If you want to ABIDE this Christmas - start now

My first pregnancy I was convinced I would go into labor prematurely. With my son's due date set for late December, I was worried that I wouldn't get to buy gifts, send cards, or have time to make homemade cranberry/raspberry preserves.  Of course, looking back over a decade later, I see how superficial my fears were. I wasn't overly concerned for the health of my child, but for the health of my Christmas traditions. Needless to say, twelve years ago, I learned an important lesson about celebrating Christmas. Because I was so sure that the birth of my child would thwart my holiday plans, I worked to have everything prepared for Christmas (except the tree and our nativity sets) by the beginning of September. I wasn't even out of my second trimester when my Christmas gifts were all purchased, wrapped, and put away. Cranberries had already been prepared and stored for Christmas dinner, and I made the choice to not send cards that year, since I would be sending birth announcements soon enough.

Everything was done. Everything except the long weeks and months till the birth of my perfectly healthy, full-term baby boy.

Here's what I learned that Christmas:

I learned that celebrating Jesus' birthday, without all the Hustle and Bustle, is the very best kind of Christmas.

And there beside the fire, without a reason to run from store to store, I learned to be still, to be quiet and to abide in the midst of advent. It's a lost art form, this quiet sort of Christmas - but I sense it is the key, if we truly want to unlock our hearts to Christ at Christmas.

Of course, it's been 12 years now, and I have three boys running all around with Christmas lists and Christmas parties, and sugar highs from Christmas cookies... And so I know that this quieting sort of Christmas has to be intentional - like it was that first year. Getting everything out of the way so that you can sit and advent. I know that advent is a noun - it is a season - but it is also a verb that requires both doing and ceasing from doing. It is a still sort of verb that says, "I am preparing my heart for You, Lord."

Here's what I'm doing to prepare for a Quiet Christmas this year:

1) I'm quieting my heart - Darlene Schacht just created this delightful little book called Quieting Your Heart for the Holidays. This 30 Day Prayer Journal is just the sort of intentional abiding I need. It is brand spanking new, and I may have been the first to order it online!  I hope that you will order one too.

2) I'm keeping my gift giving simple this season -  and making it even simpler by buying online and early! This is especially important if you are wanting to buy Star Wars Lego sets (which I do.) Word on the street (or at least on those toy aisles) is that Lego won't be able to meet the demand this season. So shop early and avoid the stress. My goal is to have all of my shopping done by the end of November.

Getting it all done early shouldn't be too difficult either, because we're pulling way back on purchases. Our family is going to try this little rhyme to guide our gift giving. "Something you want, something you need, something you wear, something you read..." And then we are going to let each of our children write a Christmas letter to one of our sponsored kids through Compassion International, and send a special gift to their family. That's on the to-do list for this week! (6 weeks before Christmas!)

3) Christmas Cards won't be extravagant either, and I'm ordering them early as well! I'm keeping the list of cards short this year so that I am not overwhelmed by the work or the cost. I'll send out an electronic greeting to the whole gang in December. To everything there is a season, and this is the season is for a quiet unhurried heart! 

4) I'm embracing the paper plate this holiday! Last year we had out of town guest arrive on Christmas Eve, which coincided perfectly with the completion of our Holiday Kitchen Remodel! I spent the day with our friends at the local zoo, while my husband installed the sink!  After a long day we all came home to my brand new kitchen!  While my husband did an exceptional job cleaning off my new green countertops, every plate and serving dish I owned was covered in dust! So I made panini's - easy-peasy -  and served them on disposable china! The ones I used were actually a step up from paper, and turns out I have used them over and over again!

While I love my wedding china... I may not go back to using it for the holidays! It was such a sweet relief to not spend all night in the kitchen washing delicate plates and heirloom silver.

5) I am committing to the worship of sitting down. Recently I heard Ruth Simons say it this way, "Rest is Worship." And I believe she's speaking Gospel-truth with all of my heart. While God may never sleep nor slumber, He promises to give to His beloveds when they are fast asleep. (Ps. 127:2) He gives us healing sleep, He gives us health, and He often works out details when we aren't striving on our own. So I'm committed, this quiet Christmas, to this ceasing from striving sort of worship. More sitting and sleeping, less hustle and bustle.

 6)  Worship. If there is one thing, however, that I am actively embracing - and encourage you to do as well this advent season, it would be find a worshipful event to attend. Perhaps it will be your church's Christmas concert or the Ladies Christmas Tea, or maybe you can ask your loved ones to give you the Christmas gift of a Christmas Retreat this December!

