I'm going to cemetery...er, seminary

It's a bad joke. But everyone immediately gets the irony. Those who nitpick and whip their faith to death through too much analysis and study end up withering on the vine. More than one person has lost their faith, or at least their passion, while inside the seminary walls.

I have no interest in cemetery. 

Seminary, on the other hand, gets me excited. I spent 12 hours at the preview day yesterday, and it made me want to start classes today. Even though I am exhausted. And I have a chaplaincy call a state away this afternoon. Even then.

The professors and the students at this particular seminary (sorry, I'm not going to identify it) were full of grace, humility, and passion. I wanted to hang around them; I felt that by osmosis alone I would soak up a great deal. Then there is the promise of challenging coursework and a stimulating environment--I know seminary will be difficult at times. I also feel confident that I will be treated with respect and care and understanding.

For too long, I have coasted, skimming the surface, but not studying or understanding on a deeper level. I am no longer content to remain this way. Bring it on! Now if I can just wait five long months for classes to start. 

You can't judge a book by its cover

I'm not fond of using trite phrases for blog titles. It makes me itchy. Plus, I had to pause over the infernal use of "it's" in this case, for proper grammatical clarification. But now that we've got that out of the way, let's chat.

Sunday afternoon, my eight-year-old niece and I took a 20-minute stroll in warm, springlike weather. She pontificated; I shook my head in wonder. She philosophized and theologized; I asked myself what this little blonde creature had done with my firstborn niece. (All this from the little peanut whose diaper I changed in the hospital merely eight years ago.)

I have not the time to tell you of all of her musings, though I wished silently at the time that I had a tape recorder. She was waxing eloquent on the ways that good really does trump evil in our daily lives: for instance, my dad (her grandpa) died of cancer, but God was already providing another man in my life in the form of her Uncle David. Too true.

And toward the end of the walk, the literal met the symbolic as she chattered on about how she recently learned "you can't judge a book by its cover." Without thinking that she was talking to an aunt who used to market books for a living, she shared that she picked up a book from school with an ugly front cover. Still, she proceeded to read said book and it was really great; so, Aunt Suzie, she said, "See, you can't judge a book by its cover."

I can only hope, deep in the recesses of my heart, that this message, possibly shared by her schoolteacher, will continue to reach deeper, until it wipes away prejudice and allows her glimpses of true beauty in ways she would not expect. I hope that when she continues to search for the good God is working out of bad situations, she develops laser vision to see His hand protecting and guiding her, shaping her life message, refining her heart, making her fit to serve God and others in ways we can only dream about now.

The conclusion of said conversation went like this, as we evaluated the potential for good in things happening all around us.

"Like this walk, for instance," said the blonde eight-year-old. "We really needed some exercise. But we got more. We also got in some social time, too."

Just two years ago, I would hold her hand when we walked. Today, she swings her arms on her own. She's self-contained and loving, inquisitive and questioning, a helper and a friend to many. And I am glad, at the tender age of eight, that she's already developing a theology that allows for bad things to happen to good people. I'm glad, because until we get that right, we wrestle and rant, growing anxious and angry. 

But our God gives and takes away.  He also loves us more than we can measure, forgives and grants new mercies and fresh starts every morning, and is closer than close to the brokenhearted. He's a friend to the weary, and a righter of wrongs. 

And he loves a particular, precocious eight-year-old I know. I'm so glad she loves him back.

Puttering

It's hopeless. Just when I sit down to do important work, a study I've been procrastinating on pretty much all week, technology calls.

First, I had to type in my "thumbs down" to the new facebook layout.

Then I had to visit one of my favorite blogs.

There was an email from my mother that required a two-word response.

And now there is the sacred page.

Blast.

I must stop my silly procrastination exercises before I turn 37. If I'm still using surfing the web as a convenient excuse to put off work by the time I'm 40, I'm turning in my badge. 

I'll be moving on to my Biblestudy of Hannah now. Technically, I've already moved past her infertility struggle, so I may be 1/4 of the way finished. Time to...stop puttering. 

