Shards of Words

Waves crashed in the background as the kids and I sat down for a scrumptious barbeque. We chatted about our Made-Up Holiday and our bonfire plan. 

All laughed in unison, “AND NO TRASH!" 

Then came the usual question, “Did you get that scar here? On this beach?” 

I smiled.

I was 20.  Freshly graduated, boxes were piled in an apartment. The new job started Monday. My first night of adult independence. My date and his friends picked me up, stopped at a store to buy libations, then off we went to the beach. They encouraged me to pick something.

“We’ll buy it. You’ll be fine! In a month you’ll be 21. It won’t matter!”

I protested, but their arguments seemed logical. I had followed the rules up to this point.

What havoc would one bottle unleash? I picked a fruity Bartles and James wine cooler. 

The Jaunty Jeep parked near the beach bonfire area. We walked until a recently abandoned one was discovered. The guys gathered trash to quickly pile it on the faintly glowing embers. The guys blew full lungs of air on the smoking pile, suddenly flames roared to life. We crackled with excitement about the summer plans and savored those flavors of adulthood.

Near the fire’s edge, an rim of red peeled a paper bag. There lay a capped beer bottle. 

I queried, “Guys, should we take that bottle out of the fire?”

Date said, “Na… it’s only coals. The fire isn’t hot enough to do anything. It’s fine.”

 His logic seemed wise. Girls don’t play with fire, I thought. Boys do. He probably knows better.

The ocean breeze grew cold. Date gave me his ski jacket and took the thin windbreaker I was wearing. Our conversation lulled like the coals. Friend Guy started to kick the capped bottle around the embers.

The glass cracked a bit and foam eased out.

Jeep Driver said, “We should move it. That doesn’t look right.”

Easy conversation continued about our futures, crazy college stories, and again our voices grew quiet.  

Embers nearly cold now, Friend Guy gingerly pulled the bottle into the center with his foot.

Then rolled it around. 

Not too much. 

Just... 

enough, 

to watch the beer foam from the cracks in the glass. They commented on how cool it was to watch the foam ease out of the fissures. The cool science of pressure relief continued. I tuned them out and listened to the waves wash the shoreline. 

POP!

I saw them jump back and brush their chests. They were all over six feet tall, so I was confused. Why didn’t I feel anything in my chest? 

Then I realized my face was their chest height.

I put my hand to my left jaw.

I didn’t feel anything.

But I felt a knot in my stomach. 

“Um…. Guys… I think I’m bleeding?”

With eyes wide, they raced over. I lifted my chin. 

Date said, “Don’t bleed on my jacket!”

"Oh! I’m sorry.”  I rushed to take it off trying not to get anything on it. “Here.”

I didn’t feel like I was bleeding. But... it was his jacket I was borrowing, it kinda made sense.

I shivered a little, “Um… what can I bleed on?” 

He handed me the windbreaker, his tone softened, “Here, you can use this.”

Jeep Driver said, “We should go.”

“I don’t have any insurance. When I moved out my Parentals told me so. If we go to a hospital, they’ll know I’ve been drinking and arrest me. I can’t afford to pay for the hospital. My job doesn’t start until Monday.” I panicked. 

Someone said, “It will be ok. You have to go to the hospital.”

We piled in.

The Jittery Jeep’s racing engine was the only sound through those dark curvy roads. Loud thoughts lectured me about the mess I was in. This was God’s judgment on me for drinking. Now the Parentals would know. What would they do? What would they say? I was terrified.

Well...maybe now he will listen to me. Maybe my opinion will mean something. This scar on my face will show him that I know what I’m talking about. Maybe it will be worth it. It could be a blessing in disguise.

At the ER and in the care of nurses and doctors, my face was draped. A gentle nurse held my hand and talked to me because I couldn’t see. A compassionate doctor numbed my jaw and gave me 10 stitches.

My retelling of the scar story was interrupted.

“Mom! How could you think like that?” We all laugh at that young, gullible, innocent girl. 

Now, I can laugh at myself about it all.

I know a Loving Higher Power would not throw a glowing hot glass shard at my face, narrowly missing my jugular vein simply to punish me for drinking a wine cooler a month before my 21^st birthday. Of course, an action like that would never be a blessing. 

 My part in this whole tragedy of errors is the bottle was an issue for me. 

I should have taken it out.

