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How do Christmas lights break from the time you store them away in January to the time you take them out again in December? They just sit there all year.

lunch break

I wonder how my grandmother is doing. I have to be honest: I really don't think about her as much as I should. Of course I do think of her, though. I talk to her and love doing nice things for her. I'm thrilled that I pulled her name from the family Christmas gift hat and that I will get to go shopping for her. I love buying clothes for her, and I know she loves wearing them. But, last night I realized how little I have sat down and deeply thought about what she must be feeling right now. I was trying to motivate myself to grade some essays, and, wanting to listen to some soft, warm instrumentals, I put a CD in entitled, Winter on the Moor, which I received for Christmas a few years ago. As I listened, the feelings I was experiencing in Winter of 2002 came back to me, and I felt like I was sitting at my desk in Covenant House, reading for my literature classes and researching best practices for my education classes, missing my dear friends who had moved away, mulling over my confusion with the boys in my life, and still enjoying the knowledge that Lydia was just across the hall, Melissa was three doors down the hall, and several friends were within a mile. I can remember being lonely and confused in those moments, yet, last night, I longed to be back in that little corner in my college town. As much as that time held confusion and apprehension, important, precious memories from that winter and spring are locked in my heart. I grow sentimental when I reminesce of those days. And then, last night, I began thinking about Grandma. Grandpa died this past summer, just two days after my grandma's brother died suddenly of a heart attack. I wonder what Grandma feels like at night. What memories float through her mind, leaving aches in her heart. She's had so many wonderful moments in her life. She was smart and popular in high school, she did well in nursing school, and was pursued by the man who would become her husband. She has four great kids she talks about and ten wonderful grandkids she brags about. I wonder what piece of the past she wants so desperately to be the present. So many wonderful memories are locked in her heart, and I can't imagine how those memories can cause anything but pain for her right now. How does she feel as she watches my brother get ready for a wedding? How did she feel when my cousin excitedly showed her her engagement ring? Was she filled with joy? Or was she full of pain, remembering the time of her life when she had the ring, when she was planning her wedding? That's a pain I can't heal. It's a pain I know just a little about. What is comforting Grandma tonight? I hope she's praying. I hope she's finding comfort in God tonight. But I know she still hurts. I'm sorry Grandma. I wish I could do more.

Blessings of today

1. my car started
2. Jane
3. a kind parent who warmed my feelings in the checkout aisle at WalMart
5. a custodian who came looking for me to show off his grandaughter in costume
6. a surprise call from Kristen
7. knowing there's more than tears

on empty

I’ve been freakishly caught up in myself lately, and now, still freakishly caught up in myself, I feel remorseful and empty. I want to go home, hug my mom, visit Sue next door, and spend the night with my grandma. I want to walk Mollie and have a conversation with Mr. Hail, sitting in a lawn chair just inside of his garage. We’ll talk about his daughter and son, his grandkids and garden, and he’ll laugh at and delight in Mollie, sniffing under his truck. I want to forget about me and lose myself in someone else’s life for awhile. I want to sit and listen as someone pours out her life to me. I want to help someone other than myself.

a head He can lift up

I haven't hung around with a whole lot of ex-cons in my life, but I'm usually up for anything I haven't done before (as long as it's a day-thing and not a rearrange my life kind of thing), so I happily went along this morning when my small group teamed up with another small group to clean out the basements and yards of ex-criminal rehabilitation mission houses in the city. Our job was joy. Except for the removal of the toilet tanks that sat on the porches (I have no idea why) and the pungent smell of urine that lingered (don't ask - I have no idea), the tasks were for the most part pleasant in the cool, sunny October morning. Our task was clear: carry every broken appliance out to the dumpster and clean up the place. We did our job well, and there is no satisfaction like the visible evidence of a job well done.

At one point in the morning, though, as I was scoping leaves into a bag, I overheard a regular volunteer at the mission and one of the clients the mission serves talking. I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation until I heard the words out of the former convict's mouth, "Do you really think God could have a purpose for my life?" Direct quote. Exact sentence. A man whose history I don't even know anything except for the fact that he's been in prison for drugs, spoke with a tone of humility and revealed a disbelief ever so scared but ever so desiring to grasp onto hope, "Do you really think God could have a purpose for my life?"

That man finds it amazing, awesome with an emphasis on the awe, that God, the God he's heard about as the caretaker of good little girls and boys, the God of the holy, the devout, the pristinely dressed church-goers, has a purpose for his broken life. That God knows him, loves him, and finds him worthy to become His own child.

I love my God. I love Him. He is so shocking, radical, and offensive to the social contructs of this world that He must either be loved or hated, and I am so glad that He has opened my eyes to love Him. He has chosen to reveal His truth to a broken man, barely out of prison and holding on to his sobriety with a weak will and a prayer, so that this man, this shady-looking fellow, can glorify Him. God does choose rich and successful people to glorify Him, but just as often He chooses the poor, the guilty, the addicted, the mentally ill, the homeless, the parentless, the abandoned, the condemned, the rejected of society to glorify Him. What kind of God would seek those who have little to no credibility as far as society is concerned, to glorify Him? My God does. He'll accept a criminal who bows before Him long before He will accept a good-intentioned charity volunteer who has no use for Him. It's offensive. It's backwards. It angers and confuses me at times. But, sometimes it just leaves me in awe. I'm honored that the broken, convicted man said thank you to me today for raking his yard, and I feel I certain sense of shame that he had no idea what we were talking about when we thanked him. I'm honored that God allowed me to overhear the conversation between him and the volunteer, that God would allow me to experience a piece of His kingdom in that way. And, perhaps more than anything today, I'm honored I'll get to stand by my new ex-convict friend in Heaven someday.