jesus

BEDSIDE MANNER

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Maybe you haven’t been there, but I’m willing to bet you have.

You’re sick, or have had surgery, or delivered a baby, and you need care. You need gentleness. You need reassurance that it’s all going to be ok.

Some doctors are good at it. Others aren’t. In fact, some are terrible. I had a procedure a few years ago and the doctor said she’d call Erik to tell him how it went as soon as I was in recovery.

She never called.

She didn’t tell us how it went. I was sent home drugged and wondering if it had been a success. It was a minor procedure. Something this doctor does multiple times a week. But for me, it was huge. It was my body. My life. I needed to know all the details, and yet, I got none.

The unknown — combined with the after effects of anesthesia, my body healing, and my sensitive soul — left me in a cloud of despair. I couldn’t shake it.

The pain from the procedure wasn’t that bad, and yet something in me was falling apart. I called to find out how it had gone, and was told, “Fine.” I said I had been extremely emotional and asked if that was normal. The reply I got was, “Well, some people have strange responses to anesthesia.”

That was all.

I was broken, bloody, and felt alone in it. And yet, that’s how all of us are in this world.

Maybe we aren’t literally bleeding every day, but we are broken. There is pain, there is hurt, there is abandonment, rejection, and betrayal.

We don’t merely need procedures and bandages to fix the injuries and sop up the blood. We need someone who will hold our hand while we heal.

We have that. In Jesus.

I forget this far too often. Instead of letting Him hold my hand, I search for someone — or something — else to calm my racing mind. But those brief moments when I am with Him, when I am raw and bare and He is bandaging me tenderly, holding my hand, telling me that I am not alone, those really are the best.

Let’s try to do that more, you and I. Let’s let Jesus be Jesus. Let’s let Him bandage our wounds and clean up the blood, all while holding us and telling us that everything is really, truly going to be ok.

I WAS WRONG

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Our little rascally dog Jude is going to be 13 years old next month. Jude is pretty happy sleeping on the couch for hours on end, but of course, like any other creature, he needs potty breaks.

One day, he and I were checking out a new route in our neighborhood when I heard what I thought was intense moaning. Looking around our tightly packed neighborhood, I noticed an elderly man lying in his carport.

“Oh no!” I thought. “He’s dying, or sick, or injured. What do I do?”

I of course frantically looked around hoping someone else had heard the noise and silently wished that this man hadn’t been left alone. Knowing I couldn’t just leave him there, I took a deep breath and called out to him.

“Hello? Are you ok? Do you need help?”

Instantly, and I mean with the speed of a bullet train, this guy shot up and just stared at me. It was obvious I had startled him and that he didn’t speak English. It was also obvious by the way he jumped up that he was in no way incapacitated.

“Oh my gosh,” I thought to myself, as my face grew warm with embarrassment. “He’s not in pain. He was chanting and meditating.”

Because it was something out of the ordinary for me, I assumed that something was wrong. But in my assumption, I was wrong.

There are people all around us living different lives — especially here in Hawaii, where cultures meld together in a way that you can’t understand unless you’ve lived here — and I think we can probably all learn from each other.

None of is Jesus. None of us sees and knows all. None of us is right all the time.

It’s amazing when you listen to that still, quiet voice of the Spirit how much you can learn about yourself — and how flawed you are.

So I’ve learned a few things from this little encounter:

1. If someone is chanting, it doesn’t mean that they are dying.
2. It’s ok to be different. Maybe, instead of letting our differences push us apart, they could bring us together. Jesus wasn’t a prostitute, but he hung out with them. He wasn’t a sinner, but he talked to people about their sin.
3. I need to do a better job of meeting people where they are at and getting to know them and what they think.
4. Don’t always assume what you think is happening, is in fact happening.

And one parting thought I can’t sign off without sharing:

If someone sounds like they are in trouble, by all means find out if they are. But then, don’t just shyly run away in embarrassment. Start a conversation if you can and see what you can learn.

