Remembering Kindness

My friend Gary died yesterday.  I was sitting beside my daughter in a beautiful church in San Sebastian, Spain when I received the news. I guess that’s fitting since Gary spent so much of his time in church giving to others, me included.

I met Gary last fall when I signed up for St. Michael’s Education for Ministry program. Gary was gracious and welcoming to me - the only non-Episcopalian in the four year program.

This is what I know about Gary. He was kind, and the older I get the more I feel kindness is the most important thing. The most important thing.

Gary was unselfish. He gave his time away: Mentoring our weekly classes, teaching children’s classes at St. Michael’s. Helping with fundraisers for the Humane Society. Being very present in his children’s lives and his grandchildren’s lives. Gary was not the most important person in his life, because he knew the Way of Jesus.

He knew the Way of Jesus.

I sat in that beautiful cathedral and my daughter slid closer to me to hold my hand as I cried. Someone was playing the organ and it filled the space - a memorial for Gary right there in the Basque Country.

I’m tired of friends dying too young. While sitting in that cathedral today, I was wearing the bracelet of my friend Lori who also died too young just last June. Gary was my third friend to die this year. It is too much.

The world is hard and sad and tragic and cruel. Yet in the middle of all that, it is also a daughter holding onto her mom while she cries. It is friends sending messages of love and praying via text (yes that is a thing). It’s a neighbor offering to walk your dog when you’re sick. It’s a smile from the person in line next to you at the grocery store. It’s taking kids to the ice cream shop on the last day of school and listening to their giggles and trying to understand six year old David’s jokes, which almost never make sense.

Life is heartwrenching and cruel, and it is beautiful and sweet. It is glorious but rarely easy.

I will remember Gary, and I will remember his kindness.

Why Is It So Hard ?

Jesus told us, “Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples—when they see the love you have for each other.” (John 13:34)

We are told so plainly and so often to love, yet we do it so poorly. Why is loving others so difficult? Why do we complicate it so? Does this go back to fear? To pride? To our constant struggle to die to self? To die to our need to get own own way? Why is our default to only want to love people who are like us, who agree with us? Are we that needy? That insecure? That unsure of our beliefs?

It's scary how much we struggle to love others. I want to remember these thoughts and questions the next time I allow myself to think harshly about others, each time I see a news headline and think, “What idiots.”

Jesus help me walk your love out of myself and into the world.

When it’s Not All Fun and Games – My Real Life Year

I sat with my daughter on Christmas Eve sharing some alone time. I asked her to name her highs and lows of 2018, and she was quick to respond. When it was my turn, I easily named the low point of 2018 but trying to identify a high point in 2018 had me turning silent. I couldn’t think of one. The hard parts of our lives sometimes outweigh the good times, and 2018 was like that for me.

I’ve seen friends posting their “Top Ten” fabulous things of 2018, and that’s great. Maybe I’ll share my own later. But if I’m being honest, I can list the hard experiences of 2018 far more easily than the good times.

In June my friend Lori died. Putting this at the top of my “lows” cannot describe how this played out in my heart and life. Hurt and sadness and loneliness and confusion were the boss of me for a long while. It’s six months later and while the hurt lessens, I’m still confused. Yesterday, I thought to myself, “I’ll call Lori and ask . . ." This happens all the time. Part of me wants to be done hurting, but a bigger part of me wants to never stop missing her. I can hear her laughter even now while writing. I can pause and bring it up in my mind. I’m so grateful. And I still hurt.

There were other hard experiences in 2018. Not all are listed here, because, you know, I want you to have a good day. . . 

On February 1, 2018, I dislocated my shoulder while running alone in the hills near our house. This clearly showed I’m not as tough as I thought. There was screaming and crying and lot’s of, “Why does this hurt so much?” to every person I encountered at the hospital. Finally, the ER nurse responded, “You’ve dislocated your shoulder, of course it hurts!” I’m just saying, avoid this injury. The pain is fierce and the recovery long, and physical therapists are not as nice as you think. . . 

this daughter from whom I learn so much

So here is what I came up with for my 2018 high points.

