, Lisa also said that she asked whether or not Jesus lives in your heart, and you said no."

"No, Jesus does not live in my heart.  He left."

Heather and I looked at each other.  It was such a weird comment.  As if she understood at one point and something happened.  Something disastrous... there was such a tone in her voice, like sadness and hopelessness.

"Well, monkey, you know, "I started," that Jesus doesn't actually live in your heart.  Its an expression.  If I say that you live in my heart, I mean that you are in my thoughts and that I want to see you a lot.  When I'm away from you, I miss you and  I can not wait to see you again.  And it means that I do things that I know would make you happy.  I say that you, and Lily, and mommy live in my heart, but you guys aren't in my chest, are you?  Do you understand?  Do you get it?"

A quiet voice... "Yes.  But Jesus is not in my heart.  He left."

Heather, wise beyond me and much better at not rambling says, "Honey, to have Jesus in your heart is to say that Jesus is your friend.  You can talk to Him and tell Him everything."

Chiming in, "Yeah, your best friend.  Like Jenny is your friend, and the Thrushes, and Mikey are your friend... Jesus wants to be your friend."

Silence.  "Jesus does not live in my heart anymore."

Still somber.  I think Heather looked at me, but I'm not sure, because I was driving.

"You know, Monkey, Daddy and mommy love you very much.  And so does God.  He loves you very very much, and He just wants you to know that right now.  God loves you very much."

And silence again.  The mood in the car had somewhat changed.  I was in deep thought, Heather was now quiet, Lily was asleep, and Claire was slumped down into her seat, looking out the window.  

The rest of this story has a ring of heresy, but I trust my wife and her retelling of what happened next.  I went to the store to get the Canadian bacon and some sausage for that night's small group meal.  Here is what went down:

Before I left for the store I asked Claire, somber faced and clutching her giraffe, if she wanted to lay down in her bed and take a nap, or to watch a movie?  She wanted to lie down, so I carried her to her bed, and covered her with a blanket.  Before I left I repeated... "You know that mommy and daddy love you very much, and we just want you to know that God loves you very much."

"Ok, Daddy."

And I left.

Well, Heather was on the couch reading, and some time later Claire came out to her.  

"Mommy, I just talked to God and its ok now."

"What's ok now, honey?"

"Well, I was talking to God and Jesus is in my heart now, so its ok."

Upon this, Heather tried to talk to Claire more, but she slipped into her normal three year old responses of belligerency and contradictions.  So, Heather dropped the discussion and Claire went and played.

So, does Claire, a three year old fully understand what is going on in the world?

I dunno, and I don't know that even I fully understand and cherish my own salvation.  Part of my bias towards her, and partly against the over exuberance of some parents who overheard my conversation in the classroom, is that I was not raised in a family that was then very supportive of my decision to follow Christ.  My decision, finally and completely, was made in a quiet dark shadowy part of Rhodes Grove camp, with no one around.  It was just me and God away from everyone, and my decision, finally, rested on what I recognize as God's call on my life, and not my decision.  I'm intrigued by the way this has played out for Claire so far.  That she should be questioning so young, and had her own conversation with God (on her own, and alone) reminds me so much of my own walk, and gives me hope for her.  I know that she talks to God now, and that it is really on her own volition, not because she has been told to do so.

For further thought, last night I read to Claire from a bedtime devotional for kids, and we were at the part of the fall.  When we were done reading through it, I asked Claire if she understood about the snake and Eve and Adam, and she shook her head.  So, I explained it to her in terms I thought she would understand: We are like Snow White.  (She perked up right away)  Its like we have all fallen asleep, and we were waiting for someone to wake us up.  And thats what Jesus did.  He was the only one that was able to help us, because he loved it us truly, just like Prince Charming.  

She understood this.  

Her need for a Saviour?  Only time will tell.

If you can read this and not cry, I question whether or not you have a heart...

So, I'm not a woman, and if you asked me whether or not I read Women's lit, I would laugh in your face.  Ha ha ha ha ha!  I'm not one, as previously mentioned in earlier blogs, to fall into the tawdry books that line the shelves at the grocery store.  These fall under soft-core porn in my eyes.  

And yet....

I have just finished Atonement, by McKellan, and all I can say... wow.  What a great read.  It took my heart and dashed it into a billion pieces... And what an ending!  I never saw it coming.  Never.  I thought I knew, I thought I did, but wow.  

(I just had a feeling that I was one of those kids at the end of Reading Rainbow who give those seemingly nonsense bookreviews.  You know the ones I'm talking about?  They try to get you to read the book by starting out with a question: "Did you ever wonder what it was like to go inside the human ear? Well, let me tell you..."  And they babble on about illustrations and funny comments.  And then they tell you to head on down to your local library to "Check-it-out!"  Man, is that show still on?  Does Levar Burton get residual cheques still, or are they making new ones?)

I do like war novels, especially around the two World Wars.  I dunno that I would like to have lived then, but there is this semi-nostalgic blurry edged feel to that time.  And I think that this has partly swayed my feeling towards this book.  But I think the clincher was the characterization.  I do love deeply developed characters and inter-twining stories.  Though written in a modern mindset, there were some distinctly post-modern themes which make the read even more profound.

Ok, so thats my plug on this book.  

Now I have to get back to reading some good old theology.  At least old theology.

I'm dodging!

I subbed for middle school gym yesterday, and awesome!  First off, yes, I do sub as a gym teacher.  I know you're thinking my physical acumen would just show up the kids, but never worry.  And, also, yes I have the proper attire.  Need I remind you that I have run a marathon recently?  And, on that note, no, I d not wear those really short shorts.  