Giving thanks when thanks is due

I developed an important habit I've gotten away from. It involves the pages of my journal and the regular giving of thanks. Lately, I've been busy enough to let Thanksgiving land at the bottom of the to-do list. But this morning, I hope to remedy the situation. Join me, if you will, as I elaborate on the striking goodness of my Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer:

I'm thankful to my heavenly Father for:

• the long walk with my eight-year-old niece yesterday; her philosophical musings and what she taught me about looking for the good God brings out of even very bad situations.
• the recession: it might seem counter-intuitive, but I believe people's hearts are most sensitive to the leadings of God and to seeking him when things are tough in their external world. Plus, we've all been learning that having a job and a nice home are not our rights; these are gifts, and we should treat them as such.
• my husband, David: I walked this earth for 35 years as a single woman, and I'm grateful for that. My journey made me even more excited to find the love of my life, someone who sacrifices for me and seeks out the best ways to show he cares for me. It is the water bottle he filled up on the counter; it is the way he insists on getting my oil changed; it is his support and excitement about me attending seminary; it is the way we hold hands, facing everything together. It is the way he works at giving me the verbal affirmation I crave, even though it doesn't come naturally to him.
• dear friends: It has not been easy for me to move away from life as I knew it. Still, I cherish the strong ties I left behind, while being grateful for the new ties forming here. When someone extends kindness or understanding, my spirit soars. I am grateful for several new people in my life who have offered their friendship: Jerry and Doris, including our whole S.S. class; Diann; Pastor Carla; Jayne; the book club; new family members; and the ladies of our Thursday Biblestudy.
• a healthy year: David and I have made some big changes in our diet and have done well at exercising regularly. Because of this, we have more energy and in general, we feel better than we did before.
• new opportunity: It's hard for me to believe I applied to seminary last week. God's been leading us, surely, but it just seems so big, yet so wonderful. If God wills, I hope to be sitting in class this fall, soaking up His Word and His Wisdom. Yeah!
• Thursday Biblestudy: What hasn't God taught me in the last year about his heart for women? I praise God we are made as "ezers," fashioned after Eve. That is, we are strong helpers, warriors, and rescuers, even when we don't realize God's original intentions. But when those intentions are revealed, watch out! I can't wait to see what God does in the lives of the women in our study as a result of us finally learning why he created us in the first place.
• writing: I don't know what opportunities will arise this year, but I'm thankful to have my new freelance writing site up and running, and I'm waiting on God to bring just the right opportunities. (suzanneburden.com)
• delight: I am reading in Ecclesiastes right now, and it strikes me that we are called to take joy in eating, drinking, and the work God has given us here on earth. I'm grateful for the ability to delight in God's provisions, and I also love to delight in what he's doing in the lives of those around me.
• What about you? Are you thankful for anything in particular? Give thanks right now by posting below, and encourage others by your giving of thanks.
  

When death isn't fair

No. No. A thousand times, no.

"It's not supposed to be this way." "She had a full life ahead of her." "Her husband and her children needed her." "Why couldn't it have been someone else?"

Today, a former coworker in Michigan buried his wife. She was only 35 years old, but after a freak accident a few months ago, she was incapacitated due to a brain injury. Well-loved and known for her warmth and friendliness, she left behind the husband she adored and two young children with autistic symptoms. I am not even sure they know she is gone--that they have any way to come to grips with the loss.

Several weeks ago, I sat across from my coworker, Dan, in the hospital. It had been less than a week since the injury. The shock still hung in the air, along with a question mark about the future. Would she make it? Did she have any brain function? He wanted to plan things out, to recover some measure of control over their circumstances, but he told us there was only the present moment. His brain wanted to explore possibilities and find solutions, but there were none, really.

At one point he posted something on facebook that said God was not in favor of axonal brain injuries, and my heart lurched. All of us wish we could rewind the clock and make things turn out differently; but Dan's hand has been dealt, and he now faces circumstances he could have never dreamed of. 

I am not sure what his ears heard today at the service and what his heart could bear to dwell on, but I hope and pray that amidst the pain, an underlying peace grounds and holds him.

