My Heart in Israel

So it's day time right now and it actually feels like day time in my body. Kind of. At least I'm not dozing off every 20 minutes and having to spend 5 minutes upon waking up trying to figure out where I am. It is much harder to adjust to coming back from a time-zone change like that (10 hours ahead) than it is going into it. But we're back from Israel.

I still have to pinch myself every morning that we were there. It was incredible, to say the least. It was life-changing. It was different, and uncomfortable, and so painfully beautiful. It was smelly and noisy and stressful and relaxing and I didn't like the food and I loved the people and some things scared me and other things inspired me and the climate was a lot like Phoenix, which my skin was happy about.

My current project is furiously writing down each day's itinerary in my journal. I'm spending my lunch breaks chewing pen caps and going through photos, trying to piece together what we did each day by looking at what I was wearing in each picture. We saw so much. We went all over that beautiful, stubborn country and I loved every single inch and footstep.

I'm planning to share more about the sites we saw and all that we learned in this blog, but what I want to write about right now is a feeling; or a lesson I learned or at least wrestled with while I was there. It turns out being where Jesus lived and walked and taught and wept dredges up some stuff, you know?

Before I go any further, though, I have to give a shout out to Morning Star Tours. If you are ever planning a trip to the Holy Land, USE THEM. And request Shmulik as your guide. He is an absolute ENCYCLOPEDIA on Israel, Jesus, the Old Testament, and British accents. I can't imagine what our trip would've been like without him - each site was absolutely fascinating but we were never sorry to have to get back on the bus because he would have some ridiculous story to tell.

So, being in Jerusalem was really something. It was a culture shock, first and foremost. The food seemed strange, the people were somewhat rude, the shop keepers were aggressive and every structure was drop-dead gorgeous. On our second day, we visited the temple steps that were built during King Herod's Second Temple Period. This Herod is the one that died right around the time Jesus was born, and this is the temple Jesus would have visited. Herod made the steps difficult to navigate - one long step, one narrow, one long, one narrow and etc. - so that people couldn't run down them away from the temple. (This wasn't a holy thing. This was a money thing, I'm guessing.)

And in front of the steps are dozens and dozens of little stone structures (they reminded me of the "famine houses" we saw in the Burren in Ireland) that Shmulik said were the ritual baths, where Jews would have washed themselves before going up to the temple courtyard.

Jesus walked up these very steps, and He likely spent some time teaching on them as well, because that was common back then. I wanted to sleep on them. To eat on them. To spend the whole rest of our trip on them. I wanted to look in every single direction from them and wonder "did he see this?" And I wanted to touch them and take them with me.

But at the same time all I could suddenly hear was Mark 2:17, where Jesus tells the Pharisees that He didn't come for the righteous, but for the sinners; because it's not the healthy who need a doctor.

I have no idea where it came from.

I was not sitting there thinking I am "righteous" or not a sinner. What I was thinking was - I am a boring sinner. I am an ugly sinner but a boring one; I don't cheat people out of money and I'm not a prostitute. I believe in Jesus but I lie and I'm lazy and I manipulate people and I'm proud. But these are boring and not showy and not always noticeable. And suddenly I had this thought - He would've ignored me! If we had been here at the same time, He would've ignored me.

It's like that feeling in school, when maybe you're doing really well in a subject so the teacher gives all her attention to the kids who are struggling, and suddenly you feel left out and sad. And again it's not that I was thinking "I am perfect so I wouldn't have needed him," it's that I was thinking "I already believed in Him, so would He have wasted time on me?" Or, maybe more accurately, "I wonder if He would have liked me enough to spend time with me" and then, answering, "no."

I went around for days ruminating on that, mourning over it, even waking up in the middle of the night in our hotel and crying over it. It broke my heart. To think He would've ignored me. And I started journaling about what I wanted - what did I want? I didn't know. I wanted Him to tell me that He wouldn't've ignored me; that He's not ignoring me now; that I mean something to Him. And then I realized that if He told me those things, I would think less of Him. Who am I that He'd think of me? Do I want a God who would? Could He still be Power and Might then?

As the days went on and we went to more and more places, I wouldn't say I ever came to terms with it, just that it softened to make room for all the other things going on in me - wonder, gratitude, repeat. It was such an unbelievable gift to be there and I felt that, and it made me feel loved even despite.

But when I got home I was talking to my mentor about it and she smiled a little bit and asked me - are you the "healthy?"

Then she brought up the story of the 99 sheep, and the one goes missing, and He goes after it. I said, yes! Perfect example! I'm the 99. The timid, boring ones who are easily hearded and scared to toe the line; never the squeaky wheel. And now I'm feeling hurt that He's ignoring me for the one.

(Now I picture Jesus taking off his glasses, rubbing his eyes, and sighing, because how do I manage to get every single thing wrong?)

"We're all the one," my mentor said. "That's the point."

We're all the sick. Who knew that could be so difficult to figure out? Or that it could make someone so happy?

More to come.

A Pilgrimmage

I don't go to Catholic mass often anymore, but I went today. Aaron's Aunt works at the Phoenix diocese downtown, just a few blocks from my office, and Bishop Nevarez was saying mass today at noon. It's the beginning of the Catholic Church's Fortnight for Freedom, and I will add my prayer to that.

I hesitate to talk about how I feel when I walk into a Catholic church because the last thing I mean to do is demean  the Church into a frilly little nostalgia. It is a serious, and a holy place, just as God's presence anywhere is; and I do not mean to say that the feeling of home and mystery that pushes on my lungs when I walk inside is just some lovely sentiment of a 'bygone' time in my life and nothing more.