I will say that gym in middle school is a struggle.  Well, I can only speak for the boys... I'm sure the girls are just darling.  The guys are growing and becoming men, but not very well at this point.  Yesterday their arms were a little more in proportion to their bodies.  And some are just giants compared to others.  And, God help us, they're watching and trying to mimic EVERYTHING they see on TV.  If they can watch some guy jump like Superman and make a basket, well then there will be at least five guys who try it in a middle school gym class.  And of course, there are those who are much better at basketball than others, present company included.  But there seems to be a missing synapse that encourages immediate learning.  

Example:  If I cannot dunk the ball from any point, jumping like Superman does not guarantee success.  

Example: If the ball is leaving my hand like a shotgun, with no arch and no spin, and I haven't made a basket yet, then I probably need to stop shooting like that.

Example:  If I run into someone much bigger than me and they do not budge and I end up on the floor, I might need to move around him next time.  

And, as any middle school teacher will tell you, there is an unnecessary amount of arguing.  I obviously must have blinked because I missed that basket, and now its my fault that the yellow team is losing... despite the fact that the yellow teams has an average of 4/10, while the other team has a 9/10 avg.  Oh the unwonton pride of the middle school male.

This however, does not darken my spirit, because earlier I helped with the Special Needs class, and I had a great day.  I am amazed every time I help with this type of class.  Its such an encouragement to see how they interact.  They genuinely care for each other.  I had guys who just needed help getting dressed, and there were some helping to put shirts on, and those willingly asking for help.  Incredible.  It looks so counter what we think middle school boys should be like.  Its not a "sense" of community, it actually is.

And we played Dodge Ball, which is the greatest game ever in the minds of these kids.  They love it!  And I loved watching it... oh the scenes that just make you want to laugh.  Not because of the seemingly inane things these kids will do (to love at these would just be mean-spirited), but because of how much fun they're having and how innocent they are.  My favourite moment, that I hope expresses my point is this:

"Mike" is awesome.  He had been playing some hardcore Dodge Ball, and he was abel to stay in for a long time each game.  Well, as we were beginning the last game, he had a great idea.  We were playing in the back gym, where the wrestling team practices.  And so, their large mats were rolled up and put on the side.  I was watching the game when I heard, to my right, a voice calling out, "I'm dodging!  I'm dodging the ball!"  And there was "Mike" crouched down behind the wrestling mat, head down and covered in arms.  How great!  He thought he had beat the system!  You just don't find this greatness, this innocence in the general population.  

May God grant me this encouragement often enough to know that I need it, but not so much that I become numb to it.

Apparently, if you use the wardrobe as an "in" once, you can't use it again.

I'm growing old and by the grace of God I am somehow maturing.  I am amazed at His grace and goodness despite my inability to grasp such things long enough to truly understand what that means, and sometimes what I should do in response.  Its like that scene in A Wrinkle in Time when they are trying to explain what a tesseract is exactly... I get it, but just then.  If I move my head or blink I've not only lost it, but am annoyed at the fact that it was on the tip of my tongue and now its gone.  And as I go through my Lenten exercises I realise that I probably need a longer term of Lent to understand that bit of Passion half as well as those who have gone before. 

So, insights away this Easter season, and enough to last me the year so that by next Easter I have less brushburns from falling on my face in repentance, but more from falling on my face in awe.

A sight no girl scout should ever see

Saturday afternoon was great.  I had no where to be, and so Claire, Lily, and I stayed in our pajamas 'til about two.  I wasn't dressing up for nobody.  We were playing and laughing, sometimes stopping the crazy amounts of fun to get a drink, or a snack, or to watch some Disney channel.  Good day! Heather was at some scrapbooking meeting having fun with cutting implements of all sorts.  

Well, we were playing with the Little Einsteins when there was a knock at the door.  Ummm... yeah, I am in my Pajamas, and who could it be.  I thought about running up the stairs to put some jeans on, but I knew that the person outside would definitely see me running by them to go even further upstairs.  And... I knew it was bitterly cold outside.  No one should be made to wait just so I can put non-Superman pants on.  I was wearing a t-shirt, nothing inappropriate, but just not the way to answer the door at 2pm.  

I opened the door to a well-bundled maybe 11 year old girl with two boxes of Girl Scout cookies in her hands... thin mints and lemon chalets.  

"Here are the cookies you ordered," she said with cold-bited breath.  "You owe me 7 dollars."

"Ok, give me a minute and I'll be right back."

I did not order cookies from this girl.  I have no idea who this girl is, but I've taken her cookies, and I neglected to order any Chalet's for myself... Heather must have ordered these cookies.  Why else would this girl be giving this house, us, cookies?  This is all thought in my head as I'm now trying to remember where I laid my wallet.

After paying her, I open the Chalet's and me and the girls eat them, and they are good.

Heather comes home, and I'm no dressed and showered, and the girls are dressed, also.  So, now we're all dressed and Lily is carrying around the greater part of half of a Chalet, and Heather asks,

"What's Lily eating?"

"Oh, well those cookies you ordered came.  It was kind of embarrassing, it was 2 in the afternoon and I was still in my pajamas.  And then I couldn't find my wallet and I felt bad that she was out there in the cold, and her mom wouldn't even look at the house, so I know she was annoyed or soemthing. But here they are, the box of Lemon Chalets and the box of Thin Mints."

"Warwick, I didn't order any cookies from anyone.  I knew you had ordered a lot from Lisa (from our church) and so I didn't order any more."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

 

"Well, i paid or them, and half of the box of Chalets is already gone..."

"Who's cookies have you been eating?"

"I dunno, but I don't think I'm gonna go around and ask.  And I did pay her the 7 dollars, and ate most of them."

The poor girl, she must have gotten our house confused with someone else's.  We are the only white house in our cul du sac.  And our poor neighbors, who did not get their wonderful Lemon Chalets, or Thin Mints.  I do feel especially bad for them.