I didn’t feel safe with a full, capped, carbonated glass bottle sitting in embers. I didn’t believe in the value of my own words. I held no value in my own opinion. This scar on my face reminds me that I knew what I was talking about. I didn’t see my own worth. I’ve learned the importance of my words. If I’m going to speak, it needs to mean something to me. I practice confidence in my voice.  If I’m not being heard, I stop arguing, evaluate the topic for either a redirect or to simply drop it.

That scar on my face is a gift. It gives character to every word I’ve spoken since.

When Voice Matters

Counting Mutant and Girly asked me why I haven’t been writing.

I didn't have an answer.

Sure summer’s activities have kept me hopping. When I’m not running around, my body goes into shut-down-recovery mode.

I realized today, underneath it all is this soul sickening truth: voice.

Then I stopped by a dinner with the Parentals. My faux pas was simple enough. As usual it blindsided me. Three days later my ears still sting from the whispered correction.

Parental told about a notorious corner in their neighborhood: a blind intersection that all the residents ignore. As the story wove, it sounded as if Parental thought both the Sister at the table and I were in an accident there at one point in time. I asked Sister if she had.

She said no, but asked me about mine. Answering was my mistake.

Here is what I remember:

I was 15 and my friend freshly 16. A week previous my knee underwent the new endoscopic surgery. I only used crutches for a few days. Without crutches, Friend drove me home after some adventure. We cruised through that infamous blind intersection at about 20mph and met a 70ish Corvette.

Headlights clapped. My knee met Friend’s truck door. We were both a bit rattled, but nothing more. I hobbled the block to my house for Parentals. On the walk back and the rest of the evening Parentals went on and on about God’s miraculous protection that neither of us had a scratch from the accident.

Weeks later, Friend’s insurance company contacted my parents. After a few refusals, Parentals accepted their offer and praised God for the provision. Now they could get braces for me. The check came; shown to me and deposited; all with fan fair and glory.

After that, I never heard about it again. Years ago I determined the money must have absorbed into bills or something. Times were always tough.

Years later, Parentals found a different revenue stream and the braces plan moved forward. I protested; It was my senior year of high school and my desire for braces was simply cosmetic. My sisters needed them. I was put in my place with a lecture on ingratitude towards God. So, I quietly obeyed. In the middle of my senior year my mouth filled with metal.

Back to the dinner: I began to tell the story and within three sentences, Parental took over and added: “You had a gash on your forehead.”

I blinked. The glorious injury free, God’s protection haze began to dissipate. Foolishly I corrected.

The debate was on.

Not one thought completed before Parental’s correction put me back in place. A feeling of defensiveness began to build as Sister leaned over and whispered,

“It doesn't matter.”

And years worth of frustration flew out in a breathy whisper before the thought even hit my brain: “I don’t matter.”

Sister rolled her eyes and turned back to Parental.

I sat there as thoughts tumbled through:
My voice doesn't matter.
My story doesn't matter.
Don’t make Parentals upset.
Don’t antagonize Parentals.
It doesn't matter what stories they tell. It is their truth. That is what matters.

In Wonderland reality is relative to the one speaking. Truth can be a debated topic. As long as my voice agreed with those around me it was encouraged. If my voice disagreed then I either needed to defend it fiercely or shut my mouth.

And here I am. Filled with stories full of hope and healing still struggling with voice.

Sin and Spam

Sin.

I keep hearing that word.

Sin.

And I wonder if it means what we think it means.

Sin-short coming, falling short, mistake, missing the mark, rebelling against God, pride, selfishness, total depravity. All words cultural christianity uses as synonyms for that word.

I hear a faint chorus singing in the tune of the Monty Python Spam Sketch:

“We have Jesus, grace, forgiveness and sin, 

We have Forgiveness, sin grace and sin.

We have sin, sin, sin, Jesus and sin.

We have grace, sin, sin, sin, sin and sin.

We have sin, sin, sin, sin, sin, sin, Jesus and grace.

AND we have sin, sin, sin, sin and sin.”

Studying Romans this year in Bible Study, I read it in the notes and hear it in the lecture, yet when reading the text from Romans 2 thru Romans 7 I hear Paul saying something else.

After the infamous first chapter that everyone quotes ends with this verse:

“They know well enough God's righteous decree that people who do such things deserve to die; yet not only do they keep doing them, but they applaud others who do the same.” Romans 1:32

Then Paul turns around in Romans 2 to kick the reader’s keister.