I watched my daughter live through a difficult and painful situation and push her way out to the other side stronger and wiser and kinder and braver. And I’m so incredibly proud of her. So grateful for her dependence on Jesus and her willingness to learn and make hard choices and look pain in the face. These are not easy things.

The loss of my Lori brought me closer to our shared group of friends, and I am wildly grateful for these women. To be loved by them is a gift indescribable.

Pain and loss and hard times can bring a marriage closer or push it apart.  I’m incredibly grateful for my husband’s extreme faithfulness and love. His desire to share my pain and do things that healed my soul - even taking up backpacking at age 53 - is a gift I want to live with forever.

Could we just be honest and share our ugly stuff and not just our pretty times. How many times have I looked at Facebook and come away sad or feeling left out or like I’m clearly doing life wrong? Life cannot be as perfect and pretty as we make it look on social media. Last week I stopped following a writer whose work I love, because her posts made me long for what I don’t have. You guys, if you follow people on social media who make you feel worse about yourself and your life, stop it! The world is hard enough.

I read one chapter from the book of Psalm in the Bible before I pray each morning. Today, December 31, 2018, I read Psalm Chapter 13 and it seemed written just for me:
Psalm Chapter 13

How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul
and have sorrow in my heart all day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and answer me, O LORD my God;
light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over her,”
lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.

But I have trusted in your steadfast love; 
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD,
because he has dealt bountifully with me.


God has dealt bountifully with me, and I look forward to 2019 because of him.

Lori

No person has taught me more about
Jesus and his love than Lori

forever grateful for the love of these women

Instagram photo says, "Backpacking
looks like this - all smiles and fun"

actual real life photo says, "Climbing 2500 feet
up a mountain makes me want to throw up"

Instagram photo, "A dislocated shoulder is no problem"

actual photo, "My shoulder doesn't work anymore
and therapy hurts!"

my girls

grateful

When Love Wins Everyone Wins

We live in a brutal world. Maybe you’ve noticed. Sometimes I try to trick myself into thinking the hard things that happen are just a season. Life will get easier, less painful, kinder to my heart. This isn’t true.

The truth is, every day brings incredible joy and incredible pain. Last week we said goodbye to one of my dearest friends.  Yet that day which brought extreme pain and sadness also brought laughter and joy. I held onto the love of my husband and children. I laughed with my friends. I smothered five year old David with kisses and grabbed on tight to him as he giggled.

David

At the memorial, I watched my young Congolese friends sing, and was awed by their courage and kindness.

The following day, I woke exhausted, worn down by grief and busyness. I woke ready to tackle a new day.  A day filled with getting four young refugee children to summer camp. Yet I also woke to news reports of nine refugees being stabbed while celebrating a child’s birthday. How can this be the world we live in? Quickly I checked to see if I knew any of the injured. I did not. Relief followed, then horror that anyone could harm those who have suffered so much already. Who had already fled violence and death.

A dear friend messaged me, “Why does this happen?” My first thought was, “The light has come into the world and the darkness cannot overcome it.” John 1:5 I thought, “I must do a better job of loving people.” Sure, I do a pretty good job of loving the people I already love. My family, my friends, my bigger family of Congolese refugees. But honestly I don’t do a good job of loving those I view as unloveable, unworthy. Where does that fit into my life?

Because we all own the hatred that has become commonplace in our country. 

Since the last presidential election, which seemed to push us even farther away from each other, I have been asking God to help me truly love each person. Especially to help me love the person who appears to be the opposite of me. The person who doesn’t want refugees in our country, the person who attends a White Supremist Rally, the person who wants to hurt my gay friends. 

I can be so quick to judge. It feels like my right because I’m the "better person.”  I’m so quick to blame. So quick to believe I am, of course, the kinder person because of how I voted or who I spend time with. But since I’ve begun praying specifically for these feelings to break down, for my heart to embrace anyone I previously considered unlovable, a strange thing has happened. I have actually begun to love those I previously allowed myself to hate. This is only Jesus. This isn’t me.

