Destination Discipline

“We will cure this dirty old disease. Cause if you gots the poison, I gots the remedy.” Jason Mraz

The computer was so hot it was smoking. My friends and relatives have found new and inventive ways to ridicule each other on social media and I am an abject bystander. It’s the stuff of nightmares. Grandmothers gets schooled by grandchildren. Friends “unfriend” people like they are scratching items off their grocery lists. Decades of affection, comradery, and shared history go up in flames and I’m over here with buttered popcorn.

I feel a little guilty about that. But Hallmark has the perfect solution!Why sit around and feel guilty when I can sit around and feel like the molten center of chocolate lava cake? Besides, who can resist beautiful women falling in love with handsome men while it snows on them? So I plunk down my hard earned pennies and subscribe. Because if anyone can save Christmas–it’s the Hallmark Channel!

After I finish “A Perfect Christmas,” I sigh with satisfaction. The happy ending has warmed me up with all manner of conciliatory thoughts and so I approach my husband to inquire when he plans to finish the ceiling tile project in the basement. (He started 2 years ago.) I am certain this time he will say, “Tomorrow, my love!” But instead I am treated to a look fresh from the secreting end of an alligator. I promptly forget all of my warm and squishy feelings and start to spew colorful verbiage at the man I promised to “love, cherish, and honor as long as we both shall live.” And then I pull up Hallmark’s murder mystery selection to get some fresh ideas for, um, hairstyles and fashion.

I have become so conditioned to my love for happy endings that I think every story should have one. Therefore, I don’t know what to do with the other humans I live with when they don’t conform to the Hallmark ideal. Strangely enough, I never considered this a form of slavery.

If the dear reader is anything like me, you are a master of comparisons. I have attained the level of “expert” for comparing my husband to men I see on television or in the media. Men do the same thing to women. For instance, my husband has a certain predilection for Sophia Vergara. Unfortunately for him, I am not nearly as sassy or sexy–though I can be as lethal if he criticizes my cooking skills. When we begin to think of people in terms of romanticized ideals, we become slaves to ideas of our own invention. We no longer have the freedom to love them as flawed human beings, but rather as the caricatures we prefer.

“I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.” – God (Exodus 20:20)

Why is this important?

I recently went to visit an ailing friend with some housework. We were discussing the various ways people have wounded us in the past and how those injuries have affected our lives. We recognized how the words people use can form our identities.

She told me when she was a child, she and her sister heard a neighbor call them “chunky.” This had a devastating affect on her sister who promptly began dieting and spent years trying to fit into an unattainable demographic. The realty is, both sisters come from a lineage of large women. By “large” I mean, tall and muscular. They also had a mother who was fluent in the art of homecooked meals. As my father would say, “They would be the last ones standing during a famine.” (Like me) they have remarkable metabolisms! Unfortunately, they allowed this neighbor to place shackles around their ankles with a few words. Their identities were forged in a few minutes and it took years to discover that one person’s definition of them was not fair or even decent. Worse, it made them deeply unhappy about something they didn’t have much control over: genetics.

Hallmark channel movies are not by definition bad. But if we are not careful, the ideas they promote can cause us to become enslaved to ideas that make us despair. Worse, we don’t usually know it’s happening and (remain in chains) while blaming our friends and neighbors for not conforming to our version of reality/truth. Have you ever heard the saying, “If you love someone, set them free?” What if that person was you?

So how do we break free?

“For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” – Apostle Paul (Galatians 5:13-14

We must find the key to unlock the chains (deceitful narratives) that hold us captive. Examples of chains include:

“Only thin women are beautiful.”

“A good husband never disrespects his wife.”

“I can only be friends with people who agree with me.”

“I am always right.”

“I can’t lose weight.”

“Politicians care for my wellbeing.”

Freedom begins with acknowledging our flawed existence. Christians recognize these flaws as “sin.” We postulate the misery we endure and inflict stems from our innate inability to love God as we should–and therefore our neighbors. God desires to set us free but–if we are honest–we have affection for our chains. I mean, it feels good to idealize members of the opposite sex. It can be pleasant to demean our friends who don’t think as we do. We enjoy the provocative ideology espoused by the main stream media. Chains have tight controls over our emotions, therefore we must have affection for something more than our comfortable confines. I propose the key is just as God outlined in the book of Exodus via the first commandment: “You shall have no other gods before me.”

“Margaret, do you mean I can’t watch the Hallmark Channel?”

Of course not.

“Margaret, does this mean I should stop preferring Hallmark Movies to spending time with my actual husband?”

(Margaret nods her head shamefully because she is guilty of this.)

“Margaret, does this mean I have to stop hating my neighbor for being obese?”

Um, definitely.

“Margaret, I don’t know how to love God more than Tom Selleck. I mean, he is so sexy. That doesn’t feel like chains to me.”