So please do not assign any condescension to this, but walking into the basilica today was, as always, a change in the air for me. It is a different time and place in there. The smoke curling from the spicy incense; the organ which always, for me, has a certain 'outdatedness' about it, but instead of that making it less serious, it makes it even more so. The stained glass windows were beautiful. Nuns. Nuns! Holy water, whipsers, stillness.

It's frightening in an electric way - like staying up past your bedtime - but it's so reassuringly commonplace. That juxtaposition of emotions is, alone, a spark of electricity. Awe and wonder and a little bit of fear and the knowledge that you're safe; that just as there are no answers, there are, too, no surprises; this is religion.

It makes me remember being the altar girl; finding the shortest robe in the sacristy and praying the entire time I wouldn't drop the wine. It makes me think of singing at all those parish weddings - in my dark maroon dress with the sparkles and my mary jane shoes, wondering what I'd do with my $50 wedding fee and wrinkling my nose at the song in between readings that talks about "filling your house with children" - I was much more of a 'feminist' back in 6th grade. It makes me think of staring at the stained glass windows at St. Louis, wondering what Mom would make me for lunch that day and whether the sunflowers in the backyard had bloomed yet; and whether Mary was real and if she cared about me.

The incense especially makes my head swim with the Notre Dame basilica in South Bend - 8 years old, terrified, quiet whispering, wondering if Someone would appear to me. St. Catherine of Siena's bones - she wrecked me and then I saw her dust. She's just lying there! And what was I doing?

I went through the mass today, conscious of my ever-shifting focus, which I fought for so much of my childhood. I never understood how the Catholic mass seemed 'long' to some people - most protestant services are actually much longer - but I think the mass always seems short because I know exactly what's coming, and when. It's the same way that running 40 minutes feels like 5 when I know when I'm starting and when I'm stopping; but if I take off through the neighborhood without a watch on I can barely make it 3 minutes without getting irretrievably winded.

It was a lovely mass, and I still get the urge to call my mother and say "Mom! I saw the bishop today!" which is perhaps a consequence of growing up in a tiny town where the bishop was a celebrity who made rarely an annual appearance. But he was short and sweet with his homily, reminding us that we're a country of freedom but are in danger of losing it, and that we are killing our babies and can't be quiet about it, sign of the cross, close the book, back to the chair. Imagine what that would sound like to unaccustomed ears? We're killing our babies? What?! And he's just sitting back down?!

Mass reminds me of taking things seriously. Knowing God is bigger than me and my pithy little revelations in my sprial bound journal; I will never fully know Him and there aren't enough seconds in a lifetime to fill it all in. The fearful mystery of Catholicism and the reverence with which its people celebrate mass is a beautiful thing, for that reminder and for the way it has survived so many self-involved centuries and will surely survive several more, including this one.

I am delirous at the thought that our trip to Israel in a few months could be this feeling, magnified to an unimaginable maximum. I'm terrified of it.

You Might Not Like God

This post has been swimming around my head for a while now... months, even. I am nervous to write it because I want to write it right. I'm sure I won't. Climb in with me.

I decided it was time to write this on Wednesday, after reading Rachel Held Evans' post on John Piper, likening him to an abusive father who teaches his children about a wrathful God who enjoys inflicting pain on His people because they deserve it.

I'm not going to go into her gross mischaracterization of Piper's theology here, but her post cemented in me this feeling I've been wrestling with ever since that maniac shot up a movie theater in Aurora at the Batman premiere last year. That night, Aaron and I laid in bed and tried to pray about it, and my frustration went through the roof. How do you pray about something like that? I was angry at God for it, and frustrated that He would let that happen. Aaron told me He 'willed' it to happen. We talked and yelled over the implications of that for probably over an hour and while I think our theological differences are probably based more on semantics than substance, I still walked away from that conversation with a lump in my throat.

Because I knew I was learning something about God that I didn't like.

Aaron likes to trot out the ol' Pharoah argument, and usually with a real smug look on his face and then he sticks his palm in MY face and yells "FACE" and then laughs maniacally. Not really, but kind of.

"What about it then? Can we say that God is not fair? No, not at all! 15 God said to Moses, “I will have loving-kindness and loving-pity for anyone I want to.” 16 These good things from God are not given to someone because he wants them or works to get them. They are given because of His loving-kindness. 17 The Holy Writings say to Pharaoh, “I made you leader for this reason: I used you to show My power. I used you to make My name known over all the world.” 18 So God has loving-kindness for those He wants to. He makes some have hard hearts if He wants to." - Romans 9

The issue of free will is not what I want to discuss - if you must know I think the answer to that question lies in the fact that we understand time as linear, which it is not for God - but I digress (brilliantly.) What I want to discuss is the months it took me to be "ok" with that passage up there. And by "be ok" I mean able to read it without rending my garments and tearing out my hair and shot-gunning a sleeve of double-stuff oreos. I do not like that passage. I think it's terrible. It's horrifying. It truly, when taken on its own, makes the Father-God I'd come to know for the past 20 years seem like a mean, tyrannical bully catering only to His whims. He can do whatever He wants with us and we'd do good to know it. In other words, I thought, He was the opposite of Love. Which He also claims to be, coincidentally.

But no matter how much that passage made my stomach turn, I couldn't and would never portend that I could will it not to be true. In my wrestling and my talks with Aaron and with other brilliant friends on this issue, I've been able come to terms with the cohesiveness of God's sovreignty and His compassion. The two are not mutually exclusive, which John Piper points out in his recent treatise on disaster theology. I understand this. It makes sense to me. He can whip up the wind and still cry with us when it brings our house down. But this was a hard conclusion to come to, and my view of God and therefore how I relate to Him has changed. It has become truer, and deeper, but it has changed. And that is painful.

