A few things.

A few years ago we received a mysterious email, asking our permission to publish a photo that had been taken of our basketball hoop. Which was odd, since our basketball hoop had been mounted on the garage for years and is hardly picture-worthy let alone anyone’s pick for publication in a coffee table book! But as it turned out it WAS our hoop, though not from our garage; it was the hoop standing on the farm property that Gary and his family had moved to when Gary was a toddler. The property used to have barns and horses and a couple of homes, but more recently just trees and a stream and one lone basketball hoop standing the test of time. Also memories; lots of memories.

It seems a gifted photographer and a setting sun casting shadows through an old tree make for a beautiful photo, a truly poignant capture of a moment. And it was a tearful joy to see that old hoop from “the farm” on the pages of that coffee table book three Christmas’s ago when the book was finally published and I surprised Gary with a copy of it under our tree.

Then this past summer we sold that farm. It was time. But, really, it sold with a huge mix of emotions for us. So many memories… And Gary drives past “the farm” several times a week as he travels to work, so the memories stay fresh. And he and I and our grownup kids notice the changes to the property as the new owner clears away brush and cuts down trees and puts his own stamp on that piece of land, on that piece of our hearts.

Shortly before Christmas this year our son Zach was driving past the farm and had a beautiful thought. He quickly brought his wife Jessie into the project, and Kira and Holden, too. And on Christmas morning Zach carried a small wood table into our family room and set it in front of Gary and told him that beautiful piece of craftsmanship was cut from the wood of that tree on the farm, the tree that used to stand beside the basketball hoop.

The new owner had graciously allowed Zach to sift through the cut tree branches, and Zach chose a few pieces to take home with him. He cut and crafted that little table for his dad, made from one thick slice of the tree; and then he took another piece of that wood and made an ornament for our Christmas tree. The ornament is etched with a simple drawing of a basketball hoop, and the words “the farm”.

Zach, Jessie, Kira, and Holden collaborating and creating those treasured gifts for us. Wood pieces remembering and honoring heart pieces. My husband’s tender tears, and all of us quiet and deeply grateful for good gifts from a good Father.

This Christmas, these have been a few of my favorite things.

 

~December 27, 2016~

 

Warning: Labels

I read labels. I love labels. It’s kind of my thing. I must have had a bad experience with a lack of labels at some point in my history, which now makes me rely on labels rather than on oh, I don’t know, instinct? Luck? It might have to do with how similar whipped cream and horseradish sauce look on a buffet line WHEN SERVED IN LITTLE UN-LABELED BOWLS, for goodness sake. When roast beef sandwiches and Jello are both on the menu – an absence of labels is a problem, okay?

Here’s a label that was pretty helpful at one point: Israel, God’s chosen people. Some years after God said to a man named Abram, “I will make you into a great nation”, that promised nation came to be called “Israel”. And over time that name gathered traditions and well-loved heroes and some villains and glories and losses and expectations. Until one day the label no longer looked very much like the original intentions of its Creator. Israel was intended to be a picture of God once again walking hand in hand with His beloveds, not in a perfect Garden but rather this time in a broken world, redeeming the brokenness and enjoying sweet fellowship, the Father and His children together. But by the time Jesus, the true Prince of that nation, came on the scene, He was so different from the recognized label that HE wasn’t recognized by His own people.

Okay, so “no label” can be a problem. See horseradish surprise, above. And unexamined or inaccurate labels are also a problem. See “the Messiah of Israel ‘should not’ arrive on earth as a baby born in a barn.” One solution to these label problems is re-working the label; a better solution is getting to know the essence of the THING itself. Spending real time in real relationship with the THING makes the label irrelevant.

The fact is, though, today I’m not concerned about horseradish sauce or the incongruity of Messiah in a manger. I’ve experienced the truth of those things now. But there are other labels on my mind at the moment.

Like the label “Trump voter”. I see that label and I assign a whole list of ingredients to the person wearing it. Mostly bitter-tasting ones, honestly. And completely correlated with my feelings about Mr. Trump himself.

And the label “evangelical” – because apparently a lot of “Trump voters” called themselves “evangelical” in exit polls on election day. And not long ago I would have called myself an evangelical, based on my view of God and the message of His kingdom and gospel. But if it’s true that 81% of white evangelicals voted for Trump, I don’t know what the heck to call myself now because THAT is not me.

So maybe it’s time to deal with these labels as label-problems rather than as identities of some kind. Because if I can think in terms of the WHOLE person who voted for Trump, and if I know that person as a friend and someone I care about, then I know more about them than how they voted a few weeks ago. I know that she’s fun and funny, and he’s a diehard Cleveland Browns fan; he came to my father’s funeral, and she and I can spend four hours chatting over coffee; he gave me a ride to the airport one time, and I took them a meal after their second baby was born… When I know some of the essence of that person because we have a RELATIONSHIP – the label seems silly. ANY label seems silly. Maybe initiating a conversation that brings us together would bear better fruit than slapping on a label that keeps us apart.

And maybe I don’t have to “divorce” the evangelical church, or make some big pronouncement that “I don’t belong with evangelicals who voted for Trump.” Maybe I should just be me and love God and love people. Because the people who know me will know ME, not a label. And I don’t know what that word means to them, anyway! Their history, their story, has shaped what the label “evangelical” means for them. Maybe it’s a positive image, or maybe it’s a hurtful one. But it’s always within my power to love, and I can LIVE the message of God’s Good News – that His love is big and He’s all about inviting us to come close. My LIFE can invite others into the beauty of a relationship with the Creator when it’s my life they’re reading rather than a pre-printed label. And life-reading happens when we’re up close and personal with each other.

So I guess I don’t want labels to be my thing anymore. I mean, certainly, put ’em on sauces in a buffet line! But I want to do better at keeping ’em off people. And I want to take the time to express real love to the people I bump into today, rather than flashing them my favorite self-made label and hoping they gather some good vibes from it or something.

Putting away the labels now. Hoping we all can.

 

~December 16, 2016~