Where in the world did that word originate? An old expression, I’m sure, but it describes a timeless condition. I'm currently lily-livered. Yep, a bowl of grape Jell-O. Flan, if you will. Yesterday, Debbie asked me to be the guest speaker at a ladies' gathering in mid-October or early November. Two months after Dad died, Christy asked me to speak at a Christmas Tea. I really don't understand either request. I'm not a speaker, nor do I aspire to become one. To envision myself on a platform in front of an audience is beyond my reality. True, every week I blab nearly nonstop to teens on a daily basis. However, when talking to adult peers, close friends and family excluded, I am barely able to spout a complete sentence. My words trip over their own shoelaces and my thoughts are a bowl of milk-drenched Froot Loops. I become monosyllabic and sound as though I never completed third grade.
Is this the way Moses felt when God asked him to step up to the plate? I don’t want to speak. I can’t speak. I don’t know how to speak. They won’t listen. I won’t make a difference. And, besides, I have nothing to say. Why can’t the Aarons of the world speak for us? My real strength lies in listening. My experience is that people want and need someone to listen to them. I am that one. I can listen. I know how to listen. I’m good at listening. I want to listen. Listening makes people feel loved. I am one of the better listeners I know, yet no one ever invites me to be the guest listener at ladies’ gatherings.
To raise the stakes, my friends bring God onboard. Debbie and Christy both post scripted their requests with, “Please pray about being the guest speaker.” When someone asks you to pray about something to which you are initially opposed, and you do pray, it is nearly a certainty that the Lord will flip you 180 degrees and you will find yourself doing the very thing you never wanted to do. It seems to be one of those anomalies of life.
The Apostle Paul spoke well when he recognized that Christ’s grace is sufficient; His power is made perfect in our weakness. Paul said, “I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
As I’ve been praying, I sense the Lord desires me to step up to the plate, to trust Him to fill my mind with organized, relevant thoughts as I study and prepare, and to speak the words that at least one listener needs to hear in order to bring glory to Him. His grace is certainly sufficient. His strength is more than adequate. His wisdom is incomprehensible. I am a precarious tiny dot surrendered in obedience. I will prepare as much as possible, and trust Him. Hmm . . . perhaps it’s desirable to be a lily-livered bowl of grape Jell-O.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
Living Out Loud
Aimee recommended I read Under the Overpass by Michael Yankoski. Although I finished the book in one setting, the book is not finished with me. It lodges in that rare category, Life-Changing. Yankoski pulled back the sleeping bags to reveal street people as I've never known or imagined them. Ouch. Whenever I’ve seen card-carrying street people, my impulse has always been to shout, "Get a job!" I rarely allow myself to consider the circumstances that thrust them into their current condition. Just a harsh, “This is America, for crying out loud. Clean yourself up and go interview.”
A couple of years ago, Yankoski temporarily joined the ranks of America’s 3.1 million homeless. He and his friend, Sam, invested about six months living on the streets. This book chronicles their experiences in half a dozen American cities. Theirs was a lifestyle by choice with a predetermined end. Mike’s journey began as he struggled with the paradox of Christians speaking about their faith, yet often living as though they had none. He cites Jesus’ exhortation to feed and clothe the hungry and naked. While on the streets, less than half a dozen people offered tangible help to Sam and him. Vocal Christians who recognized their obvious needs sometimes sympathized, and then offered an easy, costless, “I’ll pray for you” as they and their comfort walked away.
Never did Mike and Sam endorse the addictions that have driven many of America’s homeless to the streets. However, they demonstrated sincere care and concern for addicts. Without fail, he and Sam used their surplus panhandling income to buy food to share with their street friends. Several times people allowed them into their sphere, physically and emotionally. The two shared honest friendship as well as empathy and hope. Mike and Sam’s lives evidenced the most dramatic, permanent changes. That’s what I want for myself too.
How do I get there? A few years ago when Marci and I returned from Bolivia, our affluence crippled us for a long time. I thought and had hoped it would be permanent. We couldn’t bear to look in the pantry. We didn’t want to go to the grocery store. The thought of buying and receiving Christmas gifts appalled us. Just opening our closets punched us in the gut. Our Bolivian friends had nothing, yet they had everything. We already had too much and hungered for more. How does one convert nothingness into somethingness?
I won’t say I now have a burning desire to quit my job and live by the river, but I am challenging myself to live out loud. A smile is a portable thing to share. Why have I always averted my eyes to avoid even perfunctory contact with the homeless? How shall I now live in their presence? I’ve never been hungry enough to eat questionable discards. I shower daily. I can afford soap, deodorant, and toothpaste. My home isn’t made of cardboard. I’m not at the mercy of a provider. Yet, that statement isn’t entirely true. All the provisions I enjoy have come from God’s generous hand, directly or indirectly. He has enabled our family to earn a decent living. I have and the homeless have not. Does that fact embarrass me? Does the realization increase my responsibility to be a point person for them?