And I worry that people like Rachel Held Evans aren't willing to endure that pain. And that makes me angry, because if I had to do it, everyone should have to do it. This is the immature way that I think sometimes, and I don't want to pretend I don't. I shouldn't care about Evans' theology for the sole purpose of how it relates to mine and I will work on that. But I do believe that culturally we have become so averse to the idea that God might cause us some pain that we will do anything; we will believe any theology, no matter how far-reaching or how many sandy assumptions it builds its foundation upon if it paints a picture of a loving God. An exclusively loving God - One who fits our very human definition of 'loving.' One who never lets us hurt. One who never asks us to do something we don't want to do. One who never asks us to give up something we do want to do. One who never lets us die.

Toward the end of Rachel's post she includes the lovely sentiment "God always protects." My eyes bugged out of my head when I read that. That is a classic case of  saying something that sounds super nice and poetic but that has absolutely NO basis in truth, and that is the most reckless, most disrespectful kind of writing and coincidentally also the kind of writing (much less theology) that I have absolutely no patience for.
'God always protects'? Since when?!

Job? JESUS?

I'm sure we could go back and forth over what she meant by the word "protects" but in the sense of - "never allows to be killed by a tornado, etc." I think even she would have to admit she is simply wrong. God, in his infinite and infuriating wisdom, does certainly NOT always protect us from the things we'd like to be protected from.

Let me say this, though, too: There is something to be said for showing sensitivity and love and kindness to victims in the wake of a tragedy. I understand that Rachel took issue with Piper's tweet - which I agree was seriously ill-timed and insensitive. (He has since taken it down and posted an explanation here.) But what I'm writing about here is theology, so let's move forward.

When I got in bed and was finally able to get Aaron to shut up enough to let me read (this is a joke because it is so completely the other way around. I HAVE THOUGHTS AT NIGHT!) I read through one of my favorite passages, which is Ephesians 3, and I noticed this verse toward the end:

"For this  reason I bow my knees before the Father...that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ..."

The strength! Not the "wisdom," not the "willingness," but the strength to know God.

Because He might be difficult to accept. He might not be who we want Him to be. He might kill the entire population with a flood. He might let His own son be brutally murdered. He might whip a deadly tornado through an elementary school. He might forgive people we don't want Him to. He might remember that we don't deserve His love. He might give it to us anyway.

It is DIFFICULT to let God be God. It HURTS. It is earth-shattering on the day you realize that you may not like Him, or a lot of things about Him. And that's ok. You probably just don't understand Him. I know I don't. 

But I do know this: He does not want us to wallow in our sinfulness.

He does not want us to hide our faces from Him in shame.

And, most of all, He cries with us.

Happy wrestling.

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So, what do YOU think?

I Should be Allowed to Whine

Remember that teacher you had when you were a kid who wore outdated glasses that made you really angry, and whenever you would ask to go to the bathroom by saying "Can I go to the bathroom" she'd say "I don't know, can you?"

Coincidentally for me, that was the same teacher whom I told casually in conversation one day about all the mean nicknames my Dad and me had made up for the people we saw at mass every Sunday, and then she brought it up to my Dad during Parent/Teacher conferences, and, you know. I had to go to bed before The Wonder Years for a week.

Anyhow, there is such a big difference between "Is permitted" and "Is able." I personally don't see the problem in forgiving the uncomfortably fidgeting 12-year-old that colloquialism but perhaps that's a post for another day. However, there's a more pressing difference between "Is able" and "will," and that's what I decided I wanted to write about as I was thoughtfully driving home from church Sunday night.

When I lost my job unexpectedly in November a lot of people reminded me that God was strong and big enough to "get us through it." I appreciated the sentiment, but a couple of things didn't strike me quite right with that.

First, what does it look like to "get through" something like that? I believe that God will give us whatever we need - every hair on our head is accounted for (Matthew 10:30). But the terrifying part is discovering just how little we actually need. Parents lose children. Houses burn down. Life savings are blasted through. iPods get the sad-mac face. Apparently we didn't need any of that. But I certainly want it. And it feels like I need it. There was no way I was looking forward to finding out that all Aaron and I really needed to get by was a box of Raisin Bran and NBA 2K11.

The other issue I took with that advice is that I have no problem believing that God can do anything. He created whatever scientific or physical laws we think are absolute; He can most certainly break them if He needs to. I just have no idea what He will do.

I'm struggling to figure out how to exist under this truth lately, and I was inspired to be honest with you about it after reading this. It's hard to stay awake during weird, scary times like being jobless when you realize you're not guaranteed any relief. It's not that I thought before that I was. It's just that I am realizing I am still supposed to love God with all my heart and be amazed at his grace for me when He doesn't promise He'll at least give me the tools to function.

But as long as I'm living and as long as Jesus died, I still have more than I deserve. I just wish I had a little leg to stand on when I feel like whining. In general.

By the way - I got an incredible new job right before Christmas. I even have my own office, and there's a vending machine in the lunch room with an endless supply of Coke 0 for $.60. Jackpot.

Bullet Points

I haven't blogged in a while. Since before a bunch of stizz-uff went down. And not blogging was a conscious choice, because I didn't know what to say. You know, during a lot of the stizz-nuff. I've had a really interesting month and the dust is settling a bit, so I want to start up on sharing again, blog-style.

This blog calls for bullet points because of how much I want to say. You're welcome.

1. Quitting
This is why I haven't been writing. I quit my job at The Phoenician and my mind has been a storm of thoughts and doubts and smiles and frowns since then. It happened in February. All during the time from then until today, I've been wondering how I would write about it in here. And today I decided that I'm not going to tell you all about my boss. Because that's not the kind of person I want to be. Lately I keep finding myself making all these decisions about "the kind of person I want to be." I think every decision we make is that kind of decision, but lately I have been acknowledging that, and it's a lot of pressure sometimes. Like now. I'd love to vent and scream and bring you all into the ring with me on this one, but I don't want to be a person who vents on blogs about other people. Especially when other people tend to be sad and hurting so much of the time. So I won't.

