Loaves and fishes

Another portrait

Loaves and Fishes

Mark 10:13-17; 6:30-44

My name is Daniel.  I am seven years old.  My mother took my brother, Simon, and me to see Jesus.  She took us up to him so that he could give us a blessing.  The other men that were with him got mad at her, and that made me sad.  One man said that the Lord had better things to do than bother with children like me.  But he talked really loud, and Jesus heard him.  He made those men let us see him, and he touched us and prayed for us. Then he said to permit the children to come to him.  He said that we are what his kingdom is made of. He said that everyone has to come to him as a little child, because we are what is kingdom is made of.  I'm not sure what that means, but everyone got really quiet when he said it.

I think that sometimes the men around Jesus don’t listen to what he says.  I think that maybe they don’t really know what he's talking about.  But for me it seems really simple.  I figured it out the last time Simon and I went to see him. It happened like this:

My mama found out that Jesus was coming to our town.  Mama said that he was a very good man, and my brother and I should go see him.  I don’t know why I should go to see someone talk just because he is very good, but mama said that he told good stories and I could go see him instead of doing my chores.  If I have to choose between chores and stories, I choose stories.  Mama made Simon and me a good lunch because we are growing boys, and she told us to behave and listen really hard.

Simon and I went over with lots of other people.  There were so many people there that it was hard to see him, and that was okay with me.  I didn’t understand a lot of what the Jesus said, but the day was very pretty with lots of  fluffy clouds, and Jesus told us lots of stories, and I had a lot of fun.

Well, we stayed and stayed, and it was getting late, and we started to get hungry.  My mom had told Simon and me not to eat if nobody else was eating.  That's called being polite.  But I was getting really hungry and  nobody else was eating.  I didn’t know what to do.

 Jesus' friends came up to him, and it looked like they were mad at each other.  One big man with red hair kept waving his arms up in the air.  His face was all red--he looked really scary.  Jesus said something to him that looked like it made him even madder, but that man and his friends went away from him and looked for food in the crowd.  My brother Simon's bigger than me--he's almost 9--and he told me to keep my mouth shut if they asked us for our food, but Mommy says to always tell the truth.  I told them that we had some bread and fishes.  They kept on asking in the crowd, but nobody else in this whole big group had brought anything! I guess nobody else has a mama who thinks about these things.  His friends went back to him, and they told him that I was the only one who had brought food.

When people see me and Simon, they always say that they are proud of us for sharing.  My brother gets all puffy and says that it's what our daddy would do.  I don't know why he says that, since he told me not to tell them that we had food.  My mommy always says to tell the truth, so I will. I didn’t want to give them my food, because I was very hungry.  But the man who came to me and asked me for my food--he told me that his name was Andrew--said I could come with him and give my basket to Jesus myself.  I did, and Jesus took it and smiled at me! When he did that, I remembered my mama and how she smiled at me whenever she asked me to do something hard.  Her smile told me she loved me, and Jesus had that same smile!  So I knew that Jesus loved me and didn’t want me to be hungry.  Jesus took the food out of my basket and he said a prayer, then he divided it up into different baskets and gave them to his friends.  He kept my mama's basket himself.

People tell me that this next part didn’t happen.  They say that people just started bringing out their own food when Jesus' friends tried to give my food to them, but that's not true—nobody else in the whole crowd had any food!  I know because I didn’t see any more food, and I was at Jesus’ side when he gave it to his friends to pass out.  Like I said, Jesus kept some food in Mama's basket, and when I told him that it was my mama's special basket and I'd get in trouble if he lost it, he let me walk with him, so I saw what I saw.  His friends went out into the group and shared it, and so did he.  There were so many people there that my legs got really tired of walking! Everybody got some food, and every time that Jesus put his hand in my basket, there were more fishes and more bread!  (I even got to help him take some out of the basket to give to those people!)  It didn’t look to me that there would be enough for everybody, but after the meal, his helpers filled their baskets and ate from the food that was left over.  He gave me back my mommy's basket and then picked me up and carried me back to Simon.  I felt really good when he did that--almost like Jesus was my daddy.  My daddy died when I was little, but when my uncles used to hold me, I'd pretend they were Daddy.  Jesus felt like that, only so much better.  When Jesus held me, it felt like a mountain of love was holding me. I know it sounds funny, but that's how it felt.

