The Margins

We are now past the half-way point of our family leave time, and these weeks away spent with our families have reminded me of the power of hospitality. Embracing our family for days on end and sharing life and space with us is no small thing. Whether it is Aaron’s fascination with buttons (any and every–I think he has reset every clock in every house), Elijah spitting up on couches or blankets or clothes, or Mercy eating the tops off of a plate-full of muffins, not to mention my morning grumpiness after a long night with the baby, we bring with us certain challenges to even the most gracious of hosts. It is humbling, really, to see the chaos and messiness of your life put on display in your parents’ homes. And as we receive grace upon grace from them, I ask myself if my own life and home offer these same gifts to others.

I have been struck by these things:

When someone stocks up on diapers and wipes considering even these something to host. It is too easy for me to practice a much more measured generosity…

When someone goes out of their way to purchase the foods our kids enjoy. It is much easier to offer my preferences to those I welcome…

When someone shifts the dinner hour to accommodate little tummies used to eating early. I too often find myself willing to give as long as my family’s needs are not interrupted…

When someone genuinely does not seem bothered by our family clutter that, no matter how hard I try, seems to seep out onto every surface. How many times do I find myself annoyed by the dishes or toys or stains left after the guests have gone?

Grandma Peggy just finished reading the story of the nativity with Mercy, and as I paced the living room with Elijah in my arms I was reminded of how hospitality played a role in that story as well. The Jewish people knew something about how to practice hospitality. Welcoming the stranger was a very regular part of their life as a people. Jesus went on to exhibit this same commitment in his life and ministry, most notably to those least deserving of it.

I have been given a timely reminder these last weeks of the ways I still have to grow…

Last night we arrived back in Portland for another stretch with Grandpa and Nana Haub. True to Haub form, we ended up in the ER in the middle of the night last night: Doug has been coming down with an increasingly nasty cold and last night it became unbearable. They determined he just has a bad virus that will have to work its way through his system. The kids and I show symptoms too and I am praying that they don’t worsen.

It feels unjust to get sick on holiday. Yet as far as I can remember, it has always happened! The reality is that vacation days are no more sacred than any other, and while it would be nice if trial were somehow suspended for their duration, that is not the way life works. As my spirit grumbled a bit about this yesterday, I was reminded of the way that I can feel slighted, cosmically, when things fall short of my hopes or expectations.

When Mercy was only a few months old, Doug and I had to share a room with her for a week because we had house guests. Having us in the room caused her to wake up and fuss repeatedly, and after the first two nights Doug and I realized that we needed to just let her fuss without going over to her crib and picking her up every time. This was hard for me and at some point I went and just sat in the bathroom, and as I sat there on the floor I prayed. After a few minutes of praying, I suddenly became aware of something on my leg. I opened my eyes and looked down and to my horror saw a giant waterbug (picture the biggest, nastiest reddish cockroach imaginable) making its way up the leg of my shorts. I screamed, jumped up and did a frenzied dance and the bug scampered away.

I remember feeling traumatized by the bug (I am not a bug person, to say the least), but on top of that feeling betrayed by God, like how could you allow that vicious thing to attack me WHILE I WAS PRAYING. That moment has since served as a reminder for me that life with God does not abide by my categories or expectations.

I recently got an email from a loved one where she posed an important question, saying: “Some days, though, I wonder whether we would recognize the phenomenon if God called our bluff and upped and sent an answer. He has such strange taste in wrapping paper.”

I know that I too often find myself looking for the things of God with a perspective too clouded by a limited understanding or corrupted imagination. It is too easy now to see a savior lying among animals or executed as a criminal and forget the absurdity that made these things recognizable to only a very few at the time. I remember a conversation with a friend who suggested that Jesus could return in much the same way that he arrived: hidden, disguised. I was offended by this suggestion. Clearly the scriptures tell of a glorious king, returning to claim rightful lordship over all things. Did not those awaiting a messiah, those who denied Jesus, say the same?

Strange wrapping paper, indeed.

“Nala?”

“Yes, Simba?”

“Nala?”

“What, Simba?”

“Something.”

We just got home from an overnight trip up to Orcas Island to see Mercy’s godparents. While the weather around here has been dreadful of late, our two days there were absolutely spectacular. From the moment the ferry boat left Anacortes, the sun broke through the clouds to light up mountain peak and wave. Aaron pretty much summed it up on the boat where he sat with his face pressed up against the window: “Heaven…” he said quietly.

Orcas is a special place to us for many reasons, not the least of which is that we spent the last leg of our honeymoon there as a generous gift from a family in my home church. While the little cabin we stayed in has since been replaced by a large and beautiful home, we were wistful as we drove past the little bay where we rose each morning to bald eagles, deer, and more oysters than we could eat. There was no small contrast to our last stay on the island and this one: last night we slept in a room with our three children surrounding us, one on each side of our bed!