I'll just say this: The Phoenician was an unhealthy place for me. I was treated with a strange, confusing, ferocious dislike, and eventually felt very threatened. I hadn't found a new job by the time I quit, but I had sat crying in the bathroom with the Lord enough times to know when my time was up. It's a shame, because I liked what I did there and I liked The Phoenician family. And I think I did a good job.

My letter of resignation was short. Because I had spent enough of me in that office. And I sacrificed my health, and I sacrificed the respect with which I know I should be treated, bottom-of-the-totem-pole though I might have been. But now I am not there anymore. And our God ushered me out with his sweet breeze of a whisper, and I haven't looked back since.

2. Since then
Since that day in February, things have been even more of a whirlwind. Literally the day before I quit, I got connected with a sweet friend of Aaron's who started her own PR Consulting firm a year or so ago. It turned out they needed some part-time work for a few weeks, organizing their 'books.' I started there the Monday after I left The Phoenician, positively wide-eyed that God provided for us like that. I had a paycheck in my wallet that Friday, like always. We never even missed a Chipotle night, friends.

I was with Serendipit for about 3 weeks, I believe. As that was a temporary gig, I spent a lot of my free time then furiously applying for jobs.

[Regarding job searching: my friend Caitlin, kind of an 'expert' in the
biz, says as long as you're serious about it, you'll find something. That's
why I love Caitlin. And that's also why I love Jesus. Also, the free market.]

Then, I found another job.

I was hired as an HR rep for an awesome little company called Dependable Health Services, Inc. They have a giant staff of nurses who provide in-home care for patients across the valley. The first day I started there, we had a 'team meeting.' One of my coworkers shared a problem they had been having with one of our clients. Problems with clients are not good. I couldn't believe how unlucky I was to have my first day be on a day where the boss was going to have to hear terrible news that there was a client problem, and then, obviously, get angry at whoever caused the problem. But do you know what happened?

He listened as my coworker described the problem, and then he said: "Listen up everybody. If [the client] ever talks to any one of you like that ever again, you just give the phone to me. You all do an incredible job, every single day, and I am so proud of you. Don't let anyone tell you different."

And you know what happened? I cried. And I couldn't believe my poor little heart had been bracing for an angry tirade. Isn't it sad that I was conditioned for that? Not anymore.

Also at Dependable, there I have found such a sweet friend. We went out to a movie after my first week. Do you know how that feels? I feel so stinkin' grateful I could do jumping jacks. She is just awesome. Although, not too great at Words with Friends. (See that? That's trash talk.)

Then.

I got a call a week and a half ago from U.S. Congressman David Schweikert's office. They had gotten my contact info from Aaron's boss (we now owe her both our incomes. Do you think a bouquet of flowers ought to do it?) and wanted to interview me. So they did. And then they offered me a job as a staff assistant. Then I told them I wanted more money than they offered me. Then they said "ok." Then I said "ok."

And now here I am, working out my last week at Dependable, ready to start my new gig in politics on Monday.

Would you like a little peek into my brain? Here we are.

I'm sad to leave. I'm excited to go. I'm so bummed to leave my friend. I
feel guilty for leaving a company that put so much work into training me. But
everyone has been so nice about it. This is the right opportunity for me. I
can't believe this is happening. I can't wait to work in politics. I don't want
to leave. But the offices are right down the street from each other. I can still
visit for lunch. Mmm, lunch. I want a ham sandwich.

3. Here I Raise My Ebenezer
When I was at the Focus Institute in 07, I went on this beautiful women's retreat in the late fall, deep in the mountains behind Pike's Peak. "Deep" as in, in a town with little stores that had animal-skin rugs and cowboy jackets with leather fringes. My sweet friend Lindy gave a talk at the retreat, and she spoke so much truth to me that it hit me like a semi and I buried it deep, deep in my heart. And I kept it for times like now.

Do you know the song "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing"? Well, in it, you find one of my favorite lyrics of all time:

"Here I raise my Ebenezer: 'Hither by Thy Help I've Come.'"

Lindy taught us what this lyrics meant. Nestled way back in the old testament is a warrior of a chapter called Joshua 4. The Israelites are passing over the Jordan River, carrying the Ark of the Covenant. And when they make it safely, Joshua tells each tribe to plant a stone at their resting place for the night. Then he said:

"In the future, when your children ask you, 'what do these stones mean?'
tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant
of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off.
These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever." -Joshua
4:6-7

This was their "Ebenezer." Joshua knew how precious it was to taste, to see, and to remember how the Lord has provided for you. Let's face it: the future did not hold peace and harmony for the Israelites. But if ever a doubt was to trickle into their meek hearts, they could look back on their stones and remember the God that dried a river for them.

I'll say it again - how precious it is to remember! So here is my Ebenezer: A month ago, I was completely torn up. I felt guilty, hurt, anxious, and angry. I came home from work with tears and stomach pain. I exhausted all the resources I had and tried to take the straightest path. But that only made it clearer that I had to quit my job. I didn't know if/when I'd find a new one, and what my husband and I were going to do for money until then. The next day, I had a temporary job. Then, I got a full-time job. Then, I got another full-time job that included an incredible raise.

Hither by thy help I've come.