NAMES & FACES

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I haven’t spent much of my life around people in the military. My dad served during Vietnam and both of my grandfathers served during World War II. But we didn’t talk about it too often. It was in the past. Maybe there were too many searing memories that seemed better left in the dark.

I’ve always respected people in the military, but I’m more of a put your gun down kinda gal in most situations. Then I moved to Oahu.

Here on the island we have bases for all the major branches of the military: Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Air Force and Marines.

The military is now in my backyard.

I know people who serve. I’ve high-fived their kids. I have shared meals with them, prayed with them, sang worship songs with them, laughed with them and lived life with them. I’ve heard the pain in their wives’ voices as their husbands leave for overseas.

So this morning, when I saw a news story about two Marine helicopters colliding on the North Shore, my heart sank. I know a helicopter pilot and his face immediately came to mind. He’s safe, but there are still 12 people missing.

Twelve people. Twelve people with families and friends.

Winter waves of 30 and 40 feet are making the search as hard as it could be. And so, even though I don’t know the people who are being tossed in that ocean right now, I feel for them in a new way.

I’ve seen the oil still bubbling up from the U.S.S. Arizona with my own eyes and tried to imagine what it felt like to have bombs rain down on December 11, 1941 as Pearl Harbor was attacked.

In all of it, I’m thankful. I’m thankful for their service, but more than that, I’m thankful for the people they are. I’m thankful I have the opportunity to know them, because now, the military isn’t just an idea to me. It’s real. The people fighting for our freedom are real. I know some of their names. I can picture their faces.

It has helped me understand in a fresh way why it’s so important to know people’s stories. What if instead of keeping the people we don’t understand at a distance we got to know them?

What if we heard laughed at their jokes, shared their grief and dared to love them for who they are, for who God created them to be?

Here’s where I’m making a jump. It’s a rather big one so stick with me.

What if, instead of crossing the street to avoid that homeless man, we smiled at him and shook his hand? What if we took the time to look in his eyes and hear his story? Wouldn’t that make our world a better place? Isn’t that what Jesus would want us to do?

Now please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not trying to compare military personnel directly to people who have been pushed to the margins (although there are far too many veterans who end up homeless). What I am saying is that names, faces and stories matter. They help us not only understand the world around us, but ourselves better.

Names and faces give us compassion, something our world is in desperate need of.

 

TIGHT PANTS

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Several years ago, I met one of my closest friends for coffee. As we sat outside to take advantage of the rare Seattle spring sun, she looked at me with eyes that said she knew I was hiding something.

“What’s wrong?” She asked gently.

“My pants are tight.” I replied.

I’m not going to debate whether or not I should have let my pants fitting too tightly have such an impact on my day. I’m just going to tell you that’s where I was at.

I allowed the pants that used to slip on smoothly and be a little loose ruin my day because now, they were tight.

Then she said it. Words I was shocked by.

“I’m going to pray they never fit again.”

“What?” I had to be hearing things. What kind of friend would say that? I wanted to scream out “NO! Don’t pray for that!” Like it was the worst possible prayer in the world.

But then, she told explained herself. She knew my heart. She knew that if I kept putting my hope in my pants, and my pants suddenly fit again, I’d have less need for Jesus. It was a control thing for me and she knew it. In that moment she could see that I was distracted and my hope was grounded not in Him, but in myself and who I could make myself become.

I’ll admit, I still wanted my pants to fit better, but I realized she was onto something.

If I keep putting my hope in other things, I won’t fully give my heart and my life to Jesus. This works for just about everything in life. Jobs. Marriage. Friendships. A new house. Even your church. If we put our hope in anything other than Jesus, we’re going to be disappointed.

To this day, my friend’s words are some of the most unexpected and loving words I’ve heard. I still struggle with that twinge of despair when I pull on a pair or jeans that fits a little too tight, but I have friends and an amazing husband to remind me that my hope isn’t in a pile of denim. It’s in the God of the universe.