“Therefore you have no excuse, whoever you are, passing judgment; for when you judge someone else, you are passing judgment against yourself; since you who are judging do the same things he does.”

The rest of those five chapters talks about our freedom in Christ. How we now practice the law because of grace NOT because of a need to fulfill it. In Chapter 7 he makes the whole thing personal in verse 7:

:

“…the function of the (law) was that without it, I would not have known what sin is. For example, I would not have become conscious of what greed is if the (law) had not said, ‘Thou shalt not covet.’”

We are all guilty of that. Pride triggers jealousy over what someone else has. Our contentment challenged births jealousy which expresses itself in envy. Envy feeds greed and around the merry-go-round we go. Not one of us can say we are free from it. Even Paul confesses in Romans 7:15

“I don't understand my own behavior - I don't do what I want to do; instead, I do the very thing I hate!”

Growing up I was always told, “Hate the sin but love the sinner.” It applied to everyone who was not a Christian. My soul felt a little sick every time I heard it. In high school a Mormon friend and I debated the concept: this friend who I loved, but it was approved to hate her religion because it was sin. I walked away from that encounter never able to say it again. What is sin in my life may not be sin in someone else’s.

I am called to love my neighbor as I love myself.

For people to know I am a follower of Christ because of how I love others.

To get the log out of my own eye before I try to take a speck out of my neighbor’s.

So while the interwebs are throwing around the Sin ball, I will be over here working on my own shortcomings. Struggling to let go of my own resentments and learning to love others. 

All while singing the Spam song.

The Unlovely Around My Heart

“Be angry, but don't sin - don't let the sun go down before you have dealt with the cause of your anger; otherwise you leave room for the Adversary.” Ephesians 4:26-27

I thought I was over it. But my brain has a mind of its own and every holiday season I am reminded of what is missing.

I want to be done.

More tears have been spent on making myself be peace about the circumstances. I have forgiven those who misrepresented me. In my own strength extended grace to those who choose to believe gossip. I understand that who I am will never be accepted. I don’t hold it against them. They have their own pain to deal with. I cannot judge them because I did have a part to play.

I have owned my part. Offered amends for my shortcomings and accepted that the damage is irreversible. No longer do I feel the need to be understood or validated. I only wish them well on their life journey.

Yet…something irritates.

I re-examine Forgiveness: analyze it from their point of view. Where were my expectations unrealistic? What life experience motivated the choices they made. I feel empathy. I understand. I check to see if I hold any expectations of justice or reconciliation with them. I almost feel peace.

Then… something burns under the surface of my soul.

Anger is checked and I filter through all its definitions:

Anger is a secondary emotion, find out the primary source and resolve it. Then anger will diffuse-check. Did that.

Anger is a messenger. Ask her what the question is, answer it and then anger will be satisfied- check. Did that.

Then GirlyK and I were watching Bones. Sweets interrogating someone said, “Anger is triggered by unmet expectations.”

A glowing hot spear stabs my heart. I missed my own feelings. I never allowed myself to simply feel. Every examination has focused on them. Empathy, sympathy, forgiveness and grace extended to them, but never for myself.

My brain recoils: that’s selfish. That’s not Christlike. Indulging my sin nature gives room to all kinds of evil. I am not supposed to think about me in this situation for it to be resolved. They were the ones wronged. Not me…

But I must. I must filter through it all again this time granting permission to feel. The tools of recovery have taught me only through truth in love can real healing occur.

I awaken at 3:00 with the realization of this unlovely truth: I feel resentful. As I try to fall back asleep, Holy Spirit gently unravels the thick black wire shield which encases my beautiful pink heart. Looking closer I see barbs which point outward, intending to protect my heart from harm. The Still Small Voice calls them resentment. On the inside of the wire are smaller, sharper spines. Still Small Voice calls them bitterness.

In the hands of Divine Love I understand that while I protected myself with frustrated resentment, each time my heart encountered those people, the shield pressed into my heart. Those little spines of bitterness added pain which triggered a landslide of anxiety. Longing for freedom I submit to the Healer. As I release my own feelings, a healthy prettypicket fence will surround my heart. With healthy boundaries I will have clarity.  True grace will I finally be able to extend

And the best gift of all: Shalom.

I Don't Miss It

I miss you.

Sometimes those words give my heart a warm pitter patter of fluffy bunny memories. Laughter until my sides ached and ice cream sundaes. Dance parties, horse back riding and secrets spoken in the dark. A place of safety, innocence and mutuality.