4. New beginnings!
This bullet point is intentionally left blank. (nerd grin.)

Justice and Mercy

One of the benefits/curses of working at The Phoenician is the food. Last week Aaron Michael and I got to treat my cousin Stefanie, who was in town from Maryland visiting, to a lunch at Il Terrazzo, which is the Pho's shwanky Italian joint. My buddy Josh was the manager on duty and he told us not to order, so we obliged. He brought us dish after dish... cobb salads with scallops, then spinach ravioli, then three main dishes to share: an open-faced steak sandwich, a margarita pizza, and gourmet mac n cheese. Then for dessert, lemon meringue pie, crem brulee, and a homemade chocolate peanut butter bar. Our forks were busy.

Today, three of my coworkers were at a training class all day, so it was just my boss and me. When I got there this morning, she told me to start brainstorming lunch dreams... so we eventually decided to order from Relish Burger Bistro, another restaurant on property. And I ordered "crab cake sliders." In other words, tiny crab cake sandwiches with avocado and some kind of spicy Cole slaw. They changed my life, blog friends. They changed my life. I literally danced in my chair while I was eating them. It was a special moment. If you ever come to visit me in good ole' Phoenix, which I sure hope you do, the first thing we're doing is overloading on crab cake sliders. You're welcome.

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to delve into foodie land this evening, but I've had so many fabulous munchies lately that I felt like sharing. Well, sharing/hoping to make you jealous. And, of course, your only cure for jealousy is to come and see me, right? To partake? You're getting my motives now. (Ashley and Amy. Stat.)

ANYway.

Being alone in the office today was a bit of an experience on its own, notwithstanding the crab cakes. Even though my boss was there today, she is constantly in and out of meetings, so for the better part of the day it was really just me in the ol' HR office. Sometimes when there are lulls in the outside foot traffic (which are rare, but for some reason weren't so rare today) it gets too quiet in there and I have to hum Brooke Fraser or read my e-mails out loud to myself in an English accent. (If you don't believe me that that happens, call me tomorrow and I'll do it for you. I can't tell if I'm going Australian or British, but whatever it is, it's getting good. Mate.) And being in there by myself, answering e-mails and phone calls, helping walk-ins and just generally doing my other duties is becoming really a growing experience for me. A stretching, uncomfortable, but necessary experience. Not to romanticize the 9-5 humdrum that I'm sure everyone feels to some extent... but when one spends 40 hours a week in one place, it would be silly to imagine that God's not going to teach you some lessons in there.

A few months ago my manager told me that HR exists primarily to make everyone else in the resort's job easier. That was a bit of a nudge to me. Before that, I had started getting caught up in some of the other, I hate to say it... 'policing' aspects of our gig. Making sure papers are signed, procedures are followed, etc. And those things can sometimes be necessary to help make everyone else's job easier. But say for example, a few months ago, I received a form that was filled out incorrectly. My instinct would probably have been to send the form back to it's owner and ask for a correction. And I'm being honest when I tell you that I wouldn't have done that with sinister intentions - as in, LOOK WHAT YOU DID WRONG - I would have been doing it out of an effort to make sure everyone was aware of the correct way to do things. Good intentions, I think. Good intentions that sound bad, anyway.

But every time something like that happens now, I keep trying to remind myself that we are just there to help. If a form isn't filled out correctly, I get out my trusty white-out and go to town. If a manager is rude to me on the phone, I try to imagine the pressure they must be under, and how I sometimes might seem like another obstacle to what they're trying to accomplish. And I just try to help. If i answer the phone politely and the conversation starts with a nice, big, 'LISTEN LADY,' I really try to take it in stride. I don't always do great, but I'm trying. And it helps when I remember why I'm there - to help. Not to instruct, or enforce, or be human red tape. Not to correct people when they're rude to me or avoid correcting others' errors. To help. Mercy.

I need to learn mercy. It is something I can't learn. I have such a ferocious, thriving, deep-rooted respect for justice. I am addicted to it. I think it's how I make sense of things. It's how I make sense of God and how I make almost all of my daily decisions. But I think it's eating me. It's stealing my ability to heart-learn God's grace. And it's starting to eat the place in my heart that is supposed to feed mercy.

Last week I read Hosea 6:6, which is almost absurdly clear. Sometimes God is one for prose, and then sometimes He says things like, "I desire mercy." (Verse 6). As in, 'get this or go home. I can't make it any clearer.' And I felt like throwing up. Becuase I thought He wanted fairness.

Here's the thing. I think sometimes we have to choose between two things we love already. Choosing one thing over another doesn't mean you don't love the other; it just means you love the former thing more in that moment. I feel like I'm being too abstract... say, for example, that I have to choose between drinking orange juice or cranberry juice. I love them both. But let's say I choose cranberry juice, like I just did a few minutes ago. (YUM crangrape.) That doesn't mean I don't love orange juice. It just means that at 10:15 pm on 11-9-2010 (Dang is it really 10:15??), I loved crangrape more.

And I think I need to start loving mercy more than fairness. It's so easy to find opportunities to put that in practice at work, so I've really been trying to work at it. And failing miserably, I presume, but trying. I am trying to think of examples to share with you, but I want to be careful about how much detail I get into about work here online. In the peanut gallery.

Here's an example from home. If Aaron came to me with a dirty shirt on Thursday and wanted to wear it on Friday, mercy would want me to do a load of laundry; even though I hate laundry like the plague and usually keep a strict saturday-only policy, which Aaron knows about. When in theory, I suppose I could go to Aaron and say "you should have given me that shirt last weekend; now you'll have to wait. You know I only do it on Saturday." That's a silly example and I think I can confidently say I have never been so weirdly cruel as to do something like that. (And anyway he'd probably just tell me to take a hike and he'd do the laundry himself...rightly so, ha.) But it feebly describes what I'm trying to say. Sometimes the fair thing to do, or the justice-loving thing, might be in conflict with the mercy-loving thing. And I need to choose the mercy-loving thing. Always.

