Break In

A few weeks ago, I came home to see this:

While I was running an errand, someone decided to do their Christmas shopping at my house. All in all, not much was gone. After the hassle of fixing the door and filing for insurance, things are pretty much back to normal. 

Some say the hardest part of a break  in is the sense of invasion, of your private space becoming public. Certainly, that has been frustrating. Particularly when I discovered that they were using my laptop and my Netflix account to watch movies…it's especially hard when you see their terrible taste in film.

Seeing my closet ransacked and my drawers dumped out has made me feel exposed, and even moreso when I realized that my journal from the past year was in my laptop bag and they now have access to my most personal thoughts. 

But that hasn't been the most frustrating part of this for me.

The thing that makes anger rise up in me is the selfishness of it. If any of the people who kicked in my door came home to find someone else in their house, they would go ballistic…and rightfully so. And yet, they have decided to do the same to someone else. They are so self-focused that it does not occur to them that what they're doing will impact someone else so negatively. Or perhaps they do realize it and have simply decided that their financial interests take precedence over my sense of security and comfort in my own home. It's possible that they know exactly what they're doing, but I think it's more likely that they are simply so selfish and inwardly focused that they don't even think of me as a person. 

As Christmas quickly approaches, maybe the lesson I'm learning is this. It's not a new one, but my broken front door has reinforced it. Don't be selfish. Think about others and put yourself in their shoes. The hardest part for me wasn't the finances or the stuff…it was that the ones who tossed my closet decided I wasn't really a person.

My Black Suit

I own a black suit. I don’t wear it frequently, because I have two other suits I like better. I don’t have to dress nice very often and so the other two are in a more regular rotation than my plain black suit.

I donned this one a few weeks ago to attend a memorial service and while there, I stuck my hand in a coat pocket and instantly knew when I last wore this suit.

It was January 29, about six months prior.

How did I know this specific date? When I put my right hand into the pocket I found a half dozen folded Kleenex and remembered that I’d put them there for a wedding I officiated on January 29.

This sudden recollection of being prepared for tears brought up a realization about my black suit: I only wear it at weddings and funerals.

Immediately after I had a deeper recognition, which is that we respond the same way to both our most joyful and painful events: we reply to those emotions with tears.

There were many shed on January 29 and there were plenty on September 14 at this particular memorial.

I must confess, when it comes to crying, I’ve had multiple identities in my life. As a child, I cried often. The smallest things would break my heart and overwhelm me, and my only response was to shed my feelings. As I became an adult, it became a matter of pride that I was immune to that physical response and I actually had a three-year stretch without tears.

Now I think I’ve found a fair middle ground and perhaps I’m a little more prone to crying that I give myself credit for. I trust that others have noticed a wetness to my eyes, particularly when I’m discussing people I care about.

As I’m discovering the connection between the events that make us cry, I think I’m seeing something arise; crying is our inability to contain ourselves. Whatever we’re feeling, whether it’s joy, sadness, hope, encouragement or loss, it is more than we can handle. We cannot enclose these feelings and so they pour out of us.

So maybe now my black suit is my favorite. When I wear it, that means I’m going somewhere that is likely to open my emotions. I will use tears to respond with enthusiasm because the cascades on my cheeks mean I’m more alive in that moment and more present to the world and people around me.

Being Incovenienced

My best friend was recently asked to preside over a ceremony where his grandparents renewed their marriage vows. They’ve been married 60 years. 60 YEARS! That is entirely beyond my comprehension.

As part of his preparation he asked close friends to write a sentence or two describing what we think it takes to make it 60 long years with someone.

I pondered my response. I wanted to say something better than commitment; we all know that you don’t make it to 60 without steadfastly standing by your promise. I wanted to say something more profound than compromise. Of course marriage requires that and 60 years necessitates more than most; but somehow that just didn’t seem to encapsulate what I thought would be hardest. Compromise seems to describe decisions and conflict but not the day to day.

After some thought, I came up with this: it takes a willingness to be inconvenienced.

I realize that seems like a foolish response, almost insignificant. Surely a good marriage is more than being inconvenienced.

But I said that because frankly, I’ve found that being inconvenienced is one of the things that happens most in my close relationships. Being married, choosing to live with someone and share your most intimate space with them…you will invariably run up against them being in the way as if there were a redwood growing in your living room. It’s unavoidable and everything must account for that presence. They’re in the shower when you want to use it, they left something on the floor of the room AGAIN, they aren’t ready to go to dinner while you’re in the car starving…inconveniences.

I chose this one to share with my friend because I believe that is what is at the heart of all my best relationships. I don’t really want to help someone move into a new apartment, but I choose to be inconvenienced. I don’t necessarily want to sit with someone dealing with grief, but I choose to be inconvenienced. I don’t particularly want to help my friend process through that same break up again, but I choose to be inconvenienced.

Why do I choose that?

