The Margins

To the question “Who do you say that I am?” we cannot give a merely theoretical or theological answer. What answers it, in the final analysis, is our life, our personal history, our manner of living the gospel.

Peter’s affirmation, ‘You are the Christ,’ is fundamental. But what is demanded is that we make that affirmation the guiding thought of our life — accepting all the consequences, as dire as they may be. Only so is our response valid, as honest and sincere as it may be without it.

Our response to the question, ‘Who do you say that I am?” does not end with a profession of faith or a theological systematization. It is a question addressed to our life and that of the entire church.

From Gustavo Gutierrez, We Drink from Our Own Wells: The Spiritual Journey of a People (p. 51). (H.T. Scot McKnight)

It is no secret that there has been little activity here this past year. It has been a year of great transition, and I have found myself in a more quiet, internal place as I find my footing in life’s new landscape. I have not always known how to speak freely here, and as anyone who knows me will attest, I struggle to speak without transparency.

But I also do not feel finished with blogging, and in this new year hope to discover what it is I have to offer and say from this green, wet land I again call home.

Tonight the house is strangely still. The kiddos were asleep hours before what normal has been these past days in a large house filled to capacity with family and friends. Doug is driving the last of our guests to the airport and the silence feels thick after the sudden departure of so much chaos and activity and noise.

Snow White is resting next to the animals inside the Playmobil Pet Clinic Mercy got for Christmas, and a hearty stash of Aaron’s Hot Wheels are nested in the couch cushion beside me. Baby Jesus safely sleeps next to a brown bear beneath the lip of the coffee table with John Goldingay’s last volume of Old Testament Theology offering him shelter. The stack of metal folding chairs borrowed for Family Feast 2009 are stacked in the doorway ready to be returned to the church building and I am simply ignoring the laundry reality of piles of sheets and towels in every room.

As I sit in tonight’s quiet, I offer this New Year’s Eve benediction:

Elijah received a cool drawing pad from his grandparents, and it is the kind where you have both magnetic shapes and a magnetic pen that “color” on the white tray and can be erased by sliding a little yellow lever along the bottom. It’s a bit like an etch-a-sketch only without the shaking. At one point yesterday, Doug came up to me and said: “Your daughter has a story to tell you.”

I came out from the bathroom where I had been changing Elijah and found Mercy on the couch with Elijah’s drawing pad on her lap. “Mercy, tell me your story”, I said sitting down beside her.

Taking the blue square, she quietly and steadily began shading in the entire right side of the tablet. Her little hand moved quickly, side to side, until everywhere she had colored was grey.

“This is death,” she said, finishing her last swipe across the board.

Putting the blue square down, she moved her hand across and reached for the yellow lever. Sliding the lever across, a line of white took over from the left, pushing every last black pixel away until the tablet had been swept clean.

“And this is what God did,” she said in a sober voice, her own eyes glistening.

Tonight I remember the loss of a friend’s wife and son two years ago, and the loss this past year of a dear member of our community here, and I cling to and celebrate the truth my daughter shared with me yesterday.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son…”

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Love,

The Haubs

Every so often I hear someone say “I want to see the Glory of God in all spheres of life.”

Really?

I wonder. I really do. If it moved us all out of our political/social/religious/personal/financial comfort zones- if it even challenged the opinions of our favorite pundits or preachers!- would we recognize such a thing?

Or do we mean: I want to see more of the way I think, the way I operate, the way I justify my words, attitudes and actions. When more people agree with me and act like I think they should, then Glory to the Gospel.

From The Internet Monk (HT Scot McKnight)

My kids love to be read to, and part of our nightly ritual is sitting on one of their beds after they are all tucked in and reading sections of a longer chapter book. We alternate between books from the library, books we own and have read before, and the big children’s Bible they love.

The big kids can have a hard time settling down at the end of the day, so one of the expectations during the reading time is that they lay in their beds, practicing being “quiet and still”. They can of course ask questions, and there is typically a fair amount of “Excuse me, Mommy…” and “Excuse me, Daddy…” and the waterfall of questions that we have come to expect, especially from Mercy. (Someone made the comment this past week that if we could somehow charge admission for entry into our daughter’s mind, we would be rich!)

At some point, either if it is late, the kiddos are extremely tired, or there have already been enough questions asked, we will tell the kids that they need to lay still, with eyes closed, and no more talking. This is often what it takes for them to finally settle down enough to come anywhere near to sleep.

The other night I had reached the point with Mercy (Aaron had already passed out) where we were at the eyes closed/no more talking stage, and I was reading for her the story of Jesus’ death. This is almost always the story she asks for when I open up the big Bible.

As I finished reading about the crucifixion, I chose to keep going with the story and I read this:

“Peter and John returned home, but Mary stayed by the tomb weeping. Suddenly she looked up to see two angels sitting where the body of Jesus had lain.

“Why are you weeping?” they asked her.

“Because they have taken my Lord away.” As she spoke she turned and saw a man standing behind her in the shadows. It was Jesus, although at first Mary failed to recognize him.

At this point, Mercy’s body grew completely tense and her face started to twitch, yet she managed to keep those eyes closed and remain horizontal on her bed. I continued reading:

“Why are you weeping?” he said. Believing him to be the gardener, she asked him if he knew where the body had been taken.

“Mary, it is I.”

“My Lord!” she cried, her face full of joy.