For a much better example than I could dream up, check out the book of Philemon. It's short and sweet, and it'll make you cringe. Onesimus used to be the servant of Philemon, but he ditched him and likely stole his money. He ended up running into Paul during his escape. They become friends and Paul write to Philemon. He says listen, take Onesimus back. Treat him like a brother and pay for him to become a citizen as well. Do it for me. I'm sure you will. Good day.

And there's the Most Hasty Summary of Philemon You've Ever Read. But nevertheless - it's mercy. Undeserved kindness. Check it out. (If you would like more info on the back story, shoot me an e-mail and I can ask my pastor for some of his notes.)

The only other thing I want to say on this subject is that I'm starting to investigate the possibility that maybe justice is never ours to choose. Maybe the only One who has the right to play the justice card is the perfect One. (Now that's not to say we shouldn't be wise. If someone steals my purse I'm not going to not call the police out of some delusion of mercy. But I'll call the police because I want my purse back, not because I want to punish it's robber.)

Mother Theresa, who still haunts me (in a good way) just about every day since I read this, called her mission the Sisters of Mercy. She learned it so much better than I.

What do you think?


CRANGRAPE juice, hurrah!

The thing with Toyota.

It's been a stressful week at the Baer house. I'm not going to go into every detail, mainly because I think if I start talking about it again my stomach is going to tear apart and I'm going to rip my hair out. So I think I'll just hit the necessary info (I do love bullet points):

1. Our car salesman made a mistake on our contract for the Rav4 we leased a month ago.

2.This salesman's mistake could have created MAJOR LEGAL TROUBLE for Toyota, beyond their already staggering legal issues...ahem...here's what I mean: they forgot to include some 'bank fee' on the contract. If anyone who signed a contract with them after us, and were charged a bank fee, found out WE hadn't been charged one, they could have filed a class action lawsuit against Toyota.

2. Said salesman lied about this to us and tried to scare us into signing a new, 'fixed' contract, by saying the "bank would bill us" if we didn't. (Even though he said "Don't worry, Toyota will take care of the fee.") Not true. The bank would have billed Toyota, not us.

3. After we, very reasonably, said "Well, if you are worried about us being billed, simply send us the receipt for the fee that you said you'll be covering, and we will attach it to our original contract and call it a day;" he refused.

4. He called, threatened me AT WORK with stealing our car back (I swear I would have called the police) and lied by saying our credit was unapproved. "We are coming for your car." Click. I'm not joking.

5. We filed a customer claim with Toyota Corporate. We called their national Credit Organization and reported it. We spoke to a lawyer with whom my lovely mother works. We filed a claim with the Better Business Bureau.

And then, I, your humble blogger, placed a little phone call to this Toyota dealership's General Manager.

He was "so busy" when I first got through to him...yet after I told him that if I were him I'd want to know that my salesman were falsely threatening customers to steal their cars back, but ok, I'll talk to you later...he suddenly became available! Imagine! (He even called me at work and I put him on hold for 10 minutes before talking to him. Nice.)

I told him how we had been lied to and threatened; and that at this point, I understood that HE needed US to do something for THEM in order for them to avoid major legal issues. I recognized that this put us in an interesting position. And I calmly asked him why, after all of that, he imagined I should do this favor for him? Why would I not return the car that we had driven freely for a month, taken his money for the trade-in we had provided, continue a claim with the Better Business Bureau, buy a car somewhere ELSE, and play his salesman's threatening voicemails for our friends, the police. Why should I not do this?

He said - well, I don't know. And he couldn't blame me, and blah blah this isn't how he does business. And Aaron told him, well, here's what you can do:

1. "You will need to cover two month's worth of payments for the car.
2. You will need to extend our warranty by a year.
3. You will need to give us free maintenance and oil changes for the duration of the lease.
4. You will need to write a letter, saying that if we do this for you, our original contract does not change. You will need to have this letter notarized.
5. You will need to personally sign our contract - not your salesman - and you will need to have that notarized as well. Today.
6.You will need to FAX me these documents, so that if I do not find them appropriate, I do not have to waste my time coming into the dealership.
7.You will need to stay at work past 5:00 so that if we wish to sign the new contract, we can do it when our schedule allows.

And we will THINK about it."

He said "Ok."

We thought about it. And we did it. Because we're not going to find a deal like that somewhere else. Their mistake ended up being a HUGE advantage to us.

But we will still be pursuing a claim with the better business bureau. You do not treat us like that. We may be young, and I may be a female, but you do not lie, threaten, or try to scare me into fixing your mistake or doing something stupid. This is a lesson Toyota has learned the hard way. And this is something I refuse to allow to happen to another customer.

But let me tell you something with a grand sigh, friends. This whole situation, while providing a great learning experience for Aaron and I, has also caused me to take a hard look at myself. At times during the whole thing I was so angry and so anxious that I thought I might pass out. I SCREAMED at the Director of Finance on the phone at one point. Then I hung up on him. That can't be a positive thing in me.

And watching Aaron's calm, level-headed and patient way of dealing with it has made me look twice at myself, too. It's not that Aaron didn't understand how truly unfair and WRONG they were. It's just that he is somehow able to say "it is what it is; let's move forward." Why can't I do that?

I've read so many commentaries and heard so many sermons on anger; when it is 'justified,' when it isn't, etc. In almost every one, the story of Jesus throwing the tables in the temple is referenced. And the conclusion drawn is almost always "See? Jesus got mad, too. It's ok when it's righteous anger." (Meaning, I believe, that a true injustice is taking place, or God is truly being profaned.)

But something doesn't sit right with me about that conclusion, and that something is the gaping difference between Jesus and I: Jesus was perfect. If anyone had the right to say "I am perfectly wronged, and in the absence of my own sin, I have the right to be angry about it" - it was surely Jesus and not I. When Toyota treats me unfairly, could I not look at my own actions in other areas of my life and find myself treating someone else unfairly? Do you see what I mean?