Everybody goes sometime. But in our admittedly limited understanding and our minds, it was not Ann's time. Unthinkable loss has a way of creating a horrible feeling in the pit of our stomachs; of making our eyes water and our heads sag; of carving out the place inside of us we turned to for a feeling of control of our lives. We are numb, dumbfounded. 

And while it's hard to reconcile competing emotions, at the same time we are grateful.

A friend posted this quote today:

"One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die."

-John Donne

The paradox of Christianity is this: at the very moment the spirit of a loved one who knows Christ flees from this earth, the person appears in heaven. We mourn; they dance. We wonder; they worship. We try to readjust to the loss; they welcome all they have longed for, as the curtain rises to unveil the powerful presence of their Creator.

Perhaps the one thing we do in tandem is this--I imagine that both those left and the one who arrives lie prostrate. Crushing loss gives way to the most brilliant life imaginable. 

Death, thou shalt die. A comfort and a promise: at the end of life as we know it, for those who love God, abundant life wins.

Everybody goes sometime

At the risk of offending a few readers, I'm going to mention a book that many two-year-olds review on a regular basis. It's called Everyone Poops. A reference to one of those facts of life we become accustomed to at an early age.

And while the book describes one of our highly necessary biological functions, it's not a bestseller for those in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, or 60s. Unless they are parents or grandparents. Been there, know that. The end.

But if someone wrote a non-fiction book titled Everybody Dies (and btw, it is a mass market paperback mystery), I wonder how many might decide to peruse its pages. Too depressing for most, to be sure.

Yet, it happens. Recover from cancer or live with diabetes or survive a liver transplant or a car crash, and your fate is certain. You will one day die; it's just a matter of time. I'm not trying to be depressing, I'm just posting this little reality check.

Today I visited with a number of people as a backup chaplain, and I was struck by how many of them were talking about death. A death of a loved one, or death that seems to be all around them, or how some live to be 104 years old, while others die young. There was melancholy and grief in the air, and I felt it, I saw the looks on their faces, the sadness in their eyes.

About the most I could tell them was that God feels their pain and grieves with them; I didn't have the time or the permission to give them more than that. But I wanted to. How I wanted them to see past death to the glorious life that awaits us. To understand that we are made for more than this, and that death is just an entryway into the best life imaginable. That we can be confident of this if we make a choice to receive God's rescue plan on our behalf.

Then death begins to look entirely different. It still stings, of course--the separation from loved ones breaks our heart, because we are not made for separation. Still, it also entices us, with the hope that we will one day leave the cares of this present world behind, to be joined with our Creator and those who have gone before us.

Death is not a thing to be feared, but for those who know where they are going, it is something to be anticipated. It's true, as the Bible says:

Death has been swallowed up in victory! (I Cor. 15:54)

If anything, when a loved one passes on, our ache for the future intensifies. We were made for more than this--than this sin, and pain, and uncertainty, and turmoil--oh, yes, there is something more. When we close our eyes, we try to imagine it, we try to anticipate the removal of struggle and heartache; our hearts yearn for something we can't completely identify. For some odd reason, when I think of heaven, I sometimes get a clear picture of this really perfect afternoon I spent at the Pentwater, Michigan beach, where the sun was bright and the temperature was perfect and my soul and body felt completely at ease, completely comfortable. Perhaps it was the absence of any strife at all.

We just know we will be in the presence of God. And that in His presence, fears and hesitation and ambivalence and soul-searing pain will vanish. That'll be the day!

Everybody goes sometime. It's the knowing where you're headed that changes everything in the here and now. (John 3:16) You come to grips with death as an inevitability--but you know it is not the end of the story. You start to live your life with eternity in your rearview mirror. It will catch up to you soon, but for now, every smile, every act done in love, every sacrifice and joy you experience here matters more than it did before.

And, honestly, this is why Jesus called it abundant life, to the full. Because when you know that leaving here means you are arriving in the presence of the God of the Universe, there's a deep-seated confidence that makes an average day better than good.

Everybody goes sometime. And I, for one, am glad.