Lean Cuisine meals seem to be a busy single woman's best friend. It's good food that is pretty inexpensive and barely requires any preparation (slice open the plastic cover, pop in the microwave for a few minutes, eat) or cleanup (throw in the trash, wash fork). However, eating Lean Cuisines, which I've done quite frequently this year, has always left something to be desired.
Lean Cuisines are just too lean. They require so little thought and effort that they leave me completely disconnected from what I am eating. Waiting a few minutes for one to cook in the microwave can't compare to the delicious anticipation that comes with measuring, mixing, simmering, and stirring. I don't have to ask anyone for my food, and have no one in particular to thank for providing it for me. Tossing the black plastic tray into the trash can is certainly convenient, but it leaves no time for digesting my food and dinner time thoughts over the familiar routine of washing dishes. And when all is said and done, a few bite-sized pieces of chicken and some rice, no matter how tasty, still leave me feeling hungry.
Quick. Easy. Affordable. Good and good for you. What more could a girl want?
O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory. Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips praise you. So I will bless you as long as I live; I will lift up my hands as call on your name. My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast... Psalm 63:1-5
How often do I settle for spiritual food that is quick, easy, and affordable? I'll read a few verses, whisper a one sentence prayer, call that quiet time and get on with my day. I'll listen to a sermon, then tuck it away in my mind's "good things I heard once upon a time" file before I take any time to ruminate on it. I'll much too readily accept someone else's pre-packaged ideas of what faith should look like rather than putting in my own elbow grease to read, study, analyze, synthesize. Sure, there's some food in my stomach, and it will probably get me by; but in the end, I am left feeling disconnected, isolated, and hungry.
I crave that rich feast, the abundant food and drink that God offers to satisfy my soul. Such a feast will not be found in my grocer's freezer section. It will not be quick, easy, or affordable, but it will certainly be good, healthy, and lasting. It's time to get cookin'.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Living in a second language
(I wrote this several months ago, but it has stayed hidden in my computer. As I drove to church last night, I was reminded of these words, this prayer, and how much I need to rely on the Lord to help me communicate with my dear Monday Girls.)
The LORD came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of men had built. The LORD said, "Behold, they are one people, and they all have the same language. And this is what they began to do, and now nothing which they purpose to do will be impossible for them. "Come, let Us go down and there confuse their language, so that they will not understand one another's speech." So the LORD scattered them abroad from there over the face of the whole earth; and they stopped building the city. Therefore its name was called Babel, because there the LORD confused the language of the whole earth; and from there the LORD scattered them abroad over the face of the whole earth. Genesis 11:5-9
Scattered. Confused. Misunderstood. So have we lived ever since the day that work stopped in Babel. Different languages, cultures, and beliefs have made being “one people” humanly impossible. One could not even begin to count the number of lives destroyed by the conflicts that were born that day thousands of years ago. We have learned from generation to generation to fight against that which is different – and so much of what we encounter every day is just that: different views, opinions, ways of doing things. Even within groups that share the same spoken language, we find it difficult to understand each other, to work together, and only through much compromise and diligent effort can towers, cities, relationships, families, and churches be built and maintained.
Upon first read, I wonder if it’s true: if we could all speak the same language, would nothing be impossible? If we were one people who spoke one language and shared one culture, would the New Testament tell us, “With man, all things are possible”? I think of my own experiences with people who speak other languages – first and foremost, the Spanish-speakers I’ve met in Mexico, southwest Colorado, and in Birmingham; then my thoughts even wander to those I go to church with, especially the teenagers – they speak a language I couldn’t have learned in school: it is the language of young African-Americans in many of today’s inner cities, mixed with a Southern drawl and hip-hop slang that still baffles this white Midwesterner. What if I could speak their language, flawlessly, as if it were my own?