I hope we will accept that we are all the same. All deserving of love. I hope we will all look around and love those who believe differently.  I hope we will become uncomfortable listening to anyone speaking badly about those “on the other side.” That we will stop those conversations, those jokes that seem so funny but really are just cruel. I hope we will choose to love. 

Only love can eradicate hate. There is no other way. There is no MY way that fixes this broken world. There is only the way of Jesus. And that way is love.

I hold onto this as I open my heart each day to the incredible joy and the terrible sadness that is every day life.

Always Say the Words

Yesterday we said goodbye to my dear friend, Lori. Lori left us Monday after a long battle with breast cancer. Two weeks before Lori died, I gave her this letter. At her memorial service yesterday my daughter read this letter. I struggled with whether or not to share this here, and I do so only to honor Lori and to share how well life can be lived. Lori chose to live well and for others. Also, if you loved Lori and didn't get the chance to share with her the words in your heart, please take these words and make them your own.

June 13, 2018

My dearest Lori,

I hope it’s okay that I’ve typed these words and not handwritten them, but tears don’t smear digital letters like they do handwritten letters.

I’m going to start by sharing the two verses I pray for you each day:
Psalm 23:4 “Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, LORD, because you are with me.” Oh Lori, I pray you feel the love and presence of Jesus so real and tangibly every moment.
Psalm 71:14 “But I will hope continually and will praise you yet more and more.” I pray for extreme trust, peace and joy to live deep inside you. And always I pray for healing.

Oh Lori, every week when I have the privilege of spending my day with you, I want to tell you everything in my heart and all you mean to me; but I know if I open my mouth to say these things, only sobs will emerge. Such is the way of me. I’m grateful God has given us the written word.

You know, I know you do, how much I love you. Without you, a big gaping hole will forever be in my heart. I will miss your laughter (oh your laughter!) and incredible wit and silliness, your wisdom, our last minute coffee dates at Janjou, our hikes and XC skiing, your gentle words of guidance and sometimes even correction, and of course the pictures we text each other of our meals (at least we aren’t posting them on Instagram).

My first memory of you is when Rebecca and Madelon were in first grade together and you sent an invitation to the parents for coffee at your house. I was annoyed and felt a great deal of FOMO ☺ that I couldn’t come, because I was attending Boise State. I felt pretty sorry for myself.

I’d never had a friend like you before, someone who prayed for me and showed me a new and friendlier, more loving Jesus. There are some moments we’ve shared that are so clear in my mind. Once at my house in the Highlands, when Caleb was a teenager, I mentioned I was worried about how difficult it would be for our children to find spouses who followed Jesus and had the example growing up of a good family life. And you replied this didn’t worry you because the Holy Spirit can conquer anything. You probably don’t know this, but your words changed my life that day. Truly, changed the way I live. I began to let God out of the box I’d put him and really let him have power over my life. My world changed that day because of your words. I’m so grateful.

There is another memory that plays so clearly in my mind. We were in the garage of your home on the bench, painting corn toss boards for the Ambrose auction. Steve was with us and you snapped at him (I'm such a good friend for bringing this up). I remember being startled. Wait, what? My Lori also gets annoyed with her husband. This made me feel so good and normal (I know. Such a good friend).

I hope it’s ok that I refer to you as “my Lori” when I pray. I know there are many who come before me and that you belong first to Jesus, then Steve, Madelon, Tom, Jack and so many others. But Lori this is just how it is with you. You have loved us all so well. The rest of us Wonder Women joke that we each feel like your best and closest friend. This is just how good you are at loving us. We live in this love of yours and give Jesus all the glory for bringing us together into this little band of women.

A few years ago when I started to speak at church – some might even say preach! Your support and encouragement and validation gave me courage and kept me returning to the pulpit. I have never spoken at church without you praying me through it. The first time I preach without you praying me through the week before and day of, is something I cannot let myself think about. Maybe put in some extra prayers for me now that I can always hold onto. I really do love you so much. 