Whatever it is you do or don't do this Holiday season, let me encourage you to make some intentional choices today, six weeks before that worshipful day, to Quiet Your Heart. There is nothing better during the advent season than to focus on the One it's really all about!

Finding your voice - on page and on stage

I'm doing something super-fun today. I have the awesome privilege of teaching an interactive seminar about finding your own unique voice both as a writer and a speaker. We're gathered together at the annual Allume Conference in Greenville, South Carolina -  just me and 400 of my closest blogging friends. And though I don't usually write about writing, I thought I'd share some of the main points with y'all here today.  

I remember my very first acting class my Freshman year of College. I had come all the way from Los Angeles, California to Boston, Massachusetts to study with a specific acting coach. She was a living legend in the theatre world. Had a deep resonating voice, slightly raspy from too many cigarettes back in her hay-day.

On our first day of class she greeted us all one at a time as we came into the small black-box theatre. I remember very clearly how she stood there, stately and confident, with her hair tied back in a bun, a few wiry grey hairs pulled out and framing her otherwise stern appearance. I recall clearly the way she looked me in the eyes, shook my hand and said, “What’s your name?” It was an intense moment for this 18 year old, 3,000 miles from home.

“Wendy?” I said it like a question, with an out-of-place inflection at the end.

“Are you sure?... ‘Wendy?'”

“Yes?” Though my voice didn't sound sure.

“Welcome, Wendy. It is my goal that when you leave this class, you will know exactly who you are.” And then she greeted the equally unsure student that came in behind me, and then the next, and then the next...

We did all of the strange things that first year theatre students do. We warmed up our articulators “p-p-p-b-b-b-t-t-t-d-d-d-k-k-k-g-g-g…” We read Henry the 5^th and memorized the prologue, and then she invited us to each memorize it and perform for the class.

“Oh for a muse of fire that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention. A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, and monarchs to behold the swelling scene. And then should the warlike Harry, himself assume the port of mars. And at his heals, leashed in, should famine, sword, and fire crouch for employment...”

Afterwards we were all quite proud of ourselves. But she took the stage, hung her head, and challenge each one of us. She said, “Who do you think you are? You think that you can come up here and tell us Henry V’s story? The King of England? And yet, you haven’t ever told us your own. How can you honestly tell another person’s story, if you haven’t gone to the depths and the heights to recount your own?”

"Here's what you're going to do," she continued, "I want you to go home to your little dorm room and search your little heart for that one moment in your life that had the most profound impact on you. It was the moment everything changed. It can be heartbreak or euphoria. That moment because the lens through which you view your life. The moment you discovered who you were – the good, the bad, the ugly. The moment that would change things, change you... forever.

You come back here, and you tell me that story - and maybe, just maybe, I’ll give you another chance to tell us someone else’s story before this year is through.

My dorm room was over a mile’s walk from the theatre, and I remember crunching through the early winter snow replaying my professor’s words in my mind.

[Tweet "How can you ever tell another person’s story, if you can’t authentically tell your own?"]

The next week when I walked into that same dark room, I knew exactly what story I was supposed to tell. It had happened only a couple of months earlier. But before I tell you my story, let me preface it by saying that the other students in my class had very different stories to tell. One boy told us about the day he walked into the house after school and heard the bathroom shower running. No one was supposed to be home. So after a long time he knocked and called out, but no one answered. So he peeked in and found his father sitting in the shower, fully clothed, slumped over with slit wrists. A girl then told the story, in haunting detail, of the day she had an abortion. And then there was the young man who recounted the events of his first murder. He had spent his pre-teen years in a gang on the streets of New York.

And then it was my turn, and this is the story I told:

A couple of weeks after I graduated from High School I went to Hawaii for a week with my best friend. We stayed in an apartment on the water in Honolulu, Oahu. Since we were both Christians it ended up being more like a Spiritual Retreat than a Senior Trip. We hung out on the beach and went snorkeling, but we also read our Bibles, prayed together, sang worship songs on the balcony over looking the water.

On the last day of our trip I woke up early, before dawn. I slipped on my shorts and a tank top quietly, grabbed my sandals and snuck out the door. When I went down to the beach I saw some guys launching charter catamarans out into the water. They said that they didn’t have a full ship and I could come along for 10 bucks. I asked if there was time for me to grab my girlfriend and they said yes but hurry, because this was a sun rise cruise and the sun was just about to rise. So I ran up the room, grabbed Kacy, and we hustled back down to the water and climbed aboard.

