The Most Privileged Binder in the World

I would consider this morning pretty productive thus far, therefore I feel the need for a blogging break.

Yesterday I called my mom to ask how school was going for her and my brother.  It was her first day with kids back in the classroom, and my brother’s first week as a big dog 8th grader.  While updating me on the latest happenings in their lives, she shared something totally worth retelling here.

See, my brother is so funny.  We’re eleven years apart, so sometimes it’s a little hard to find things in common.  However, whenever we share a common interest or experience, he tends to latch on, which is so sweet.  He loves his big sister.  For example, I introduced him to LOST, and now he’s a fanatic.  It’s all he wants to talk about with me.  That, and Franklin Middle School.  We didn’t attend the same elementary, but going into middle school, he was so excited to be at the same school his sister was over a decade earlier.  We had long conversations about my best and worst experiences (my completely unwarranted detentions for example : )) and all my old teachers.  When he started 6th grade, he was in Mrs. Embry’s English class, and he couldn’t wait to tell her he was Sarah Reed’s little brother.  She ended up being his favorite teacher that year, probably having something to do with my own declaration of her as my favorite 6th grade teacher, I’m sure. 

Much to my brother’s dismay, they closed Franklin at the end of this last school year.  He was so frustrated … why couldn’t they keep it open one more year, just for him?  He would have to begin again at a brand new school with a new principal, of whom he had already heard rumors of his harshness with students.  The worst part came this summer when the dress code letter arrived at our house.  It turned out that at his new school, students were not allowed to wear athletic shorts.  All shirts had to be tucked in.  Belts must be worn.  Kids couldn’t carry backpacks into class; if brought at all, they must be kept in lockers during class.  All these “rules” proposed some significant problems for Daniel.  He has cerebral palsy which limits his dexterity, and athletic shorts are the easiest thing for him to wear and change in and out of for athletics. (Yes, my precious brother is a cross country runner; you can read about that here.)  He hates tucking in his shirt, and honestly it looks a little odd when he does.  However, the backpack thing was going to be the biggest challenge, wherein lies the best story I’ve heard in awhile.

Before school started, my mother assured my brother that she would talk with the principle and that they would be able to make exceptions to the dress code in his case.  That did not go over well.  My brother is intent on following the rules; he never wants special attention or consideration.  While I would be up at the school myself, demanding that they make modifications for me, Daniel just wants to find away to work within the guidelines.  For example, my mom told me that they found some cotton shorts, similar to athletic ones, that work for him, but according to my mom, don’t look as good.  But he’s content.  However, without a backpack, there was no way that Daniel could carry around his binder.  He walks with crutches, so without a handle (which his binder doesn’t have) carrying it is impossible.  My mom talked with the principal who gave him permission to use a backpack, but Daniel refused.  Instead, he puts his binder in his wheelchair (which he never uses to sit or ride in) and has a friend wheel it beside him from class to class as he walks on his own.  Just the image of that wheel chair toting around a binder, while a disabled person walks beside it … I laughed harder than I have in a long time. 

When I pointed out that he was drawing more attention to himself than if he just used a backpack, my mom reminded me that for him it was about the rules.  He didn’t want a privilege other students didn’t get just because of his disability.  I will say, however, that that is one privileged binder of his.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord …

The aforementioned “Kingdom of God” post #1:

 

A few weeks ago, in an unusual turn of conversation for my coworkers and myself, we somehow got onto the subject of the lyrics to the Battle Hymn of the Republic.  The question was what followed that initial iconic phrase: “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”  I offered up, “He is trampling out the vineyards where the grapes of wrath are stored.”  This totally makes sense if you ask me.  Grapes grow on vines, which you would find in vineyards, right?  Turns out that the word is “vintage” not “vineyards.”  Who knew?

 

However, more than the vineyard/vintage discovery, today I am drawn in by those first few words to the song, most specifically the phrase, “Coming of the Lord.”  Several months ago while at a small group Bible study, our leader asked us about our feelings concerning Christ’s return.  As a group of young single adults, were we simply ambivalent to that event, or did we anxiously long for the coming of our Lord?  I think we all knew what the right answer was supposed to be, but one person with a humorous honesty so characteristic of him interrupted with, “Nope, not married yet.”  And while everyone laughed, I think many of us felt the same way even if we lacked the audacity to say so out loud.