If we enjoy anything more than we enjoy relationship with our heavenly Father, there’s a likelihood we are ensnared to a fallible ideology. Chains make us miserable–yes, even Magnum P.I. (I’m dating myself here) because they restrict our freedoms to love God and love others well. And I can personally guarantee that worshipping at the altar of Tom Selleck is problematic because the person I am married to will never have that great of legs. But I digress!

In conclusion, I encourage you to practice solitude and prayer. Solitude makes us be alone with our thoughts so we are better able to examine our hearts. Prayer invites God close enough to kindly show us chains we may not have seen before AND most importantly–to break them.

Today, I promise by way of this blog to forsake the chains of chocolate cake with caramel drizzle that I procured yesterday by way of a co-worker. I invite my gracious Savior to give me the grace to avoid hypoglycemia even though it tastes so good. And I pray for all of my readers to find liberation through relationship with a God who delights to set captives free.

“Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.” The Apostle Paul (1 Cor. 10:12)

I climbed out of bed this morning after fretful dreams. The anxiety of yesterday carried over and as a result, I spent the night packing and repacking boxes. I know it wasn’t real but it some ways it is; the world is on fire and I intuitively feel a need to get out.

I read the headlines with dread. More death. More violence. I read another commentator who rails on about the problem while proposing a radical solution. I wonder if she’s right.

I want to do something. I want to bind up wounds. I want to speak words of peace. I want to read my bible. Instead, I hop on social media and see your post.

I am immediately offended. I can’t believe you are taking that stand. What in the world are you thinking? Don’t you realize the consequences of your choice? I rage in my mind because I believe I have a truth you don’t have and it has now become my responsibility to educate you. So I fire off a sentence. A paragraph. I insert exclamation points and pointed words. Or worse, I just plug in a link to an hour long video.

We go back and forth until one of us capitulates or “unfriends” the other. And then I curl into bed and weep. Or worse, I embrace my raging endorphins and go trolling for someone else to antagonize into my way of thinking. Sometimes, this is how I manage soul-crushing fear.

We are divided, you and I, by an invisible line of ideology. We have arrived at different conclusions because of our different life experiences. But I am beginning to see a painful truth: shouting across the divide is not helping anything. More importantly, I love you. I see the divide–the horrible gap between us–and it makes me sad. So I wrote you a letter.

I pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil and I scribbled a lot of words–concepts and thoughts that have been bubbling inside of me–and sealed them in an envelope. I felt like I was in highschool again. I put all of my hopes and dreams into that letter as I prayed for God to build a bridge between us. Then I licked the envelope, attached a stamp, and put it into the mail.

You see, I have been thinking about when we first met. I remember the thrill of realization that you liked me. I didn’t have a lot of self-confidence then so your approval was important. You invited me to your home and fed me pizza. You listened to me as I shared my story and I listened while you shared yours. I was surprised and maybe even a little intimidated by your kindnesses. You accepted me; warts and all. We enjoyed sweet fellowship and comraderies. And life went on.

You taught me about the practical gospel of Jesus. You told me about grace. More importantly, you modeled grace. I stumbled and fell, but you didn’t cast me away. You made known to me the paths of life. I learned that to follow Jesus is a painful and difficult path. The ideas he expects his followers to exhibit are controversial. Such as this:

“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” Jesus (via the Gospel of Matthew 7:13-14)

We have long been united in our faith in God and our love for our fellow man. We have worshipped together in a building and sang songs together. But practically speaking, I have noticed for some time that our real-life conversations have centered on other things. Instead of “iron sharpening iron” we have been more like blunt sticks in the hands of two prepubescent boys. We have been whiners and gossips and busy bodies. And we have taken refuge in the shelter of Lord Fearing. And worse, it is not just you and I. The whole body is infected with our disease. We have stopped looking to the One we love and cherish and instead at our circumstances. Just like Peter, who was confident he could walk on the water, we have awakened to the wind and the waves and we are sinking.

So when you called me to discuss the letter, I was started at your rebuke. You dug in. You scorned me. The words were like poisoned darts to my soul. I retreated. I apologized. But we cannot put them back into your mouth to be unsaid. And I have been wondering since if you ever knew me at all. Was your kindness for show? Is there any way to heal this wound between us?

The storm is here. Of this there can be no doubt. But instead of uniting under our Head, we fight about trivialities. We have become numbed by distractions and comfortable in our pride. As if we had all the answers. As if we knew exactly what was happening in the world and how to proceed. We have lost sight of who the real Enemy is and continued to bludgeon each other. My lip is swollen and your eye is blackened and he is laughing at us while the winds howl.

“But if we are the body, why aren’t His arms reaching? Why aren’t His hands healing? Why aren’t His words teaching? And if we are the body, why aren’t His feet going? Why is His love not showing them there is a way? There is a way.” Casting Crowns

King David wrote of the agony I feel when I consider what has been lost.