We sat at the very edge on the netting at the front of the catamaran and away we went, bouncing into the oncoming waves as the sun started to rise over the volcano behind us. We started to sing together, “Our God is an awesome God He reigns in Heaven above, with wisdom power and love, our God is an awesome God.” We sang the chorus over and over together and just as the sun broke over the ridge, Kacy broke into harmony. As if on cue, four dolphins leapt out of the water right in front of us. If I had merely reached out my hand, over the bow of the boat, I could have touched them.

It was the most holy moment in my life, up until that point, because I knew deep down to the centermost places in my heart that God truly had made the heavens and the earth and all that is within them – living, and breathing, and having their being. And that all of God’s creation INSTINCTIVELY responds to Him. In that moment, I realized as those dolphins danced to the praises sung to their creator God, Elohim, that only humans have the gift of freewill. Only you and I can choose if we are going to lay down our self-seeking ways, our sin tendencies, and step out in faith, follow, and praise Him.

With tears streaming down my cheeks I decided then and there that I would… absolutely… follow Him… for my whole life.

That was my story. That was the monologue I shared. I remember the silence that followed. I can still feel it. I didn’t receive the applause and tearful hugs that the others had. I was even cornered in the bathroom after class by a group of very hostile girls that wanted to know how dared share that story after every one else had been so vulnerable about their pain and their mess. One girl in particular, I remember the way spittle flew from her lips as she accused me of… Oh, goodness, I don’t what it was she accused me of… maybe of not being more lost.

But my story was the story of a woman who had been found.

I believe that my acting teacher was right – We have to be able to authentically tell our stories. And, I’d go a step further and say that when you do learn what your most important stories are, it’s there that you discover your voice. When you realize what your main story is, you unlock the key to your main message. And your main message is usually expressed through your unique voice both as a writer and a speaker.

I often ask young writers, "What do you write about?" And they look me in the eyes, like a deer in the headlight and sputter and stutter... they way I awkwardly extended my hand to my teacher and gave her a pathetic first impression.

"Wendy?"

So here's my question: Who are you and what do you have to say?

Here is how I introduce myself today: “How do you do, my name is Wendy Speake and I tell stories that allow me to point readers and audience members to Jesus. My favorite stories let me segue directly into the gospel message of salvation through faith in Christ.”

The popular term for this is “What’s your elevator pitch?” Maybe you’ve heard this term when you have a book you’re trying to sell or a message you'd like to share. But I think every author needs to be able to express in 1 – 3 sentences, the time it would take you to go from the top floor to the ground floor in a fancy hotel. “My name is, and I…”

Now oftentimes, this heart message came from a deep-down-dirty place of hard-earned experience - that's your story. But your story isn't always your message. Christ is in the business of taking our mess and exchanging it for His message. Yes, for Christian story-tellers the story unfolds in two parts. The first part is centered around the sin that wounded you (either someone else's of your own) and the second, redemptive piece to the puzzle that is your heart message, is the way that The Lord rescued you from that sin and sadness, saving and healing you - putting a new song in your mouth. 

That new song is usually where the Christian author finds her voice to sing, to speak, to write...

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him. (Psalm 40:2-3)

Your story may be that you were abused - but your heart message is that the Lord heals.

Your story may be that you were abandoned and neglected - but your heart message is that the Lord found you, and cared intimately about your lonely heart.

Your story may be that your earthly father was harsh and offensive - but your heart message is that God is your Heavenly Father, and He is tender and kind and gentle.

Your story may be that you were lost - but the heart message that beats in your breast, and bubbles out like a new song from your mouth and your pen and your podium, is that Jesus came to find us!

[Tweet "When you discover what's in your heart - You discover your voice."]

...out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.

(Luke 6:45)

When a woman needs rest

 

Tomorrow I leave for my 5th Annual Creative Retreat. Each year has been a little different, though the quorum of woman have remained the same.  We've retreated to a lake-house in Northern California, a poolside oasis in Southern California, and this year we are gathering sea-side in Clearwater, Florida. But more than a change of locations, each year has held different, transcendent themes.  There was the year when we laughed the most, and the one where we cried, another when we created the most, and that one spectacular year when we ate our way through... This year I believe we will find rest.

Rest.

Oh, I am hopeful that I will have a productive five days at the keyboard, because I'm writing a book and the manuscript is due in September, but even as my fingers fly I hope to know deeply healing heart-rest. Stepping away from the blessed grind of daily life allows my personal rhythm to return to it's resting tempo once again. Though I love my three boys and the man I share them with, there is so much going and serving and running and pouring out and bending over to pick another wet towel off the floor, that sometimes I get tired.