BUT, I have a couple other thoughts on that as well. First, this doesn't mean we shouldn't ensure we are treated fairly or that we aren't 'taken.' It doesn't mean we shouldn't stand up for injustice, which will surely create controversy at times. Second, I don't think I can necessarily help how I feel. If my gut response is anger, I may not be able to control that. Surely I can control what I let it do to me and how I act on it, but can I blame myself for a feeling? (honest question - if you have a thought on that, I'd love to hear from you.)

I guess what I am going to try to learn is that anger is God's. God will be angry on our behalf. God will fight for justice on our behalf. And vengeance is God's as well.

If Toyota or anyone else ever tried to do something like that again, I think we would do pretty much the same thing - stand up for our rights as consumers and people, and make sure we were treated fairly. But I wouldn't scream on the phone and I wouldn't let my ferocity rule my body (can't tell you badly my stomach hurt during all this.) I hope.

As Aaron and I were talking about all of this, we started thinking of times in history that pure injustice has taken place - and we started thinking about what the right response would have been. We inevitably turned to the Jewish people during the Holocaust - could we ever even dream of blaming them for being angry? The atrocious things done to them were purely unfair; there is no possibly argument for it. Aaron said yes, they can be angry; in a sense that they mourn for the injustice and they despair over it; and we recognize the pure evil that inspired it.

But here was God's message for the Jews through Moses in Exodus:
"The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still." (Ch. 14:14). They could and should and, I imagine, are, angry about it. But we can rest in knowing that even when we are powerless to stop injustice, He will step in.

I am glad He loves justice. I think we should do what we can to fight for it here - in righteousness - but we should know that when we can't get it in a morally upright way, He will.

I'll work on my anger, I promise. And finding the balance between curbing it and making sure I'm not walked on. Advice welcome.

So, anyone need a ride? We have a free Rav4. Roomy.

How Grand

Mom and Dad are here. I could reflect on how rarely I see them, etc., but I'd rather just say how much fun it is to have them here, and how much fun we are having! Yesterday we went to the Grand Canyon - the first time seeing it for all four of us (my hubby included.) It was incredible... it was so fascinating what confusion it brings to one's depth perception. You could honestly look at it from a few different angles and believe it was 2-d... it's hard to imagine how vast it is, even while looking at it. How much fun God must've had creating all of that.

Isn't it kind of cool to know you're seeing exposed rock that was there when the dinosaurs were here? I think I was the only person in our group yesterday who found that endlessly fascinating, but I embrace it.

There's Aaron Michael, me, Ma and Pa! Yes, I had dreams all night of falling off the edge.

Well, Mom and Dad got here on Tuesday evening, and on Wednesday afternoon I found myself in the hospital with stomach pain so bad, I thought they really didn't take my appendix three years ago and it was attacking me again. As we were on our way to the hospital, I started thinking what absolutely ridiculous, exasperating and horrible timing this was. I haven't seen my parents since Christmas and don't really know the next time I'll see them, and here we were going to be spending our afternoon at Scottsdale HealthCare hospital.

Whenever my plans are frustrated like that, I usually try to condition myself to think of how it could be worse; or why it might be GOOD timing and I'm just not feeling it. For example. I kept telling myself on Wednesday that I should count myself lucky, because my mom just happened to be here for my hospital visit - and who doesn't want their mom around when you're feeling awful? But I was having trouble convincing my heart to be positive...

And I thought about how God felt about the afternoon. I am sure that He gave me that stomach ache (the doc. believes I have an ulcer - have to go for a follow-up next week) at that moment for a reason, and that it happened at the 'right time.' That might sound silly - that God gives that much attention to my minutia - but I think He does. Not because I'm important, but because He's God. That's a blog for another day, I suppose...

But anyway, I started imagining how OFTEN God must be whispering "just WAIT...I know what I'm doing..." and how He must feel whispering that. Do you know that feeling? It's like that feeling when you're doing something kind for someone, but they interpret it at first as cruelty.

I'll give a silly example. On Saturday before Easter, I made Aaron a yummy batch of Funfetti cookies (Aar has a funfetti problem) while he was at the baseball game, and hid them in the storage closet to give him on Easter. That night, after dinner, he started begging me to make a batch of cookies. I kept telling him no, and he got frustrated enough that he decided to make them himself. I eventually just got out the funfetti's and let him at it ;), but while he was asking for cookies beforehand, I really felt like I came off pretty cruel. Why wouldn't I make him some? He seemed legitimately bewildered. But I felt anxious - I wished I could just tell him "WAIT! I know what I'm doing!" Do you know that feeling? It's not comfortable. It makes my belly hurt. (Though I guess these days, what doesn't? Nice.)

Anyway, my goal is to keep God from that stomach ache; to be able to tell him "I believe you. I'll wait to get frustrated. I'll figure this is for the best." Don't know if I'll ever get there, but I'll keep trying. Good thing we have a God who smiles on trying.

(That reminds me of my favorite CS Lewis quote: "He wants [us] to learn to walk and therefore He takes away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with [our] stumbles.")

Well, the stomach ache is on the back burner for now (always there, but not nearly as bad) and I am loving the time with Mom and Dad. We are back from the Grand Canyon and going to eat at an awesome Italian restaurant tonight. :)

Happy Saturday!

Easter Joy

I didn't sleep great last night. I am feeling kind of under the weather...scratchy throat and tired muscles. I have discovered that when I don't feel well, I take to yelling at Aaron during the night. Well, less like yelling and more like...scolding. Apparently last night I yelled at him for leaving his laundry out... forced him to re-fill the air humidifier (a necessity in the desert!)... forced him to close the window... yelled at him for being on "my side of the bed"... etc. The worst part is that while in my sleep I am evidently quite demanding, in his sleep, Aaron is quite... obedient. Haha... I am a terrible person!