If I could speak their language, I wouldn’t have to think so hard. I would not have to choose my words so carefully, avoiding idioms and colloquialisms when speaking to one not fluent in my own language. I would not have to consider exactly what an idea or a figure of speech or a passage of Scripture means to me in order to figure out how best to illuminate it for them.
If I could speak their language, I could get away with talking more than I listen, and with assuming I know more about them than I do. There would be less to learn from each other, and we wouldn’t have to put forth much effort to find commonalities in the midst of our differences. There would be fewer stories to hear, since we’d share the same storybook.
If I could speak their language, I would take for granted the simple things that so graciously and magically unite us: awe of an adorable baby, the love of a mother, the pride of a father, laughter and tears in those moments when words are not needed, bridges built by rhythm and music – even the primal pain of grief.
If I could speak their language, pride would trump humility any day – I would not be reminded of my human inadequacies each time I begin to speak or pause to listen. I wouldn’t need to rely on the patience and grace of others because I wouldn’t have to worry about committing a faux pas, forgetting a word, or not being able to understand what they’re saying.
If I could speak their language, there would be no cultural barriers, nothing lost in translation, no brick walls to run up against when we can’t say what we so badly want to communicate. We would get things done faster and easier. We would simply get to work rather than getting to know each other first. Nothing would be impossible.
The only impossibility would be total reliance on God. I would be able to accomplish so much on my own that I would not have to trust him for knowledge, understanding, patience, wisdom, unification. He confused languages and scattered the people, then commanded us to GO, meaning that we must learn to speak and relate to those who are different. In going, we must face challenges and fears, and at times be crippled by what we lack. Thus, as we go, we are driven right back into the arms of God and onto our knees at his throne – knowing and trusting that He is the only one who can bridge the divide, the only one who can and will one day bring us back to a glorious unity in Him, when every knee will bow, every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.
Lord, until that day, may I always be learning a new language.
The LORD came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of men had built. The LORD said, "Behold, they are one people, and they all have the same language. And this is what they began to do, and now nothing which they purpose to do will be impossible for them. "Come, let Us go down and there confuse their language, so that they will not understand one another's speech." So the LORD scattered them abroad from there over the face of the whole earth; and they stopped building the city. Therefore its name was called Babel, because there the LORD confused the language of the whole earth; and from there the LORD scattered them abroad over the face of the whole earth. Genesis 11:5-9
Scattered. Confused. Misunderstood. So have we lived ever since the day that work stopped in Babel. Different languages, cultures, and beliefs have made being “one people” humanly impossible. One could not even begin to count the number of lives destroyed by the conflicts that were born that day thousands of years ago. We have learned from generation to generation to fight against that which is different – and so much of what we encounter every day is just that: different views, opinions, ways of doing things. Even within groups that share the same spoken language, we find it difficult to understand each other, to work together, and only through much compromise and diligent effort can towers, cities, relationships, families, and churches be built and maintained.
Upon first read, I wonder if it’s true: if we could all speak the same language, would nothing be impossible? If we were one people who spoke one language and shared one culture, would the New Testament tell us, “With man, all things are possible”? I think of my own experiences with people who speak other languages – first and foremost, the Spanish-speakers I’ve met in Mexico, southwest Colorado, and in Birmingham; then my thoughts even wander to those I go to church with, especially the teenagers – they speak a language I couldn’t have learned in school: it is the language of young African-Americans in many of today’s inner cities, mixed with a Southern drawl and hip-hop slang that still baffles this white Midwesterner. What if I could speak their language, flawlessly, as if it were my own?
If I could speak their language, I wouldn’t have to think so hard. I would not have to choose my words so carefully, avoiding idioms and colloquialisms when speaking to one not fluent in my own language. I would not have to consider exactly what an idea or a figure of speech or a passage of Scripture means to me in order to figure out how best to illuminate it for them.
If I could speak their language, I could get away with talking more than I listen, and with assuming I know more about them than I do. There would be less to learn from each other, and we wouldn’t have to put forth much effort to find commonalities in the midst of our differences. There would be fewer stories to hear, since we’d share the same storybook.