Other times...

My heart freezes, bracing for the next blow. Trapped in the torture of a toxic relationship these words are bait. Scars flame in memory of pain and rejection. Words spoken in the past bounce around my head - judgement, blame flavored with bitterness.

It took a long time for me to learn what my part in a toxic relationship was. Boundaries I overstepped. Vulcan logic heard as insult and judgement. Once I understood, I reached out to make amends and make a behavior change. I listened more intently so as to not make the same mistake again.

Only to step into a new minefield labyrinth of mistakes. Like a starfish, a limb would be lost, but I would grow it back again: all in hopes that at the end of the day the relationship would be filled with love, grace and equality.

Then I woke up. I made of an ass of myself. I assumed the person wanted me in their life. My presence was more than just geography and convenience for them. I believed the other person honestly liked me and valued the journey we walking together. The reality; my existence in their life was by default not desire. 

In order to thrive a paradigm needed a shift. I disciplined myself to reciprocate. If someone had a need, I could happily serve. As I watched satisfaction color their soul I felt joy. I needed nothing else. Some of my relationships now are one sided. Others are mutually beneficial. I have found fulfillment in both. The difference is, my worth as a person does not stem from the success or failure of these affiliations.

On occasions, my path crosses those past acquaintances which proved to be most painful. Three little words spoken and I freeze the urge to vomit. I wonder what is missed about me. Who would miss a bull after he left a china shop? Would anyone regret removing the pebble in a shoe? I cannot respond because of the word constipation in my brain. Those three words are irrational.

Then I saw this quote and understood. It put the word "miss" into a different context. I miss the smell of summer thunderstorms of my childhood. The romantic idea of becoming a famous singer/actor. It isn't the person, it is the idea. The presence. The fragrance. The romantic idea. 

That is logical. It hurts to visit that ideal, because it was so wrong. Contentment is within the reality of today. A peace of mind built on trust. Teaching myself not to jump to conclusions, but allow a camaraderie to grow organically watered with mutuality. Value for value. I weigh my words before they are spoken. Then ask myself: am I listening as much as talking? Love ebbs and flows. People weave in and out of life on their own paths. Finding the joy in the moment with them is what matters.

Loving Hostile People

Originally posted on March 15, 2009

To love hostile people is something followers of Jesus are called to do, but most of the time it is nearly impossible. Armed with Sunday School lessons and my own strength, I fail miserably. In a particularly difficult moment a cried to Holy Spirit and wisdom flew into my aching soul.

A practical outline formed as I pressed into that Blessed Fount: how to overcome resistance, bitterness, rejection and wounding. A how to act as a result of being released into a grace expressing life.

First, I am to love my enemies and pray for them.  If love is action, then it is the foundational attitude. I am to act in kindness in spite of what another does to me. Holding in my thoughts that everyone does what is right in his own eyes. The consequence is a type of blindness that doesn't allow them to see what their actions’ effect is.

Jesus said, "Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing."  Following Christ's example leads me to not judge. A friend explained it this way; anytime a conclusion is drawn about someone, that is a judgment. I need to remember, that I do not know their purpose.  It is not my responsibility to interpret their motives. If I draw a conclusion tainted by my own pain and then condemn them, I judge and condemn unfairly.  It is better for me to choose to not get even which is forgiveness and act in love toward them which would be mercy.

With that attitude adjustment in place, a look at myself is in order. Do I have a log in my eye?  Do I lend without an expectation of payback. If I act in kindness toward a person I struggle with, I cannot expect them to reciprocate. Remembering that my inheritance is in Father, He will pay me back. Acting in love towards those who love me in return is no challenge at all. 

This does not mean becoming a doormat. In looking at Jesus and how he interacted with the Pharisees; he was always kind, truthful, and extended grace to them. Yet, he did not allow them into His inner circle. There is no need to vulnerable with those whose intent is not healthy for me. I have permission to protect myself. It can look like silence. 

Look at Christ's example: when Jesus was arrested at night and tried with false witnesses, both against Jewish law. When confronted by the Pharisees, Jesus turned their own laws against them in John 18:19-24:

"Meanwhile, the high priest questioned Jesus about his disciples and his teaching. 

'I have spoken openly to the world,' Jesus replied. 'I always taught in synagogues or at the temple, where all the Jews come together. I said nothing in secret.  Why question me? Ask those who heard me. Surely they know what I said.'  