But here’s the thing I want you to recognize and hold inside yourself. I hope. I pray you know how much you have changed the world for good. I know this is Jesus living inside you, but I hope you will let yourself dwell upon the way you have impacted this world with your life. The choices you’ve made, the way you have loved others, the time you have given to others, the incredible way you can see what others need – your unselfishness – all of these things have made this world a better place. You have loved well and your love lives inside hundreds, maybe thousands of people. You have lived the royal law of love that is the way of following Jesus. Lori, Jesus is so proud of you. I know he is.

Hold onto this and the rest of us Wonder Women will laugh with you and love with you again. There are many tears ahead of us, but I know Jesus is bringing us more laughter and better days than we have ever known. And I will hold onto this.

Your forever grateful, forever loving you friend, 
Shawna

PS: There is a pile of tissue on my desk and poor Daphne Dog is pretty worried about all the tears. Maybe put Archie outside when you read this. Oops, I should have said that at the beginning. My bad.

When Darkness Closes In

Note: This was written August 11, 2017. Today, the darkness isn't closing in on me and I am wildly grateful. It is my true desire that in sharing my life, hope will be passed on to another who struggles.

Depression is a cruel thing. Sometimes depression makes sense to me. The first time I lived in this darkness it made sense. I had just received a second diagnosis of melanoma, I was working at a job I hated, my husband was out of work, our son had gone away to college, leaving me wondering what my purpose was. It kind of made sense that I fell into the dark place.

But this summer depression has made another hard run at me, and it makes no sense. My life is lovely. Our son is newly married and living  just ten minutes away from us in Boise. Our new daughter in law is a delightfully perfect fit for our family. Our daughter is a joy and finishing her nursing degree. Life is secure and filled with friends who love us and care about our lives. I’m not sick. We are financially secure. I have the rare blessing of being in control of my days.

I feel guilty being sad like this. It seems self-centered and such an unkind thing to put my family through. Again.

Yet as much as I try and try and try to be free of it, here I am.

And I worry. I worry my family will get tired of "sad me." That my friends will stop calling, because who wants to be around this. I don’t.

I’m hesitant to talk about this thing that’s happening to me. Depression seems like a cliche. Something everyone is doing - like being hipster.

And yet I know this terrible thing I struggle to be free of has made me a kinder person. I judge less, perhaps hoping I will be judged less.

I hold onto the hope that my time in this dark place will pass. It always has. I must believe it will again. Maybe when I’m sitting on the other side of this darkness, I’ll look back and see I’ve learned new stuff, become a better person, stronger, kinder, more forgiving (of myself even). Right now, though, I hate this place. I want to laugh and soak in the good stuff happening all around me. It’s not fun. And it’s awful for my husband.

Yesterday, I sat in my favorite coffee shop downtown and a homeless man was sitting next to me. He started talking to me, asking about the book I was reading. I looked at him and wondered how often people like me really see him. Really hear him, so I put down my book and gave him my full attention. We had an odd conversation. He bounced from one random topic to another, and I followed where he led. After fifteen minutes of talking and laughing, I wished him a good day and said goodbye.

I left him there in the coffee shop, glad I had given him part of my day, knowing that in my own brokenness I too need the kindness, the understanding, the attention of those around me.

I left hoping I can stay focused on the road ahead, trusting it will get better.

For You LORD are a shield around me, my glory and the One who lifts up my head. Psalm 3:3

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time a woman stayed awake at night filled with anxiety that as her children grew older they would move away and become more mature versions of their amazing selves and forget about their mom.

Once upon time a woman stayed awake at night filled with fear and anxiety that when her children were grown, life would be empty and lonely and there would be no one to love and care for.

Once upon a time this woman’s husband tried desperately to console her. Yet she would not be consoled and cried anyway.

Once upon a time this woman’s God walked with her through sadness and despair and brought her out the other side into a beautiful light. He never left her. He was always faithful, always compassionate. He showed her how to walk in the light of Jesus and open her heart to EVERYONE and let go of fear.