Our time with Mercy’s godparents (and godsister!) was as delightful as we knew it would be. They have only recently moved to the island, and it was fascinating to hear them describe the quirks and joys of island life. By the end of the two days, Mercy and Aaron were on a ferry boat-hot tub-cupcake-so many Lion King toys-and-beachfront-walks high, and none of us were ready to come home today. Even Aaron’s headfirst plunge into a tide-pool hardly fazed him.

It is a special gift to make people feel at ease and affirmed for simply being who they are. This famiy epitomizes how to do that well. And it is often the small things they do that create that space to let down your guard and just be. I can’t explain how tater tots, lattes, and fleece jackets do that, but I can marvel at how they do, and that is the gift this family gives to us every time we are with them. A few years ago I described it like this:

Last week we had the pleasure of four friends from Seattle invading out little apartment and making their home with us. On Saturday they left to return to their own lives and callings back home, and while our apartment once again feels roomy and quiet, I miss them terribly. And it is not the morning Starbucks runs that Dick would make or the groceries that would just appear in the refrigerator or the extra hands that were quick to hold the baby that I miss. It is that being with them made life richer and more filled with God’s presence and grace.

From Shoreline to Chicago and back again, and now this new chapter on the island, my love for this family only increases as I see my husband and now my own children welcomed into their fold. And as I see the couch where Kathy sat and prayed and cried during the touch and go moments of Elijah’s delivery; as I walk past their fridge covered with the pictures of those near and far that they regularly pray for and love the way they do us; as I listen while Doug and Dick talk theology and watch as the girl I cared for from her earliest days now cares for my littlest one, I too find myself barely able to describe the goodness of it all and I feel a bit like Aaron in the ferryboat window taking in the beauty of a magnificent journey.

Last year it was a wind storm and massive power outages (not to mention trees falling into neighbor’s houses). This year it is major flooding, and it is affecting many we know and love here in Seattle. I geniunely forget what life with weather can be like.

Right before we left for our trip, both Mercy and Aaron had check-ups at our pediatrician’s office. During the kids’ doctor’s visits, I am used to Dr. Jamie asking us lots of questions about the kids during the exam, like how they are sleeping, pooping, talking, etc. But this time she addressed some of her questions directly to Mercy during the exam. The one in particular that got my attention was when we were talking about food. She turned to Mercy and asked: “So Mercy, what are some of the good foods that you like to eat?” I held my breath to see if Mercy would name the Tater Tots her daddy cooks for her or the Alphabet cookies she gets in the church nursery or the donoughts she eats with Auntie Anna. “Broccoli….,” she answered, slowly. Then after a brief pause: “And watermelon.” I exhaled, happy that there was some evidence that we feed our children healthy food.

I later realized that that is a very clever approach for our pediatrician to use. Ask any parent, and we will surely be quick to rattle off the fruits and vegetables and whole grains we love to feed our kids. But the real test is to ask the child herself.

In that doctor’s office, I was surprised by the amount of restraint it took for me to not answer for my child or at least try to prompt her. And I realized that that is mostly about my own desire for our pediatrician’s approval. Doug is working on a paper right now (he had to take an incomplete for his coursework from the summer due to my pre-term labor and weeks on bed-rest) where he has to examine different elements of the life of our church. As I read his places of honest critique, I find myself wishing that some of his conclusions were different, and it feels much like that afternoon in Dr. Jamie’s office. As a pastor, we are often called upon to describe our churches, and we likely rattle off the list of positives much like I would have named the good, healthy fruits and vegetables I feed my children. But the true test comes when members themselves are asked to describe their experiences within our communities.

It is a good reminder to me, as a minister, of the importance of listening to my community assess our life together without a desire to prompt or influence what is said. It is also a good challenge to me that my need for approval or good reputation is never what it is about, yet always where temptation is strong. I bet it is hard to cultivate an environment in the church where pastors can do this well.

This morning we worshipped with our family at Shoreline Covenant Church. Pastor Mike spoke of the significance of our use of lights during Christmas, and the need to remember the darkness those lights pierce. He reminded us that December is the darkest month of the year; the month which contains the darkest day of the year, a day when light is literally overcome by darkness. He spoke of how it is appropriate that it is in this month that we celebrate the Christ child’s birth: a savior who is the Light. He reminded us that the manger, from the beginning, promised the cross.

As he spoke, I remembered a quotation from Helmut Thielicke that I posted here last year, and share again now:

But the intent of Christmas is something totally different. The Child in the crib is not an ideal. It is only our love and often our sentimentality which have turned his story into an ideal…

Crib and cross—they are both of the same wood, they are of a piece.

I saw why I detested and resisted owning my privilege. It was like suddenly discovering that my lineage, the DNA of my being, had been pumped full of tainted performance-enhancing drugs. It degraded my accomplishments, diminished my successes, and polluted an innocence that had told me that all I had were well-deserved prizes won by virtue of my individuality—my savvy, discipline, brains, guts, and hard work.

I realized that I had subconsciously struck a deal: I’ll do justice for all, as long as I can look in the mirror and see the squeaky-clean face of goodness. Innocence. Helper. Giver. Solution.

Chris Rice in Grace Matters