As I read these last words, Mercy suddenly erupted into a grin that seemed to cover her whole body and her eyes flew open. And through that giant smile, her voice breathless, she hurried to explain: “Mommy, my face just always has to smile when she says “My Lord”!”

Mercy’s joy, uncontrolled and overwhelming, at hearing about that moment when Mary recognized Jesus; when she realized that her Lord was alive, is a good reminder for me of what this Sunday is all about.

When we were deciding what to name our first child, Doug and I had a funny experience where someone made a joke about a name we could use and then commented that the nickname for that name could be “Mercy”. Neither of us said anything to each other in the moment, but later we both commented to the other that we thought “Mercy” would make a really cool name.

I have known a lot of Faiths, Graces, Hopes and Joys, but I have never met another Mercy. I have enjoyed that Mercy’s name is unusual. I have enjoyed the way it makes people stop and think about the word and what it means, because it is not familiar. I have loved how her awareness of her name has so often reminded me of this central, shaping theme in our life of faith. And I have loved how she has journeyed in her own understanding of what her name represents.

As I sat in the ER on Saturday, I noticed a little news item scroll across the bottom of whatever news channel was playing in the room, and there was a word that leaped out at me: Mercy. The announcement had to do with Madonna and her pursuit of adoption of a Malawian girl whose African name translates into English as “Mercy”.

So now with the celebraddiction that dominates our culture, I expect that Mercy’s name will have lost a bit of its novelty, and now instead of a discussion about our faith with people who comment about her name, we will instead likely end up talking about Madonna.

“Why does Aaron think there are dragons that live at Ronald Bog?”

“Oh, they don’t live there. They only sleep there at night.”

“Why does he think this?”

“Well, because I told him.”

“You told him that Ronald Bog is full of dragons?”

“Only at night!”

“Why did you tell him this?”

“Well, he didn’t want to leave Pioneer Club on Wednesday night and he was really starting to throw a fit about not wanting to go home so, in a very calm voice, I told him that I didn’t have to take him home; I could drop him off at Ronald Bog for the night, but he might startle the dragons who sleep there and sometimes when they get startled they sneeze out fire and…”

“I can’t believe you told him that…”

“It worked.”

The View from the Hotel Fig

Fireflies caught and cozy in glass
On tables lounging poolside
Friday night lights drowsy beneath
Stretching arms of fluorescent checkerboards tickling heaven.

The corner absorbs me
Throat warm
A cherry in amber
Tasting this funny place that loans me a seat among Angels.

Not far the skate punks rule with baseball bats
Helicopters hang and dive like insects over the bloated light ocean
And every rough edge screams
Like infants gasping the first breath.

The music and costumes try their best to create importance here
Edges paid for, consumed and worn
Cigarettes are casually smoked and do not burn children on this side of Figueroa
Neighbors, strangers, creeping toward each other separated by price tags, papers and siren walls
The cherry tastes bottle sweet and I struggle to swallow.

Indiana Jones, Hotel Bonaventure, swimming pool, a new dress, Cicada, breakfast with celebs, late check-out, Erika actually pulling off a surprise (and Mercy keeping a secret!), and a friend who can ably manage our three children for a night making all of this possible…

Happy Anniversary to us!!!

There’s nothing like a week at a lake cabin for the refreshment of one’s soul.

Aaron has added a number of new words to his ever-increasing vocabulary since being here: beach, rocks, “in it”, boat, Auntie, shark (aka Uncle Richard), Buddha (his cousin, Jordan), slippery, mud, and sand. He has loved the neighbor’s remote controlled airplane (as has his father), the duck family that visits daily, all the dogs from nearby cabins, and of course the three Snorts that were working on a cabin three lots down from us.

Mercy would live in the water if we let her. She is the first one in in the morning and usually the last one out, even on the day that was cold and quite windy. Her favorite activity by far, however, is canoe rides. Once she sees the boat she’s like a dog who has seen her leash: she shadows the person with the lifejackets and oars, and as soon as the boat is placed into the water she is guaranteed to be found climbing into it.

The kids have been introduced to S’mores and hot cocoa (neither have been big hits), and they have stayed up until previously unimaginable hours beyond their bedtimes (something the Haub parents tend to not be flexible about during the rest of the year). In other words, life has been very good.

Other highlights have included great food, lots of family, watching a snort go up a set of stairs to leave the beach, no cell service and mostly no internet, spotting a giant Tiger Muskie, playing with Laylah (my brother’s Boxer) in the water, celebrating my parent’s wedding anniversary, and seeing my kids enjoy what was such a significant part of my childhood.

There has also been a surprise addition to the family while here, one that did not involve labor or hospitals. We are now the proud owners of a lovely minivan that came to us via Portland (thank you Craigslist!). She’s cute, red, and perfect for our growing family! We have been praying every night for a van, and while this purchase did involve taking out a loan which we were hoping to somehow avoid, the price for the mileage and model is one we feel good about. So now, instead of a three hour return flight we are looking at three days on the road (any advice for those of you who have traveled with small children?)!

This is my first summer out here since my Grandma passed away this past winter (this cabin has been in her family for multiple generations now). This place is soaked in memories of her and my Grandpa, and being here has been a daily reminder of how much I loved them and how much I was loved by them over the years. I can almost sense their joy as the next generation is introduced to life at the lake, creating silly games and new memories in the same bedrooms and with the same sand toys that their mommies used so many years ago. It makes me really miss them. It makes me feel so grateful for all the things this lake cabin represents.