Today, this woman’s children are grown and amazing. One of them even moved away. . . yet life is sweeter than ever. The children did not forget their mom. That was a silly fear.

Today, this woman’s life is filled with children - big and small - to love and nurture and hold deep in her heart. There has never been so many to love and care for.

And she never forgets what a gift this is.

I'm Paying Attention

Yesterday was not my favorite day. I’m not a fan of the new president. I find his character - at least the persona he shows us - disturbing and sad. I remain mystified and hurt that we’ve elected him. This isn’t Italy after all! 

Still, this is the president we have. Deal with it (that’s the pep talk I give myself; it needs improvement).

Yesterday my daughter said, “I made myself pray for the president today.” I stared at her. I hadn’t gotten there yet. Oh, I’ve prayed around him. “God, protect us. God bring good out of this mess.” That sort of thing, but praying for him? So this morning I took my daughter’s example and prayed for the president. It wasn’t the best prayer. It went something like, “He seems like such a messed up person inside. Help him love you.” That’s nice. I hope God can do something with that. . . 

I also prayed for myself, because I’m afraid my anger and hurt will change my insides. And that scares me. In the eight years of Barack Obama’s presidency, I’ve seen many of my Christian friends hating and disparaging Mr. Obama. It always startled me, and I don’t want to go that route. So I prayed “Please help me truly follow you in all this. Really. In my heart and in my feelings towards the new president and in my words and actions. It’s hard because hurt wells up inside me and flows out into words of anger that don’t honor you. Surely, I can disagree with our new president without hatred claiming a piece of me.”

Sigh. One sentence for our new president and a paragraph for me. It’s a good thing God never gives up on us.

Yesterday morning God was looking out for me. As usual. Each morning before I talk with God, I read a chapter from the book of Psalm in the Bible. This is an everyday thing and I just keep cycling through the Psalms, starting with chapter 1 and reading through chapter 150 and then starting all over again.

On Inauguration Day 2017, I read Psalm 46. At random. It was just the next Psalm to read.

It goes like this:
“God is a safe place to hide,
Ready to help when we need him.
We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom,

Attention all! See the marvels of God!

‘Step out of traffic! Take a long,
Loving look at me, your High God,
Above politics, above everything!’”

Rather timely. . . 

I’m paying attention and stepping out of traffic to take a long, loving look at my God. I’m looking to see how he will use this mess for good.

I’m reading through the bible again this year, and was tempted (haha!) to skip the book of Genesis because, having grown up attending church, I’ve heard those stories a million times. I mean, I did turn fifty last year! But oh how glad I am that my “rule following” tendencies wouldn’t allow me to skip even one page.

As I read the last words of the book of Genesis, I recognized God is constantly taking situations we have completely messed up and making something good instead. The book of Genesis tells story after story of humans ruining every good situation God has given them and then God fixing their messes.

When this “light bulb moment” occurred to me, I laughed. Instead of being sad and hopeless, I should be watching and listening for the good God will bring from our mess. 

“Pay attention and see all the marvels of God!”

God is bigger than my mess. Bigger than your mess. Bigger than the messes we make together.

And I’m pay attention.

Friends on a Thousand Hills - Rwanda 2016 Part 10

“I think I made you too small.” Those words from the song What Do I know of Holy kept running through my mind while we were in Rwanda. As we traveled to nearly every district in Rwanda, I kept hearing those words over and over. There are thirty districts in Rwanda. I’ve been to twenty. I had a lot of time to think.

Her God is BIG

At home in Boise I read Psalm 62 this morning and found a note I wrote in my Bible when we were in Rwanda. It was written the morning after our hardest day. You can read about that hard day here.

Psalm 62
God, the one and only—
I’ll wait as long as he says.

Everything I hope for comes from him,
 so why not?

He’s solid rock under my feet,
 breathing room for my soul,

An impregnable castle:
  I’m set for life.

My help and glory are in God
—granite-strength and safe-harbor-God—
So trust him absolutely, people;
 lay your lives on the line for him. God is a safe place to be.