When Jesus said this, one of the officials nearby struck him in the face. 'Is this the way you answer the high priest?' he demanded. 

'If I said something wrong,' Jesus replied, 'Testify as to what is wrong. But if I spoke the truth, why did you strike me?"

Jesus knew what was truth.  He knew Father had a plan and chose to obey it at all costs.  Confident that in the end justice would prevail. When faced with injustice, I need to remember the truth Holy Spirit speaks to me. I can turn the other cheek and not respond to their judgments or criticisms. Secure in what God is doing in me.

My response can be praying for them. If there is a practical need, meet it.  When interaction occurs, reply with words of kindness. All the while, letting God work out the justice.

Mommy Nugget: Flying the Coop

Kids.

Are they a gift?

Some call them a curse. A Mother’s saying is, “I hope you have a child just like yourself.”

Men are told they have daughters if they were unkind to girls in their teens-Karma.

Each time I held my new born child and felt the wonder of the moment I was aware of the weight. The power to influence this little person to change the world, or destroy it. Every word, action or intent will leave a fingerprint on their soul.

Filled with terror, I would get away within the first few weeks to cry out for help from the Divine. God knew this child. Within the secret place of my womb Divine Love knit together DNA, cells, synapses, muscles and skin. He knew the number of their days.

And… I was responsible. Would I give them roots and wings or a millstone around their neck? At the end of my days, standing at that beautiful throne, I would need to give an accounting of what I said or did.

God and I came to an understanding: I was a steward.

These little people were only moving through my life. I did not own them. Their visit would only last 18 years at least. After that, the relationship would become more of a mentoring than authoritative. I needed to remember that. God had a plan and a path for them. It probably would not agree with my visions of grandeur. God deposited talents and a calling into their heart. I realized that my job was to teach them how to hear that Still Small Voice and follow it.

The truth is, my voice will only carry them so far. Once they are out of earshot, the will be listening to something: a teacher, peers, their own grand schemes…

The terror assuaged, I focused on the end game. I was not raising children. I was raising adults. Personal responsibility, compassion and respect would motivate all of the rules and disciplines that were carried out.

When tattling occurred, we held court. The accuser and accused each had an opportunity to state their case. Then both would examine their part and judgment levied.

Personal property was held with the utmost respect. Sharing was not demanded from the authority, it was given. If BoyA broke BoyZ’s toy then it was replaced by BoyA with his own money or effort to earn the money.

Friendship and equality were heavily enforced. BoyA, BoyZ and GirlyK were best friends. That friendship came first, above everyone else, because someday The Mutant and I would be gone and they would need each other.

 

Today as I consider BoyA-a high school graduate and beginning his next move- and BoyZ-a high school senior-I feel peace. I am not sad because I like who they are. I have few regrets because I savored every moment I had with them.

They were God’s greatest gift of tangible redemption to me.

Mommy Nugget: Sweet and Sour

Photo taken by pjhudson

They found my last nerve. After riding it for a week, I was sure the neighbors were going to call the authorities on me. It was a field trip that saved their lives.

Half way through the drive to LA, I tuned into a game they were playing. One of their friends started it. If they waved at a car and the people inside waved back, the car was sweet. If the people in the car did not wave back, it was sour.

As we toured the Queen Mary, I watched those delightful children of mine explore with their friends. I took a step back to observe. They were really good kids: Ase was considerate of others. Zany on the constant look out to make someone laugh. Girly was at my side quietly observing everything. Each had their strengths and somehow I had lost sight of it while doing my job.

The tide needed to change. I mused on the drive home… sweet & sour.

Photo taken by xandert

Photo taken by sssh221

Next day found me digging through the recycling for glass jars. Finally, under the bathroom sink, in a dark corner, the perfect receptacles were found. The local craft supply provided white and red pebbles. I mixed them together in a large glass dish with a glass jar on each side. A family meeting was called and the rules were explained:

Sweet and Sour

Each kindness, word or obedient action receives a red pebble in the jar.

Each unkindness, word or disobedient action receives a white pebble in the other jar.

At the end of the day, the pebbles are counted:

IF there are more red than white, a sweet treat is the reward. A small bucket was filled with bits of paper with fun choices: dessert, extra TV time, an extra story, a game…

IF there were more white than red: NOTHING. Life went on as usual.