If I could speak their language, I would take for granted the simple things that so graciously and magically unite us: awe of an adorable baby, the love of a mother, the pride of a father, laughter and tears in those moments when words are not needed, bridges built by rhythm and music – even the primal pain of grief.
If I could speak their language, pride would trump humility any day – I would not be reminded of my human inadequacies each time I begin to speak or pause to listen. I wouldn’t need to rely on the patience and grace of others because I wouldn’t have to worry about committing a faux pas, forgetting a word, or not being able to understand what they’re saying.
If I could speak their language, there would be no cultural barriers, nothing lost in translation, no brick walls to run up against when we can’t say what we so badly want to communicate. We would get things done faster and easier. We would simply get to work rather than getting to know each other first. Nothing would be impossible.
The only impossibility would be total reliance on God. I would be able to accomplish so much on my own that I would not have to trust him for knowledge, understanding, patience, wisdom, unification. He confused languages and scattered the people, then commanded us to GO, meaning that we must learn to speak and relate to those who are different. In going, we must face challenges and fears, and at times be crippled by what we lack. Thus, as we go, we are driven right back into the arms of God and onto our knees at his throne – knowing and trusting that He is the only one who can bridge the divide, the only one who can and will one day bring us back to a glorious unity in Him, when every knee will bow, every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.
Lord, until that day, may I always be learning a new language.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Run after you
Give me one pure and holy passion
Give me one magnificent obsession
Give me one glorious ambition for my life:
To know and follow hard after you
To know and follow hard after you
To grow as your disciple in your truth
This world is empty pale and poor
Compared to knowing you my Lord
Lead me on and I will run after you
I've always enjoyed singing "One pure and holy passion." It's a pretty song, and though the words are a little lofty, I think the Lord is worthy of our heart's loftiest desires.
When I'm singing songs like this, I realize that I often attach some sort of mental picture to the words as I sing them. The last line of the song has typically evoked an image of a little girl tagging along at the heels of her father, scampering to and fro in a pretty little dress. I've pictured myself as that little girl, running after my Father.
That pleasant, pastoral scene was shattered in my mind a few days ago. Much to my own surprise, I've taken up running. I've discovered that -- not surprisingly -- running is hard work. It makes my body hurt. It makes my lungs burn. I sweat like I've never sweat before, and thirst like I've been in the desert for days. Everything inside of me tells me to stop running.
Lead me on and I will run after you.
These words get stuck in my head as I run each morning. This isn't a pleasant little Sunday jaunt through the park with dad. This is hard, it's messy, it's painful. Running after the Lord is often the same way. There are times when I don't want to get up in the morning and run, and there are times when I don't want to make the sacrifice of running after Him. There are times when Home seems ridiculously far away. So I ask myself, with every run, every panting breath, every aching knee, am I willing to do this for the Lord?
I know He would do it for me.
Lead me on and I will run after you.
Give me one magnificent obsession
Give me one glorious ambition for my life:
To know and follow hard after you
To know and follow hard after you
To grow as your disciple in your truth
This world is empty pale and poor
Compared to knowing you my Lord
Lead me on and I will run after you
I've always enjoyed singing "One pure and holy passion." It's a pretty song, and though the words are a little lofty, I think the Lord is worthy of our heart's loftiest desires.
When I'm singing songs like this, I realize that I often attach some sort of mental picture to the words as I sing them. The last line of the song has typically evoked an image of a little girl tagging along at the heels of her father, scampering to and fro in a pretty little dress. I've pictured myself as that little girl, running after my Father.
That pleasant, pastoral scene was shattered in my mind a few days ago. Much to my own surprise, I've taken up running. I've discovered that -- not surprisingly -- running is hard work. It makes my body hurt. It makes my lungs burn. I sweat like I've never sweat before, and thirst like I've been in the desert for days. Everything inside of me tells me to stop running.
