what do you say? (edited)

The morning after Elsie was born a nurse's assistant came into our room. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, and we were groggy and tired as she introduced herself. Then she asked if we had heard about the shooting at the movie theater in Colorado. And then she went on to tell us all about it.

It was too late to tell her to stop talking. And all day long people brought it up. I had no idea where to put this information. It made me want to throw up. It made me want to cry. It made me unable to sleep that night, watching the cars out on France Avenue waiting at the stoplight, some turning left, some going straight. I was afraid. I was tender. And that night as I held my tiny little baby who had just turned twenty four hours old, I tried to process the greatest joy of new life sharing the same world with the darkest evil. And I wept a lot.

In the early morning I watched the traffic pick up on France Avenue. It was a work day and the road was congested and full of people going to a job to earn money for their family, to care for the people they love. I watched the cars back up at a red light, speed through at a green light. Looking at the amount of cars made me remember that there are millions of decent men and women trying to do good in the world. And there are psychopaths too.

I remember asking Rory what I was supposed to do with the news of a boy filled with evil, entering a movie theater aiming at helpless human beings.

Later I would answer that question for myself: I don't think we are supposed to know everything that happens in the world. I don't know that we are wired to handle every heartache, every terror, every tragedy. That's God's job. That day in the hospital, my job was to welcome my little girl to the earth. My job was to swaddle her, tend to her cries and hold her close for comfort. My job wasn't to carry the darkness and demons in Colorado.

The news on Friday of another psychopath entering an elementary school in Connecticut brought me to the same, helpless, dark place. What do you do with this news? I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. I wanted to be very quiet.

But Ivar has been speaking some good words into my life this month. He's been piercing the darkness with his favorite part our of Christmas tree. On the very top we have a little angel. I'll catch him looking at her, and we'll talk about angels. So he knows what an angel says. And he reminds me all throughout the day. Angel says, "Fear Not! Good News! Great Joy!" 

He says it loud and staccato. Sort of in a rough, deep voice. It's adorable. Better than adorable, it's true.

It's the best thing he could say to his mama who wants to hug him tighter, keep him in my lap longer and never let him out of my sight.

***

On Sunday I told Rory I didn't want to put our kids in the nursery during church. I was afraid. I was scared to let them out of my arms. This is unlike me. I'm usually rational, and can see the bigger picture. But I couldn't do it on Sunday. So we stayed close as a family.

We sat in church as a foursome, quieting our boy with cheerios and cookies, when a woman from the local crisis pregnancy center stood and spoke to the congregation about the work they are doing in our area and the needs they have for community involvement.

A surprise was waiting for her though. All month the church had been planning it. Money was collected, and everyone brought in brand new baby gear from Target. Four pack-n-plays rolled out before the director of this crisis pregnancy center filled with diapers, wipes, toys, baby baths, shampoo, bottles, formula, and sippy cups. And then strollers, car seats, exosaucers and high chairs filled the space in front of her. A check for $2,000 was presented and the woman was in tears. It was spectacular.

I've been thinking about the joy in that moment, the whole congregation giddy for the surprise we had for her, excited to be a part of something good, excited to give, serve, dig deep into our pockets and for a small one-year-old church, give generously. So generously.

I've been thinking about this moment and how good it felt to get involved. To participate. The news out in Connecticut leaves me feeling helpless. Our church in mission on Sunday left me feeling hopeful.

Light permeates the darkness. Everytime.

And that's the posture I want to be found in. Arms wide open, heart wide open. Ready to give. Ready to love and serve. No matter the evil and terror in the world. I have nothing to fear. My God is with me. And he brings Good News of Great Joy.

The whole thing fell apart when Adam and Eve wanted to know everything like God knows everything. But that's too much for us to carry. God begs for us to let him carry the load. His burden is light.

This world is not our true home. Don't you feel that? It's so obvious when we see evil so clearly. Our true home is waiting for us in Heaven, and we're all invited. The tiny baby who came to save the world invites us all to call him Lord of our life, and to live in the calming knowledge that our eternal home is our true home. That's Good News. Until then we are called to love and care for one another. That's Great Joy.

***
For more reading:

These two posts helped me as I continue to process all of this: 
Lisa Jo wrote raw words here.
And my preacher friend Meta wrote a beautiful piece here. 

three different fruits, each given the same name

To the untrained eye, someone might mistake all three of these the same. But they are not. I am convinced of this. A tomato really should have three different names.

First, there is the tomato that comes from the store. We might call these well-it's-better-than-nothing tomatoes. They do the trick in the middle of the winter. They can pass as something to be put on your salads and sandwiches. But once you've had the other two kinds of tomatoes, you know these just aren't actual tomatoes.

Second, there is the tomato that someone has grown for you. For our purposes here, we'll call these thanks-for-sharing-your-bounty-tomatoes. I grew up on these tomatoes from my mom's garden, our next door neighbor's garden and lots of relatives. These tomatoes are in a class far above the first kind of tomato mentioned. They have flavor. They have character to their shape, color and size. They taste like summer and they often lead to multiple nights of BLT's which is basically my personal heaven.

But the third kind of tomato changes EVERYTHING. It's the tomato that you, yourself, grew. These tomatoes might be best called, Lord-you-are-so-good-to-us tomatoes. Rory and I were gifted with a tomato plant from some super camp friends, Bud and Betty, and I cannot explain the pomp and circumstance surrounding the first tomato we harvested. Rory brought it into the apartment, washed it and shared it like a sacrament. It wasn't even all that big. But it was the best tomato we have ever eaten. And it changed my world of produce forever, birthing an excitement for gardening that is brand new to me. Rory has always had the green thumb in our marriage, but this tomato has changed everything.

(special thanks to my niece, Mara, who took this picture while playing with my camera out on our patio. It's a nice shot, Mara, and happens to be the very tomato Rory harvested.)

the bummer about social media

The Tale of a Facebook Folly

I had a phone conversation recently with a dear friend. She told me about how her best friend just had her baby, and how during the labor, the friend kept her in the loop as they live many states away from each other. But the friend having the baby didn't call for about two hours, at which point my friend was pretty sure she must have had the baby.

My friend got a phone call from another friend asking her, "Have you heard?!! It's a girl!! And her name is... and she weighs..."

Now, naturally, my friend wondered why this other friend, not nearly as close to the mama delivering, knew all of this before she did. The phone friend said she had read it on so-and-so's facebook status. And then my friend wondered how so-and-so knew. Because so-and-so definitely was not as close to her best friend having the baby.

Turns out, the father of the baby to be born had called his sister. And his sister posted the news joyously on her facebook page. And then other friends wrote congratulatory messages on their facebook pages. And it turns out that my friend, living in a remote area was out of cell signal. So even though her best friend was trying to reach her all the while, she had been unable to get through.

But it still sucked. Because my friend wanted to hear this most happy news from the mouth of her best friend. And her best friend wanted to be the one to tell her first. But because social media moves faster than wind, she heard it from a friend of a friend of a sister of a husband all through that handy status update.

This isn't the first time I've heard this story. I have another friend who learned of her own sister's baby being born through the husband's twitter update. And it just didn't feel right. The baby had barely taken it's first inhale before the dad thumb-typed the news. The problem being he hadn't told his wife he was going to do this. So she missed out on telling people herself, person to person, voice to voice. And in the midst of this highly charged moment of birth, they had a little fight because she was so disappointed that people were calling her to tell her the news that she had wanted to call and tell to them.

All I'm saying, is that I think there have to be some rules put in place of common etiquette and due process with social media. Because sometimes I think things move just too fast as it is, and we're missing the whole point of intentional community and sincere relationships.