Rarely do I have opportunity to mingle with street people, but somehow I want to change that, I think. I really think I do. If I plan better, I could carve time to visit with those I see under park tables and trees. Cody and Michaela pioneered the sack lunch distribution. Since they’re no longer here, I can grab hold of the torch and stuff brown bags. I could also volunteer more often in soup kitchens. Yankoski says outsiders provide a positive outlook that is lacking among those who are wounded by negativism and despair. A fresh influx of volunteers is also a healing balm to those who daily man shelters and soup kitchens.
Yankoski insists, and I agree, that street people learn to have low self-esteem because of their condition. They know they smell. They know their clothes are ratty. They know they look like haggard dregs. I could help a little in this department too. It would be easy to keep supplies in the car to hand out for divine appointments. Here’s my initial Care Package Inventory: eye contact, smile, engaging conversation, time, authenticity, gum, lotion, soap, shampoo, deodorant, washcloth, toothbrush, toothpaste, granola bars, and packets of nuts, jerky, and dried fruit, bottled water, McDonald’s gift certificates, gloves, stocking caps, socks, T-shirts, sweatshirts, and blankets.
I want to be purposeful. For a long time, I searched for ways to define myself. Pastor Goodman used to say, “A man wrapped up in himself makes a small and miserable package.” True. Living beyond myself is one more stick of kindling for the fires that refine, and I’ll gladly swap defining for refining any day. It’s easy to live for the temporal. I want to nurture a mindset in which the eternal always trumps. After all, Jesus lived under the overpass.
A couple of years ago, Yankoski temporarily joined the ranks of America’s 3.1 million homeless. He and his friend, Sam, invested about six months living on the streets. This book chronicles their experiences in half a dozen American cities. Theirs was a lifestyle by choice with a predetermined end. Mike’s journey began as he struggled with the paradox of Christians speaking about their faith, yet often living as though they had none. He cites Jesus’ exhortation to feed and clothe the hungry and naked. While on the streets, less than half a dozen people offered tangible help to Sam and him. Vocal Christians who recognized their obvious needs sometimes sympathized, and then offered an easy, costless, “I’ll pray for you” as they and their comfort walked away.
Never did Mike and Sam endorse the addictions that have driven many of America’s homeless to the streets. However, they demonstrated sincere care and concern for addicts. Without fail, he and Sam used their surplus panhandling income to buy food to share with their street friends. Several times people allowed them into their sphere, physically and emotionally. The two shared honest friendship as well as empathy and hope. Mike and Sam’s lives evidenced the most dramatic, permanent changes. That’s what I want for myself too.
How do I get there? A few years ago when Marci and I returned from Bolivia, our affluence crippled us for a long time. I thought and had hoped it would be permanent. We couldn’t bear to look in the pantry. We didn’t want to go to the grocery store. The thought of buying and receiving Christmas gifts appalled us. Just opening our closets punched us in the gut. Our Bolivian friends had nothing, yet they had everything. We already had too much and hungered for more. How does one convert nothingness into somethingness?
I won’t say I now have a burning desire to quit my job and live by the river, but I am challenging myself to live out loud. A smile is a portable thing to share. Why have I always averted my eyes to avoid even perfunctory contact with the homeless? How shall I now live in their presence? I’ve never been hungry enough to eat questionable discards. I shower daily. I can afford soap, deodorant, and toothpaste. My home isn’t made of cardboard. I’m not at the mercy of a provider. Yet, that statement isn’t entirely true. All the provisions I enjoy have come from God’s generous hand, directly or indirectly. He has enabled our family to earn a decent living. I have and the homeless have not. Does that fact embarrass me? Does the realization increase my responsibility to be a point person for them?
Rarely do I have opportunity to mingle with street people, but somehow I want to change that, I think. I really think I do. If I plan better, I could carve time to visit with those I see under park tables and trees. Cody and Michaela pioneered the sack lunch distribution. Since they’re no longer here, I can grab hold of the torch and stuff brown bags. I could also volunteer more often in soup kitchens. Yankoski says outsiders provide a positive outlook that is lacking among those who are wounded by negativism and despair. A fresh influx of volunteers is also a healing balm to those who daily man shelters and soup kitchens.
Yankoski insists, and I agree, that street people learn to have low self-esteem because of their condition. They know they smell. They know their clothes are ratty. They know they look like haggard dregs. I could help a little in this department too. It would be easy to keep supplies in the car to hand out for divine appointments. Here’s my initial Care Package Inventory: eye contact, smile, engaging conversation, time, authenticity, gum, lotion, soap, shampoo, deodorant, washcloth, toothbrush, toothpaste, granola bars, and packets of nuts, jerky, and dried fruit, bottled water, McDonald’s gift certificates, gloves, stocking caps, socks, T-shirts, sweatshirts, and blankets.
I want to be purposeful. For a long time, I searched for ways to define myself. Pastor Goodman used to say, “A man wrapped up in himself makes a small and miserable package.” True. Living beyond myself is one more stick of kindling for the fires that refine, and I’ll gladly swap defining for refining any day. It’s easy to live for the temporal. I want to nurture a mindset in which the eternal always trumps. After all, Jesus lived under the overpass.
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