Hidden Riches In Hard Things

 “Officer Thames took me up the driveway, he started kicking me in the back, he kicked me in the kidney and slapped me back of my head and I don’t know if he was hitting me with his hand or hitting me with something…” One of the students testified later that they had a ‘leather blackjack thing’ and that four or five patrol officers would walk by every two or three minutes and kick or hit Reverend Perkins with one of their blackjacks or their feet.

Dr. John Perkins would write later that while in the hospital, “…I began to see with horror how hate could destroy me…Anyone can hate. This whole business of hating and hating back. It’s what keeps the vicious circle of racism going. Jesus’ enemies hated. But Jesus forgave. I couldn’t get away from that.”

We are called to do hard things (apologies to my college professor that insisted, ‘tables are hard, problems are difficult’). My Instagram feed is full of climbers climbing mountain peaks, cyclists speeding and bull riders bracing to reach 8 seconds. The apostle Paul says they do it for a medal that tarnishes. We pursue one that’s eternally gold. But there are overlaps.

Turning the other cheek or climbing K2 forces you into desperate dependence. Living on the edge is never boring. You will experience emotions and perspectives beyond the average Joe. You will have to face yourself. You will face crisis. Labelled an outsider for choosing to swim upstream. For the “tepid soul knows nothing of great and generous emotion, of the high pride, the stern belief, the lofty enthusiasm, of the men who quell the storm and ride the thunder.”

It is in doing the hard things that Christ flourishes in us. Crucifixion isn’t grandiose. Small acts take courage. Reaching across the bed to your spouse after a fight. Confessing your addiction to another human. Inviting the neighbor over for dinner. Speaking out against that thing no one else is speaking out against. Leaving a note on the car that you scratched. Saying “I love you.”

“They do it for a perishable prize…” The focus is on the prize, not negative consequences. A tale is told by S.D Gordon wherein a man sets out to climb a mountain carrying all his household comforts. As he ascends, he discards them all piece by piece finally arriving at the peak. “And so it is with the Christian life. Many find that when they cannot reach the top with the things they hold in their hands, they let the top go, and they pitch their tent in the plain; and the plain is so very full of tents.”

“There are churchgoers who have little capacity to resist, because they have been taught that the good life is free from suffering. If they have been taught the faith at all, it has been a Christianity without tears.”

The Ear of the King

 

For if we are beside ourselves, it is for God; if we are of sound mind, it is for you. 2 Cor 5:13

She dances on the corner, boom box in her grip,

Grape-Crush carton she wears as a cap,

Folks think we’re like the former, when prayer is on our lips,

As bent-kneed we stand in the gap.

Hard not to feel crazed like that,

To believe that prayer has clout,

Pleading for the church in Nigeria,

Or healing for grandma’s gout.

Don’t try calling Elon or Billy Gates,

They don’t give a damn,

Instead try Him who purchased you,

Who sits at God’s right hand.

You get that call, the tests come back,

It’s cancer rattling your bones,

There is one who calls you friend,

Yet sits on Heaven’s throne.

The failure you face-it’s so bad,

You’d rather amputate a bone,

If a child asks her father for bread,

Why would he give her a stone?

We wonder if He’ll answer, still we persevere,

A beggar’s cardboard sign on a string,

It’s a post-modernist age, “You do you, maybe He’ll hear,”

But we have the ears of the King.

Refugee Hope

 I eat lunch with a group of refugees every week. I drive home elated, saddened and burdened. These are brave men facing difficult circumstances. Coming alongside, I feel inadequate.

I can’t know this; what it’s like to be alone in a place, not knowing the language or the cultural norms. Falling with no safe-place to land.  To be a professor in Venezuela but a nobody here. He formulates a plan. He knows somebody who sells him an old car for a couple thousand dollars. Been carrying his life with him in a back-pack, through-country. His identification, registrations, originals of his doctorates and degrees, his whole life. Driving back to his apartment he stops inside a gas station. Leaving backpack—and keys—inside the car. Perfect target in a big city.

There are worse things stolen than cars. Dark stories abound, as if you’d want to dwell on these. One of the men, Henry, having flown from the middle east was put into a hospital for some serious surgery. In the process, without consent they removed one of his testicles. Smaller infractions occur in living situations; with management companies randomly trying to raise rent-rates and evict tenants unfamiliar with the law. So much treading of water that it’s a delight when somebody splashes up onto land!

The agencies working with this population generally come alongside to transition the refugee to life in Dallas. They provide them with housing, bed, kitchen, healthcare and a case-worker to help them navigate. Most are efficient as any big government agency like the post office or DMV. So when we found our Rodger hadn’t had a bed for two months it was a thrill to see individuals team together to find a bed (and a microwave), rent a truck and deliver them. Beyond the basics; Rodger has been able to obtain his permits and drivers’ licenses and to obtain numerous jobs; Uber eats, doing clean-up at a local hospital, then leaving that to clean carpets for a local company. The refugees themselves keep looking forward to these successes seemingly not paralyzed by the failures. Resilient human hope keeps them going, helps them move forward.

Some amazing stories are shared over pizza. Heartbreaking losses too. On a macro scale the odds look overwhelming; from fleeing home to flying here. If there’s a secret to their perseverance it is this. Hope lives in each small moment. Woven through each shared meal, the laughter and the bread are life-giving.

Photo by Alan Hardman on Unsplash

Stagnation Is Easy. Satisfaction Takes Work

“One does not surrender a life in an instant - that which is lifelong can only be surrendered in a lifetime.” --- Jim Eliott

“In the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.” ― Jack Kerouac

The mountain top and the therapists chair are lonely places. Places where baggage is left behind or stripped away. That avocado green Tourister with the extendable handle and Teflon wheels for instance. The angry self-protectiveness that stems from---where?  The crowd isn’t clamoring to give up the perception of safety. Not hungry enough or hurting enough.

The lie is this; satisfaction will come easy. A glimpse of a thing is not the thing itself. The river is beautiful seen from valley’s edge, but you can’t taste it.  Beautiful but it won’t slake your thirst, clean your face, soothe your feet, shake you awake. Have we always been so naive?  Feeling ‘in love’ isn’t the core of marriage; spilling semen isn’t sex. Rendered skin deep we call it beauty.

Time and self are difficult to give up. Deepening relationship requires both. Stagnation is easy. For now the mountain is a picture on your desktop. Personal growth hurts and leaves hollow. Reward seems nebulous.

We commit to the not-yet tangible. Remind ourselves. Short ascents where we push hard, feel shale and smell pine. At home we’re willing to have those deep, tough talks; play and wine with the mate. We do the difficult work. Sit in the lonely places. Listen in the lonely places. Stagnation is easy; satisfaction takes work.

“In a sense everything that is exists to climb. All evolution is a climbing towards a higher form. Climbing for life as it reaches towards the consciousness, towards the spirit. We have always honored the high places because we sense them to be the homes of gods. In the mountains there is the promise of… something unexplainable. A higher place of awareness, a spirit that soars. So we climb… and in climbing there is more than a metaphor; there is a means of discovery.” ― Rob Parker