Lead me on and I will run after you.
These words get stuck in my head as I run each morning. This isn't a pleasant little Sunday jaunt through the park with dad. This is hard, it's messy, it's painful. Running after the Lord is often the same way. There are times when I don't want to get up in the morning and run, and there are times when I don't want to make the sacrifice of running after Him. There are times when Home seems ridiculously far away. So I ask myself, with every run, every panting breath, every aching knee, am I willing to do this for the Lord?
I know He would do it for me.
Lead me on and I will run after you.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
The earth is the Lord's
I rarely know what to expect from a day at work, and that's especially true when I am traveling. When I schedule a meeting with a community contact at one of our sites, I never quite know whether I've set myself up for a hike through the woods, a neighborhood tour, a few minutes holding a precious baby, or just another chat in the office. Yesterday it was a garden tour, right down the street from the house I used to live in here in Birmingham.
The EcoScape Garden at Birmingham-Southern College is full of found objects: wood from the deck of a frat house that had one too many parties now makes a bridge over a tiny stream, broken dishes from local restaurants have been turned into incredible mosaics, a bowling ball is used to create a huge wind chime. As I walked past bright red holly berries, ran my hands through a blanket of fragrant thyme, and envisioned the arrival of spring in this garden in just a few weeks, I found something else: a piece of myself I had been neglecting.
It's the piece of me that sees recycling as an issue of moral responsibility. It's the piece that is utterly captivated by the sunset as I drive home through rush-hour traffic. It's the piece that breathes a deep, satisfying sigh of relief when I find myself surrounded by the quiet beauty of nature.
As I walked through the garden, wishing I didn't have to rush off to another meeting, each stone, each blade of grass spoke to me. Sinking into the muddy trail with each step of my high-heeled boots, I heard words of conviction. The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it. How have I been caring for his creation? How have I been celebrating it? How have I been noticing him, praising him because of what he has made? Why haven't I been taking time to plant, to water, to stop and smell the flowers?
In nature there is promise, purpose, peace. Appreciating nature requires the ability to find beauty in life, in death, and in everything in between. Caring for nature demands time, faith, perseverance. In all of this, God speaks. Am I awake, am I open to what he is saying?
i thank you God for most this amazing
i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;
this is the birthday of life and of love and wings:
and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-
lifted from the no of all nothing-
human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
e.e. cummings
The EcoScape Garden at Birmingham-Southern College is full of found objects: wood from the deck of a frat house that had one too many parties now makes a bridge over a tiny stream, broken dishes from local restaurants have been turned into incredible mosaics, a bowling ball is used to create a huge wind chime. As I walked past bright red holly berries, ran my hands through a blanket of fragrant thyme, and envisioned the arrival of spring in this garden in just a few weeks, I found something else: a piece of myself I had been neglecting.
It's the piece of me that sees recycling as an issue of moral responsibility. It's the piece that is utterly captivated by the sunset as I drive home through rush-hour traffic. It's the piece that breathes a deep, satisfying sigh of relief when I find myself surrounded by the quiet beauty of nature.
As I walked through the garden, wishing I didn't have to rush off to another meeting, each stone, each blade of grass spoke to me. Sinking into the muddy trail with each step of my high-heeled boots, I heard words of conviction. The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it. How have I been caring for his creation? How have I been celebrating it? How have I been noticing him, praising him because of what he has made? Why haven't I been taking time to plant, to water, to stop and smell the flowers?
In nature there is promise, purpose, peace. Appreciating nature requires the ability to find beauty in life, in death, and in everything in between. Caring for nature demands time, faith, perseverance. In all of this, God speaks. Am I awake, am I open to what he is saying?
i thank you God for most this amazing
i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;
this is the birthday of life and of love and wings:
and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-
lifted from the no of all nothing-
human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
e.e. cummings
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