The note I wrote says, “Kageyo, Rwanda 2016: I will not be broken. I will be a strong advocate for the poor and these dear families. I must not try to be strong on my own, because my strength comes straight from God.”

As an American sometimes it’s hard for me to remember I must not attempt to be strong on my own. I am, after all, from the land of “pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” My roots run deep in individualism.

In his book Embracing Grace, pastor Scott Sauls says: “Individualism is the biggest obstacle to the gospel of embracing grace. . . . Individualism diminishes us because it backs away from commitment and community. If humans are made to relate to God and to others, Individualism attacks our very essence.”

A focus on my individual self will always take me farther from God.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to let God be God, to let him be awesome and filled with love for me and great. I make him small, because I can solve my own problems. “I’ve got this.”

In Rwanda, most Christians don’t have that luxury. Their lives don’t always give them the opportunity to solve their own problems, to pull themselves up by their (non-existent) bootstraps.

In Rwanda, God is not small. God is big. Very big. He does big things. He loves big. He forgives big. When God does these same things in America, I often don’t recognize him, and instead credit myself and my own cleverness. Because, “I’ve got this.”

I desperately want to see God in all his bigness, in all his glory, and each time I visit Rwanda, God gets bigger.

I don’t want a small God.

I don’t want to read one more book telling me everything I need to know about God. I’ve done a lot of Bible studies and enjoyed them and learned and become healthier because of them, but the danger for me is in thinking I have God all figured out. Thinking, “I’m so smart.”

I can talk theology fairly well (I mean all those Bible studies. . .), yet every day my prayer is just this, “Jesus, please help me love you more. Bigger. With everything I am.”

I don’t want a small God.

Maybe we have to leave America to see a big God. Maybe we have to leave for a while to let God out of the the box we’ve put him in. When I’m in Africa, God is not in a box. He is big and he is all around me.

In Rwanda, I see a big God in the face of every friend.

Let’s make God big again and put him in his place.

Their God is BIG

What do I Know of Holy by Addison Road

I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven
But I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small
I never feared You at all No
If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?

So What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
So What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

So What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
So What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life it's name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?

So What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?

Friends on a Thousand Hills - Rwanda 2016 Part 9

Amsterdam

When we stepped off the plane in Amsterdam early Saturday morning, I turned to Kevin and said, "This time in Rwanda was way more intense than last year." Walking through the crowded airport, I started to cry. I felt sobs coming. Kevin quickly hushed me. Apparently, he thought sobbing my way through Immigration Control was not a good idea. He's smart that way. 

Last year in Rwanda was amazing and new and hard and an explosion to all my senses. I went home and told Kevin, "All other travel is going to seem boring now."

But this year we saw so much more. We were more connected to the people. More friends. More loved ones. More children to visit. More heartache to share. 

We absorbed more. Refugee camps and poverty at a level we've never seen. More hungry children. More desperate teenagers begging for help. 

Yesterday our friend Kamana (who will soon be an American citizen!) texted us and said, "You guys have done more in two weeks than I could do in a year." And it feels like it. I've never known this weariness. I imagine it feels a lot like many of my Rwandan friends feel. Every day. 

Maybe next year I'll have discovered how to create a more restful itinerary. But that's doubtful.

For now I'm grateful for two nights rest in The Netherlands, but there is no avoiding the culture shock of traveling from Rwanda to Boise in two days. I'm so grateful to get home to Rebecca and be where I can easily talk to Caleb on the phone and not wait for the electricity to come back on so we can FaceTime.

I'm grateful I don't have to leave Rwanda entirely behind as we go home to dozens and dozens of friends from Rwanda and Congo. These beloved friends keep me real and grounded and honest and living outside of myself in a way I'm scared wouldn't happen if they weren’t in my life.  

Truly, I don't know why God loves me so much, yet I know he does. I see it in the faces of my family and friends every day. 

And I am grateful. 

Read Friends on a Thousand Hills - Rwanda Part 10 here

at home in Boise