“For it is not an enemy who taunts me–then I could bear it; it is not an adversary who deals insolently with me–then I could hide from him. But it is you, a man, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend. We used to take sweet counsel together, within God’s house we walked in the throng.” Psalm 55:12-14

So here we are. The battle has begun and we are an army divided. I am standing on my hill and you are standing on yours. And I think both our hills are dumb hills to die on. The battlefield is in the valley and the slaughter has begun. And so today, I lay down my stick and take up my Sword. I ask your forgiveness for the bitter words I said. I pray you will forgive me as I forgive you for the cruel things you said. Because I know I don’t have all the answers and neither do you. We are both at different places in our journey and we each have a specific position to defend, but we can’t defend anything if we are busy stabbing at each other.

Friend, I love you. And that love transcends ideology, philosophy and even physiology. Our time is now. And it’s time to fight. Will you fight with me?

“From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.” – Matthew 11:12

The bike was a gift to my son for his birthday; a Jamis Trail XR 13. He previously found delight in riding a yellow dirt bike that was given to us by a friend, but outgrew it. I wanted him to have something that would last.

I took him to The Ferguson Bike Shop and talked to my friend, Gerry. I had purchased a pretty white and blue Jamis Allegro from him a few years prior and I wanted to give him my business. Gerry is a good man who retired from Emerson Electric and hopped into the bike business. I loved that he gave back to the community. I became friends with him when he invited me to participate in one of his free cycling events for people who were learning how to live a healthy lifestyle. In fact, it was Gerry who encouraged me to write my story for The Ferguson Times to give people hope. That story turned into a monthly column I’ve been writing for 8 years.

All of that to say, I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of a purchase. The purchase of the black Jamis was to be the beginning of many bike rides with my son. I wanted him to enjoy exercise and spending time with his mom.

So, when the thief stole my son’s bike, he took more than just an old bike I picked up at Wal-Mart for a few bucks. He stole a dream. The morning we woke up to realize my son forgot to bring it in and it was gone, there was loud wailing in my home. As we drove around the neighborhood, hoping to find it ditched on a corner, I prayed for God to bring it back. I prayed for justice. And we wept.

In the weeks since that event, we have struggled to come to terms with our identity as victims. I have encouraged my child to forgive the thief and to pray for his salvation. But even this is messy. We still don’t have the bike. Something of value was taken from us. Something we can’t replace.

I was scrolling through Facebook Marketplace looking for our bike recently when it occurred to me how much this loss has affected me. I realized that while people are sympathetic, they don’t really care about our loss. The general response has been to blame the victim, “Well, Kid, why did you leave it out?” and then to tell me, “Hey, Margaret, just buy a new one.” In the case of violent crimes, we have support groups where people can process their grief and recover. But there is no support group for the loss of something as insubstantial as a bike. But candidly, it matters to us. We too want justice. We even filed a police report.

And while I don’t want to attach too great a value on possessions, I would like to suggest something. When victimization is trivialized, it’s easy to lose our emotional equilibrium. We quickly become cynical. Cynicism morphs into anger. Anger builds to rage and hatred. But if we are not careful, rage will quickly transform into violence.

But those who follow Jesus practice a different way.

Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount:

“You have heard that it was said, You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy! But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. – Matthew 5:43-45

The Apostle Luke recorded it this way:

“But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic either. Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back. And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.” – Luke 6:27-31

Our identities have deep ties to our emotions, therefore when our passions are stirred, we seek out comfort in those who share our experiences. Ideological divisions often form between victims, perpetrators, and any range of people on a broad spectrum in the human gene pool. But those who follow Christ have specific unifying guidelines.

“Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord. To the contrary, if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” – Romans 12: 17-21

I have been wondering lately if I have the strength to do that. If I were to determine who stole my son’s bike, would I ask the police not to prosecute them? Would I invite them into my home? Would I feed them? Or would I join a club of other victims of bike theft and find ways to punish people that looked like my thief? I suppose this reads rather ridiculous. After all, it was just a bike. I should just get over it. But the logic remains the same whether someone is a bike thief, a rapist, a murderer or an adulterer. Come to think of it, I wonder if there are any Bernie Madoff victims who—in the Name of Jesus—refused to be refunded for their losses?

Or, put a different way, would I be able to forgive the people in my church who want to force me into an identity that does not belong to me? How should I respond to someone who is asking me to repent for something I don’t feel convicted of doing? Can I still claim the centrality of the gospel to heal divisions brought about by current social events? Or better put, can I extend grace to someone who says they follow Jesus but does not appear to obey His teachings? I don’t ask this with any sense of superiority, but rather with a goal of unity. If the gospel of Jesus doesn’t unify the church, we have a serious problem.

I write this as I look out over a very fine evening. There is a blue sky and a gentle breeze wafting in at the end of a sunny, humidity free day. My son has been out playing with his friends and we are preparing to go to bed. As I watch the neighborhood children riding their bikes up and down the street, I find myself wondering… if I saw one of them riding my son’s bike, would I run out and pull it out from underneath him, or have the compassion to let him ride away with it in peace?