[Tweet "Even the most grateful woman can get tired. But rest promises to build her back up again."]

Photos courtesy Tammy Labuda Photography

Oh my, looking back I see that food has truly been the over-arching theme every year, let's not fool ourselves. But this year I hope to ingest great gobs of healing rest as well.

Here are three types of REST that women need to learn to lean into:

Resting in the loving hands of Christ - When life goes hard and we question if we're doing it all right or failing miserably, women can rest in the assurance that God is sovereign over our days, and the family members who depend upon us. Though I'm not perfect, I am perfectly flawed... My flaws are a gift. They allow me to find eternal rest in His Saving Perfection.  Salvation is always a bed of grace designed for rest, both now and forever more.

I am bringing my Bible with me this week, eager to find my rest in the book of Exodus - The picture of God leading His people out of bondage, in order to bring us all into the rest of His Promise Land.  He offers that to me.  He offers it to you.

[Tweet "I find my soul's true rest in the Bible. It's the original King-sized bed! "]

Literal rest - I am eager to sleep well - long and hard. Without middle of the night growing pains to rub away, or early morning hungry bellies to feed, I will stretch, roll over, and fall asleep again.  Rest is healing for the body, and the spirit.  "Be still and know that I am God..." It's a command that is hard to cultivate in these years with little people and their constant needs.  Retreating allows me the literal rest I need to restore, so that I might return home again eager and able to love fresh.

The rest found in safe friendships - It is safe to be with these women.  They are my tribe, my people, my cheering squad and prayer warriors.  They celebrate my joys and weep with me in my sorrows, and their nearness offers me rest. We laugh over bacon and gorgonzola pancakes, and pray around the fire pit, and walk together in silence, each stopping every few steps for more pictures.  We share what we've written, the pictures we've captured, the dreams we each have, and the hard knocks we've taken since our last time together. The safety net of friendship is a glorious hammock for rest.

[Tweet "The safety net of friendship is a glorious hammock for rest."]

Tonight I am packing up all my pretty vacation clothes, my orange sandals, notecards, and that Bible of mine. As I do I am taking moments here and there to lift up my friends who are joining me, and those of you who are stopping by to read this post - asking the Lord to guide you all with His Spirit, into His refreshing rest today - even if you can't getaway.

In His Word, in your bed, in your dear friendships... seek rest.

Question: What else offers you deep soul-rest? 

A tree firmly planted by streams of water

I have always loved Psalm One. Like a promise for good and not evil, it has wooed me to righteousness:  

How blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, Nor stand in the path of sinners, Nor sit in the seat of scoffers! But his delight is in the law of the Lord, And in His law he meditates day and night. He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, Which yields its fruit in its season And its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers.  (Psalm 1:1-3)

Trouble is, sometimes I forget the over-arching reality of a sin-stressed world, and feel sucker-punched and surprised when difficulties come:

I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world. (John 16:33b, NLT)

Trials and sorrows. Other translations promise troubles and tribulation, distress and disease, and suffering, but through it all... He offers us peace.

Peace.

Peace is not what I imagine when I think of prospering. The prosperity Gospel I've heard preached, promises wealth and health.  But what if our prosperity is Peace?  Peace with God eternally and His Peace here and now, though the storms rage.  Peace, because of the nourishing streams that our roots drink up as we abide in Him. Peace, rather than blown chaff. Peace. So we take heart, time and again, each hard day, driving roots of faith down deep into streams of living water, believing that God overcomes it all.

And all that's good and true, though still, as a Christian, I find myself blindsided each time pain and loss come close to my skin.  Oh, how very sly the prosperity Gospel can be, sneaking into our lives, whispering again, health and wealth. Telling us that we deserve joy and ease and every good fruit because we've believed - and to top it off we've not sinned too terribly bad, compared to some others. "Suffering should be reserved for those who make us look good, the true sinners."  But suffering shows no partiality. No, that's not true, Christians are promised a greater degree of suffering this side of glory, for we are called to share in the sufferings of Christ.

In light of that, though it just doesn't seem right or fair to my ease-loving sensibilities, I am intensely grateful for deep roots, living water and peace.