 

I recently had the opportunity to speak about singleness at “Saturdate,” a conference about relationships, love, sex, and truth (taglines from all our publicity).  I could blog about a million thoughts and experiences leading up to and surrounding the conference, but the one thing that my mind keeps returning to is the kingdom of God and the coming of that kingdom.  Stick with me here; I promise I have a point.

 

Back when Saturdate was just a vision in my friend Stacey’s mind, accompanying that vision was the music of Shawn McDonald.  Through going to one of his concerts, reading about his conversion, and identifying wholeheartedly with the lyrics of his songs, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this conference should somehow involve this particular artist.  More than a year later, Saturdate was on, and not only was Shawn on board as Saturday night’s performer, but his wife, Kate, was coming as one of our main session speakers. 

 

Several weeks before Saturdate, Stacey held a ministry team meeting, the thrust of which being to prepare our hearts and minds for the uncharted path we were to journey together.  God had really been speaking to her through a book called, “A Hunger for God: Desiring God through Fasting and Prayer,” and she was anxious to challenge us as the Lord was challenging her.  She asked us to try and recall the last time we had prayed the Lord’s Prayer, of which none of us could really remember.  In Matthew 9, the disciples of John the Baptist come to Jesus asking why they and the Pharisees fasted but Jesus’ disciples did not.  Jesus responds, “Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them?  The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast.”  Our Bridegroom has been taken away, and Stacey’s encouragement to us was to pray as Jesus instructed, “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”  Lord, come back.  We desire You above all else. 

 

Again, I am tempted to digress into those million other thoughts and experiences, but I will try to stay true to the original spirit and intent of the post.  There were some team members unable to make it that night, and because she was going out of town the next day, Stacey asked me to duplicate the meeting for them the following night.  A little nervous about communicating such a message, I borrowed the book that had so inspired Stacey’s words to us.  (And on a side note, let me just say: John Piper, where have you been all my spiritual life?  I read “Don’t Waste Your Life” at the beginning of the summer, and again, wow.)  That night I devoured the first half of the book, and one of the most significant and convicting chapters was entitled, “Fasting for the King’s Coming.”

 

Piper talks about the early church and how a word often found on her lips was the Greek transliteration of the Aramaic, “Maranatha,” meaning, “Our Lord, come!”  Those first believers were anxious for the return of their Lord Jesus.  Jesus taught them and us to pray for His kingdom to come.  Is there anything in me that honestly aches for Him and His kingdom in this way?  Or do I echo the words of my friend and say, “Nope, not (fill in the blank) yet.”  Not married, not rich, not experienced, not fulfilled.  Piper writes, “This ‘eager waiting’ of the early church for her Bridegroom to come explains why she prayed the way she did.  You can’t really long for something as intensely as she longed for Christ and not cry out to God.  So she cried out and prayed, ‘Lord, thy kingdom come!’  ‘Maranatha!’  ‘Come, Lord Jesus!’  Surely this hunger for Christ needs to be restored in the comfortable church of the prosperous West.  The absence of fasting is indicative of our comfort with the way things are.”

 

Soon to come … Kingdom of God part 2

Please Please Please (Don’t) Let Me Get What I Want

A friend of mine recently found the time to blog amidst the craziness of a camp she directs, so I felt a little inspired.  RAs are here.  We’re right in the middle of training.  Students move in Saturday.  Most days I’m working from 8:00 AM until midnight or later, but today I am taking time to write.