Photo taken by southernfried

Over the next few weeks, the mood of our family changed. I was forced to notice when they did ANYTHING right. The kids spoke kindly to each other. They worked together more and argued less. Our whole focus shifted to notice the good in each other instead of the negative. Ase no longer was the control freak. Zany wasn’t the science experiment gone wrong and Girly was not the informant. Harmony was achieved through listening and solving problems instead of interrogation and turf wars.

After a few weeks, the count was shifted to Fridays. The treats became a little sweeter: a movie, playing at the park, a friend over…

The game didn’t last much longer. Our behavior was changed and the pebbles lost their luster. We all liked each other and it became natural to get along. Believe me, conflicts still happened  and rules were still broken, yet they were resolved quickly and without much conflict.

Photo taken by jdurham

BUT

My perspective was forever altered. I realized it was possible to like my kids. In spite of the madness it was my point of view that mattered. Whenever I felt the grasp on that perspective slipping, the jars would come out again for only a few weeks to realign us all. 

Massacre, Disaster and a Fig tree

This was originally posted on March 21, 2011 after the Tsunami in Asia. Having lived through many different types of disasters and listening to diverse reasoning, I stumbled upon this passage in Luke. It is odd and seemingly disjointed when examined closely. As I stepped back and considered the context of the whole, a picture presented himself. Jesus again disarming arrogance and forcing listeners to look at themselves. 

Natural disasters create pause in all of us. The sight of carnage and complete loss causes our souls to ache. All ask why.  While some turn to action, participating in fundraisers and send help to ease the burden. Others sit back and look for blame. Many in Cultural Christianity explain it with a judgmental God.  Their logic is: if we were a better people, bad things would not happen.  

This really pisses me off. Instead of a God of order, he is made into a capricious and mysterious image.  It negates the very curse that began it all: the law we all live under. He doesn't will for tragedies to happen. They happen as a result of what was put into motion in the Garden.

In Genesis 3:17-19, God tells Adam that the very ground would be cursed because of the choice he and Eve made. In Romans 8:18-25 this curse upon our planet is explained further.  "… For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, (Adam) in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God... "

    In Luke 13:1-9, Jesus is told about a massacre in temple at Jerusalem.  Only Jews were allowed into the sacrificial areas.  In spite of this fact, the Roman governor, Pilate, sent soldiers into the Temple. An uprising ensued and many Jews were killed, some while they offered sacrifices. For the Israelites, the horror was immense.  Yet a division existed; upper class and lower class. The Judeans thought of themselves as cultured and cosmopolitan. They viewed Galileans-where Jesus was from- as provincial and simple

. 

Jesus hears a hint of this arrogance from whoever is reporting the event. After listening, he poses a question,

“Do you suppose that these Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans, because they suffered such things?"  

I wonder if Jesus paused here and looked around into the faces of his listeners. 

He continues, " I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.” 

Jesus continues to remind them of another recent tragedy. One that was accidental. A tower in Siloam fell and killed eighteen men in Jerusalem.

He asks them, “...Do you think that they were worse sinners than all other men who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.”   ”  

Many stop with this verse and unfortunately they miss out on what Jesus meant. Jesus then does what we love most, he tells a parable: It is about a fig tree.

The tale begins with a land owner talking to his groundskeeper. The land owner asked,

“Look, for three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none.  Cut it down; why does it use up the ground?”

The groundskeeper answers, “Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and fertilize it.  And if it bears fruit, well.  But if not, after that you can cut it down.”

Huh?

How does a fig tree figure into massacre and disaster? This passage of scripture can be ignored because it seems incongruous. Jesus was good at disarming his listeners and then addressing the heart of the matter. Getting the finger pointing to stop and for each one to look in the mirror of self.

Although circumstances vary, disaster and death are certain. Some are lost while others are spared, regardless of class, creed, social standing, criminal or law-abider. The consequences of a disaster are not based on personal worthiness.  It should never have arrogance attached. As Jesus sits, surrounded by listeners, he is challenging the survivors to examine their own existence. If Jesus called people on arrogance then, it surely grieves them now. Blaming disasters upon a group of people is egregious. 

The earth groans as we groan. Our discussions should not be about why the disaster happened or who caused it.  The response ought to be how. Am I living life as I should?  What changes do I need to make? Am I adding to the lives of people around me or am I just taking? 

When the next disaster comes, am I ready?