Job: A man God Himself described as righteous in all accounts, and still the sorrowing, suffering shame of tribulation buffeted him terribly, as He cried: "I always expected to live a long time and die at home in comfort. I was like a tree whose roots always have water and whose branches are wet with dew." (Job 29:18-19) Shaking his fists toward heaven, Job sought the water that would revive, and survived the pruning that brought life again to his bones. "For there is hope for a tree, if it is cut down, that it will sprout again, and that its tender shoots will not cease. Though its root may grow old in the earth, and its stump may die in the ground, yet at the scent of water it will bud and bring forth branches like a plant." (Job 14:7-9, NKJV)

Tree, by Laura Willingham Walker 

As a child I believed God's Word, and all the sweet Sunday School teachers, and the simple promise: Abide, and you will bear fruit.  But at 41 I'm seeing now that fruit doesn't simply grow like a trophy on a tree.

[Tweet "Fruit is hard earned through the refining fires of real life. "]

Today I am taking a moment to rest under the shady boughs of peace, believing, standing firm like a tree firmly planted by streams of water; drinking deeply regularly, day and nighttime too.

No matter the sincerity of your heart, the tenacity to which you cling to our Savior, nor the way you share your faith with others, we still live in a battle-field wrought with trouble, loss and disease, and an unrelentless enemy.

But do not loose heart, dear friend, though your back is wracked with pain, your child is struggling with emotional instability, your husband's test results have come back positive, and money can't stretch near enough. Shake your first at heaven if you must, but in the end let us each one choose to take heart and believe that God is good and will indeed overcome this world's sin-stained sorrows, and bring water to the sun-scorched places.

"And the Lord will continually guide you, And satisfy your desire in scorched places, And give strength to your bones; And you will be like a watered garden, And like a spring of water whose waters do not fail." (Isaiah 58:11)

[Tweet "God is good and will indeed overcome this world's sin-stained sorrows."]

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you; but to the degree that you share the sufferings of Christ, keep on rejoicing, so that also at the revelation of His glory you may rejoice with exultation. (1 Peter 4:12-13)

I am reading through the bible and painting my way through as well.  And you are welcome to join me on this journey.

If you are currently reading God's Word, please share in the comments below where you are and what His active Spirit is revealing to your listening heart. I love to learn from you all as well. Sincerely,

Wen

It is absolutely time to talk about friendship - A lesson from Job

Friendship - reaching across tables  - girlfriends calling long distances to cry with one another - pray over one another encouraging words - Friendship - heart-felt silence - compassion buying a plane ticket - hugging sagging shoulders - wet collars from shared tears - Friendship - bringing meals when there is illness - emptied pockets - emptied calendars - emptied agenda - Emptied tear ducts -

Friendship

It all started when I was reading through the Bible and found myself in Job, thinking about friendship, asking myself if I am like Job's friends, with all my Religiosity and opinions about fault. And then McKinney... and now 88 more people of the cross... and I don't want to be a Christian talker anymore! My brand of Friendship is too small, too self-absorbed.

It's time for Global Friendship - where neighborhood boundary lines stretch wide and far into the Muslim world, and into Texas, because people are hurting, and "Why can't we all just get along?"

There I was, smack dab in the book of Job, with all the unmerited suffering and spiritual attacks. Friendship, in light of global gaping wounds. Friendship. The sort that holds a woman up under the enormity of life, raises her again from the sidewalk to her full stature, lifts her when she's been bent low for a month of sorrowful Sundays. I don't care who's at fault. We all need to lift one another up.

Friendship

Friendship is a great big word, sort of like "Neighbors." Religious people always want that word defined.  "Who exactly are my neighbors? Who are my friends? Who must I love as well as myself?" Of course, Jesus answers that question with a parable:

Looking for a loophole, he asked, “And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?”

Jesus answered by telling a story. “There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man.

“A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill—I’ll pay you on my way back.’

“What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers?”

“The one who treated him kindly,” the religion scholar responded.

Jesus said, “Go and do the same.”

Luke 10:29-37

It was the religious people who passed by a beaten and bruised man.  Today there are religious people saying it again, over this video, over this epidemic of race that divides: "But she's not our sister, not our daughter, not our color, not our race, not our responsibility. She was cussing, disrespectful, when she should have respected authority."  And weather I agree or not is not the point. You see, I can't help but think of Job and the way his friends came and wept, sincerely, or so it seemed for three whole verses and seven long days.  Weeping with their neighbor, commiserating with their friend, until all their opinions exploded like bombs on barren, wounded turf. They had all the answers... told Job how he was disrespecting God, how he was getting only half of what he deserved!"