The other day I was reminded of The Smiths song, “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.”  (Before anyone gets to thinking that I’m more hipster than I am, I have to admit that I only know of The Smiths through a quick reference on Gilmore Girls and by the aforementioned song on the “Pretty in Pink” soundtrack.)  I was reading through Psalm 106 which basically recounts the history of the Israelites, and verses 14 and 15 caught my attention.  “But they had a wanton craving in the wilderness, and put God to the test in the desert; he gave them what they asked, but sent a wasting disease among them.”  After God delivered the Israelites out of Egypt, he led them in the desert for 40 years, sustaining them with a miraculous food, manna, that no one had ever known before.  Exodus 16:31 describes its taste as like wafers made with honey.  God fed the Israelites in this way, but for some of them, it wasn’t enough.  They cried out and complained for meat.  They longed for Egypt where they had plenty of meat and variety, reasoning that the slavery God delivered them from was better than the blandness, monotony, and harshness of desert life.  The Lord granted their request saying, “You shall not eat just one day, or two days, or five days, or ten days, or twenty days, but a whole month until it comes out at your nostrils and becomes loathesome to you because you have rejected the LORD who is among you and have wept before him, saying, ‘Why did we come out of Egypt?’”  (Numbers 11:19-20)  Numbers goes on to say in verse 33, “While the meat was yet between their teeth, before it was consumed, the anger of the LORD was kindled against the people, and the LORD struck down the people with a very great plague.”

In reading these passages, I couldn’t help but be thankful that the Lord doesn’t grant my every wish, whim, or desire.  Over the past few months, I have experienced more disappointment than at any other time in my life.  Back in March I was accepted into grad school, which was certainly not a disappointment.  However, a big part of my being able to begin in the fall was getting the grad assistantship for which I had applied that in essence would make things affordable.  Things looked really good.  I moved from phone interview, to on-campus interview, always feeling like it was the right thing for me, that this was what God had placed on my heart.  The timing seemed perfect.  I had such a renewed longing to learn, and this opportunity to continue working with students in residence life, except minus many of the administrative headaches I currently face, seemed perfect as well.  As I returned home from the interview, I was excited and filled with anticipation of what the next year would bring.

About a month later (much longer than was initially conveyed to me) I got the rejection call.  It’s hard to explain what I felt, exactly.  I was disappointed, but I somehow knew it was right.  As much as I was ready to move on, way in the back of my mind, that place I rarely visit or allow to visit me, I knew there were things to take care of here and now.  It certainly wasn’t my preference or desire, but it was what it was, and I dealt with it.

Add to the complicated mix my first real relationship since high school.  Honestly, some of the hurt over the GA rejection was lessened by the fact that I had a boyfriend.  A close friend of mine, upon hearing about the rejection, reasoned that perhaps God was keeping me here for that very reason, so that I could have more time to get to know and grow closer to my boyfriend.  I believe that God has a million reasons for moving as He does, so I try not to assign neat and tidy interpretations to my life’s circumstances.  However, her words had crossed my mind long before she ever verbalized them.  I remember thinking not long before the GA rejection, that the worst thing that could happen to me would be not getting the grad assistantship and thus not starting grad school in the fall and for me and my boyfriend to break up.  One without the other would be fine, but to not have either would be devastating.  Now I realize that there are much worse things that can happen to a person, but in my mind and heart, these two things were my greatest earthly desires. 

Three weeks exactly after the rejection phone call, I was once again rejected, this time by the boyfriend.  Suddenly, I felt a much bigger loss concerning grad school.  It was as though I hadn’t allowed myself to grieve that disappointment, and it was now so much more incredibly real.  And it wasn’t just school; I was heartbroken over the loss of a relationship unlike any other I had known.  In my entire life, I have known two people I would consider as having marriage potential.  One of them married someone else, and the other broke up with me.  Strangely enough, however, just like the GA rejection, something in me way down deep knew that this too was right. 

I’m not sure that that knowledge made things any easier at first.  This was disappointment on a level that I had not known.  However, one of the first thoughts that came to my mind was Psalm 34:18 which says, “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”  And while the purpose of this blog is not to recount the breakup aftermath, I will say that the Lord was close.  Perhaps closer than He’s ever been.  And that alone made the painful experiences worth it.

So here I am, months later, with a little more perspective, and all I can say is praise God that He didn’t give me what I wanted.  I wouldn’t change a single thing about the way things have transpired.  I am fully confident that His ways, His plans, His purposes are best.  Best, not just good.  Going to grad school would have been a good thing.  Dating a fellow seeking believer was a good thing.  But neither were the best thing.  I could use this space to list the several reasons I think God allowed things to happen as they did, but they don’t really matter.  All that matters is that God is good, and His rule and reign is good, and if He allows me to participate in that kingdom, that also is exceedingly good. 

So my prayer is that God would purify my desires so that they become His desires.  But until then, please, please, please don’t let me get what I want.