Because that’s what love looks like in the day to day. Allowing someone into your space enough that you cannot avoid what they want and what’s best for them. And it means they’ve let you in enough that you too are an inconvenience.

Yet, for some reason, they love you more than the inconvenience. 

Thank You

One of the most dreaded times of my childhood started a week after Christmas every single year. For the most part, the novelty of all my new goodies had worn off and that meant I had plenty of time available for a task I loathed: writing thank you cards.

It was never a long to-write list, but aunts, uncles, grandparents and family friends needed to receive something to show that I appreciated their generosity. The problem was not that I wasn’t grateful; I just never knew what to say. I would sit there with a thank you card that seemed the size of a billboard and all I had written after 15 minutes was “Dear Uncle Jim…”

That’s it. Sad, I know. At least I got his name right instead of having to scribble out “Uncte Tim” which probably wouldn’t go over well.

I always felt inadequate to say thanks to the extent that I appreciated them, but I particularly lived in fear that if I didn’t show enough gratitude then I wouldn’t get another present in 358 days. If I didn’t say thanks, they might even think that I didn’t really love them.

Now, I love writing thank you cards. I think they’re possibly the most underrated tool in my job. While I still struggle with what to say, I’ve discovered that the small effort of capturing in words why I’m thankful for someone or their contribution means much to the recipient.

It shows them that I noticed their presence, that their work was seen. It’s less about how eloquently I can praise them and more about the fact that I recognized their thoughtfulness, sacrifice or devotion.

So go to Target and spend $10 for a box of 50 thank you cards; then start looking for reasons to send them to people.

Cafe Truth

A friend of mine has been traveling through parts of the Midwest and told me about a small place she saw. It’s called Good Day Café and Bad Day Bar. We both chuckled about it but as that name rattled around in my head I decided that it was actually an interesting commentary on our nature.

When things are bad, we tend to want to drown our sorrows. That doesn’t just mean drinking; sometimes we drown them in ice cream or TV or food or the instant Netflix subscription. Regardless of the anesthetic, we tend to enact solitude and avoid our issues.

On the other hand, when things are good, we can’t wait to share them. I’ve found that the best sharing happens over a meal.

Recently, I had a few people over for dinner. I’ve discovered that when I have company over we invariable end up talking in the kitchen and attached dining room rather than sitting in the living room. There is an unavoidable attraction to the room with the table. This past dinner, I even put appetizers out in the living room to no avail; we were drawn to the dining room. There is something profound about a table and the act of sharing it with someone else that is linked to a deep part of us. So, the Good Day Café connects two important things: sharing of joy and the sharing of food.

The Midwest just might be on to something.

My Real Job Description

High School Ministries is all about embracing the unique season of life that a teenager lives in. They’re faced with having to try on adulthood; they’re becoming responsible for their own decisions, schedules and futures. They push for this development and can’t wait for the next steps. Teenagers always want to be on their own and see what comes next. But at the same time, they still long to be kids. They want to be carefree and play. This is the beautifully bizarre mix of a high school student’s world; they’re trapped between childhood and adulthood.

This sense of being “stuck” provides tremendous opportunity to connect with high school students. My ministry gets to step into this “stuck” world and help them develop mature, thoughtful, adult faith. I get to help them navigate the difficult questions that have no easy answers, and they get to do that in a place where they feel known and loved enough to admit that they don’t know what to think. At the same time, I get to help them play. They get space to remember that in some ways, they don’t need to be adults quite yet. Just as this space is safe for them to wrestle with faith, it is safe for them to be themselves and they are free to play. In this way, they build deep relationships with each other and with more seasoned people who feel responsible for our teenagers’ development.

As I reflect on the joys and difficulties of working with teenagers, I often think of the words Eddie Gibbs said at my church a few years ago. He said, “It is the responsibility of the spiritually mature to make sacrifices for the development of the immature.” I hesitate to put myself into the “mature” category or high school students into the “immature” one, but I know this: it has been a joy to sacrifice in order to have the opportunity to stand with them in their in-between world.

What These Numbers Tell You About Me

There’s a spot in iTunes that you can click that sorts your songs based on how many times you’ve listened to them. From time to time, I like to organize my music like this to see what my favorite songs are and which ones are creeping up the list. Today a friend of mine asked which is more important to music, the instruments or the lyrics. So I decided to look at my ten most played songs and see what they’re about.

I found that seven of them are about hope, love and redemption. Three are about doubt, loss or pain.

Over time, I’ve learned that we tend to listen to depressing music when we’re depressed because it fits our mood better. Is the opposite also true? Does this mean that 70% of the time I choose music, I’m feeling hope, love or redemption? I don’t know if I think that’s true but it certainly makes me wonder if the world is brighter than I usually give it credit.

I don’t tend to think of myself as particularly hopeful (I’ve written on this before) so this trend caught me off guard. So I think I’m going to start paying more attention to how my mood is connected to what I put in my ears. I might just learn something new about myself.

What does your top ten say about you?