Today was a sunny morning, of course. In Ohio, sunny mornings are few and far between and always gave me the joyful, yet anxious, feeling that I should 'make the most of them' by spending them outside when possible. Here in Arizona, sunny mornings are the rule, not the exception. I guess the statistic is that we have something like 300 days of sun on average each year. While I don't think I've lived here long enough to not still love it, I admit there are days when I feel a slight nostalgia for clouds.

There's a Hootie & the Blowfish song (I love them, and am in no way ashamed of that. You should know this about me.) with a lyric that says "Sometimes you wanna see the rain, but the sun gets in your eyes..." and I love that. I am quite certain he was trying to be much more existential than I am now interpreting, but I felt that way this morning. I feel under the weather and a little homesick, and if there were ever a day for clouds, today should have been it! Come on!

I went to Good Friday mass last night. I don't belong to a Catholic parish anymore, but something in me still pushes me to mass on special occassions, especially when my Christian church doesn't have anything going on. The mass last night was beautiful and quiet and serene, but respectfully sorrowful. Growing up, it was my absolute favorite service of the year. So somber, but not bleak; because we know what is coming on Sunday.

I sang at my church growing up for something like 7 years or so I think, and there's a song we sing on Good Friday that I LOVE. We sang it last night, too - it is called "Behold the Wood." It is sung while the church practices the "veneration of the cross," which is when a wooden cross is placed at the front of the altar, and church members can come up and touch it, kiss it, etc. and pray. It is so lovely.

The thing that always gets me about Good Friday is trying to imagine how God's people felt when it was actually happening. It's not something I think we as a church concentrate on too much; to imagine a Good Friday when we didn't know Easter was coming soon after. There really isn't much reason to concentrate on that I suppose; other than the fact that it makes Jesus' ressurrection that much more SURPRISING, and I think that has value.

Can you imagine what Jesus' disciples must have been thinking? We're told that each time Jesus predicts his death to them it confuses them; that the truth of it was "hidden from them." I really don't think they understood that he was physically going to have to die. So if they didn't understand that, and then it actually starts happening... can you imagine? Here's what I imagine would have been going through my head:

1: WHAT THE?!?
2: Is he seriously dying?! I thought that couldn't happen!
3. Maybe He isn't who He said He was...
4. Did I just waste an entire 3 years of my life following this fraud?
5. How could He lie to us like this? I thought he was the Son of God! I really did!
6. This is so embarrassing...how am I going to answer for my faith in Him after this?
7. He looks so pitiful up there...that can't be what God looks like...

etc. etc.

We don't really have any info on what the disciples did on Saturday, but I imagine it was quite a numb day. And fearful, and embarrassing. Everything they had been proclaiming so boldly for so long; the thing that had given their lives purpose was completely gone and dead. And we know it must have been a fearful day, because even AFTER Jesus rose, they still lived in fear because they were Jews (see Acts.)

But thinking about all that just makes Easter seem that much more glorious, doesn't it? They may have thought it was all over and that their lives were wasted, and then suddenly, oh! Right! He came back for us!

Maybe some of the disciples had the faith to know He wasn't gone for good, but I'm not sure I would have. Either way, imagining the monumental, body-filling relief and the joy they must have felt when they realized it was Him who rose on Easter morning makes my heart glad. Would that I can feel a little of that surprised and grateful joy tomorrow (and always!)

Well, Aaron is home from the Cubs game he went to this afternoon with our pastor, and I think I am going to lie down and chase this scratchy throat away.

By the way, I just had a little chat with my best friend Amy and promised to give her a mention in this post. Last night another of our friends stayed at Amy's place in Columbus, and at one point during the night Amy admitted to noticing that our friend didn't seem to be breathing (our friend has narcolepsy) yet Amy simply rolled over and went back to sleep. Now, I may be bossy in my sleep but at least I'm not homicidal! Watch out for Amy, Ohioans. (Not sure this was the "mention" she was hoping for but I have to write the truth!) ;)

Happy Easter! Be joyful!

I'm New.

Hi, you.

Though I'm not new to journaling, this will be my first online deal, I suppose. Unless you count xanga, that is. Don't you forget about xanga.

I imagine I should introduce myself, but I kind of hate the idea of describing myself in a great, sweeping one-sided conversation because it makes me feel silly and a bit boring. I think if you'd like to get to know me, I'll invite you to just keep reading!

I can tell you some basics - I live in Scottsdale, AZ and work in HR at a big resort here in town called The Phoenician. I got the gig because I learned Spanish in school, and I love getting to speak it every day. I got married last September to the sweetest face I've ever seen, and its name is Aaron. He is quite lovely and we have a lot of fun. I have a puppy named Jethro B., but we call him Jet. He is lovely too. Right now he is asleep on the floor, and he is clearly having quite an involved puppy dream because he is whimpering little puppy barks every few moments.

I'm also a Christian, and decided a few months ago that I'm going to take the risk of taking some time off from "planning" my life and try to do nothing but seek God in each moment. I promise that's not as 'existential' as it sounds... what I mean by it is that each time I face a decision about what I should do with my time, even if just for an afternoon, I'm trying to decide what would love God the most. And then I try to do that. Sometimes it means sitting with Aaron on the couch and eating peanut butter. Sometimes it means volunteering at the Murphy School District in Glendale. It's a curious experiment but my heart seems to be reacting quite cheerfully...

Well, Aaron got a new job today (I'm sure I'll post more about that later) so I want to enjoy tonight with him. He has worked so hard!

How are you? Let's be friends.