"Are these people really my neighbors?"  Yes, but more than neighbors, we must become friends.  The term Global Friendship comes to mind in light of all the pain throughout the world today. How desperately we all need one another's helping hand to get up off the cracked sidewalk.

Nobody needs our interpretation of cause and effect, they simply need our bleeding hearts, our friendship, without one spiritual word,

sharing their grief and binding their wounds.

Red and yellow, black and white. And in so binding up their hurting places we just might have the healing we're desperate for too.

It's easy to say, "I would have picked that girl up and demanded the beating to stop. Or laid down next to her, on top of her and let my tears mingle with hers." But I wasn't there and who knows what sort of neighbor I would have been in the moment, there in my bathing suit, with a video recording and a policeman raging. And maybe the video doesn't show the whole story at all.  No doubt. But I don't want to be like Job's friends, with all the wisdom and none of the love.

When I read these words by Eugene Peterson, in The Message's introduction of Job, I had to wonder how religious I am, and if my religiosity stops me from radical real-life love.

"There is more to the book of Job than Job. There are Job's friends. The moment we find ourselves in trouble of any kind - people start showing up telling us exactly what is wrong with us and what we must do to get better. Sufferers attract fixers the way road kills attract vultures...

The book of Job is not only a witness to the dignity of suffering and God's presence in our suffering but is also our primary biblical protest against religion that has been reduced to explanations or 'answers.' Many of the answers that Job's so-called friends give him are technically true. But it is the 'technical' part that ruins them. They are answers without personal relationship, intellect without intimacy. The answers are slapped onto Job's ravaged life-like labels on a specimen bottle. Job rages against this secularized wisdom that has lost touch with the living realities of God."

"Sufferers attract fixers the way road kills attract vultures."

Those words caught my heart and rattled me something fierce, "Maybe you are like them... not such a good friend... not a real neighbor." That's what I heard.  I heard it clear, maybe because I wasn't talking.

Friendship knows when to shut her mouth and simply love.

Oh, how do we go from sitting and crying in the dust, tearing our clothes and mourning for seven long days, then suddenly stand up and make a religious case out of who's at fault?

Three of Job’s friends heard of all the trouble that had fallen on him. Each traveled from his own country—Eliphaz from Teman, Bildad from Shuhah, Zophar from Naamath—and went together to Job to keep him company and comfort him. When they first caught sight of him, they couldn’t believe what they saw—they hardly recognized him! They cried out in lament, ripped their robes, and dumped dirt on their heads as a sign of their grief. Then they sat with him on the ground. Seven days and nights they sat there without saying a word. They could see how rotten he felt, how deeply he was suffering. (Job 2:11-13, MSG)

Let's not get up too fast, Christians - let us not get up out of dusty grief so quickly that we go to fixing our neighbors with our Christian-ese.  Instead, let us keep on crying longer, caring more about the hurt in their hearts than if it was justified or not.

 Does our religiosity stop of us from love?

We desperately want an action plan, don't we?  When it's time to rise from the ashes we want to love like a friend, like a neighbor - though our skin is different our hearts beat alike, bleed alike, need to heal alike.

Today my offering is small.  A blog post.  And the overly available smile to every person I meet who looks, acts, speaks differently than I do.  If his head is shaved and tattooed, you can bet I'm smiling and holding the door open.  If her lips are a sin-stained shade of red, I'm touching her shoulder and complimenting her purse. Though their skin is ten shades deeper and darker than my own, I am cooing at their baby in the check-out lane, asking for his name and finding joy in the expressiveness of his big brown eyes.  How beautiful he is.  I want them to know that this white woman, this friend, finds their boy beautiful, there in our neighborhood Target. And the man out in front, with a woman fully wrapped, eyes averted, standing in his shadow, I try to reach out to her as well.

I try.  Try to love more than have opinions. Friendship. 

Is it enough?  For me, today, it is all I have to give to bind up the wounds of my African-American Sisters, my displaced sisters on the other side of the globe, the white women around me who are not necessarily part of the problem but neither do they know how to be part of the solution either.

And then there are those 88 more people of the cross are taken by ISIS, and again the question begs, "How can I be their neighbor? Lift them up? Bind them up? Do more than talk? More than cry one moment and expound religious ideals the next. How can I love the afflicted today, as the Samaritan would love? As God would have me love? Pouring out and falling down, crying out, and giving to causes and being the ministering hands and feet beneath ruble in Nepal and on American streets, and in the face of terror and those terrorized.

Global Friendship requires more than Religious Speak of me today. I've spoken enough.