"Let the children come to me.  Unless you act like a child, you can't enter the Kingdom of God."  I don't really know what that means, but the words keep running around in my brain.  I wish my Daddy was here--he would help me understand.  But I do know that there's a difference between kids like me and Jesus' friends.  I listened to him and did what he asked.  I felt bad when his friends fought with him.  I would never fight with Jesus.  If he told me to do something, I would do it.  I hope that his friends learn how to be like children.  Maybe then they will be happy. And I hope that when I grow up, I still stay a child, because I want to enter the kingdom of heaven, too!  Maybe some day Jesus can even tell me how!

After the tree

When I sat here to write this morning, I was surprised when this came out.  I'd already finished my portrait of Zacchaeus, and I didn't realize that there was more.  Since it came out here first, I'd like to share it with you.  Comments, anyone?

About comments...someone wrote on a blog the other day that the only way he knew that people actually read his posts were if they commented.  Otherwise, they could be bots.  Are you a bot? If not, could you comment?  Thanks!!

Nothing has changed.

My world is the same as it was yesterday,

But everything feels different.

He saw me!

I was up in that tree,

Only wanting to see the man from Nazareth

The teacher from Galilee

And he saw me!

How on earth did he know I was there?

Hidden in the sycamore fig?

How in the world did he know my name?

But he did,

And he bade me come down,

And he treated me as a friend,

And he invited himself for dinner.

Me--

Zaccheaus--

The tax collector.

I said that nothing has changed,

But that isn't quite right.

No, it isn't right at all.

Everything has changed.

My life has new purpose, new meaning.

What was important yesterday

Is nothing today.

And all that is within me is new.

I no longer long for riches--

I only long to be with Him.

Be His follower.

My life is turned inside out,

And I feel that I am well for the first time.

Jesus of Nazareth,

Christ of Galilee,

Messiah.

What would you have me to be?

I will do whatever you want.

Whether it's to be your follower,

your servant,

your clown--

Only say the word.

You healed my soul, 

please,

let me now do something for you.

Wait?

I will see in time?

Very well.

I will walk with you 

And in time,

I will know what I am to do.

For now, 

Lord,

Grant me the patience

To wait.

my platform--a work in progress

I have fought since I was a child.  I have battled abuse, both physical and mental.  I have dealt with mental illness in the form of depression.  I have made horrendous mistakes and suffered because of them.  In all these things, I have been fortunate--yes, fortunate--because I have learned a valuable lesson.  That lesson is solidifying and becoming my platform.

I find that in my life, there have been three major types of trauma.  The first is the trauma in which I was a victim, the second is trauma which I was instrumental in causing, and the third is trauma in which nobody was to blame--things went horribly wrong, and I (and many others) suffered because of them. In walking toward wholeness, I found that all three types of trauma had to be handled in the same way:  go back to the event, forgive, and move on.

Seems simple, doesn't it?  Well, I can only recently claim that I am far enough in the journey to actually claim wholeness, and I started that journey in 1993, so I am pretty sure that my explanation is deceptive.  However, that is exactly what I did.  I went back to the event (sometimes over and over again), I forgave the people involved--including myself and including God--and I moved on.  Often, I found myself coming back again, and that's where this got interesting for me.  I was told over and over again never to revisit old wounds.  If I had claimed healing, then healing had happened, and I was giving in to a spirit of infirmity by going back.  I have come to believe that words like that are a lie from the pit of Hell itself!  Sometimes you have to revisit the same scene over and over again because you are unable to fully realize the healing.  Each time, though, the process is the same.  You go back to the event, forgive, and move on again.

Rereading this, I realize that there is something that I didn't mention yet.  In some ways, it's the most important part.  See where God is in this.  I know it smacks of visualization, but that's not what I mean.  I learned this from Father Mike Flynn, among others.  You can ask God to show you the scene and ask to see where God (or Jesus or the Holy Spirit) was in the enacting of it.  It can totally change your understanding of the situation when you do this.  For example, there was a scene that played out over and over again in my mind.  In that scene, I was totally helpless, and nobody came to give me aid.  I felt powerless and shamed, and I couldn't understand why nobody was sent to intervene on my behalf.  Then, at a conference led by Father Mike, we were led to ask the Lord where he was.  I asked, and immediately I went back to the same scene again.  But then I realized that the love of God was all around me.  Jesus was right there at my side.  No, he didn't stop it, but I do know that he was protecting me.

Some of you might be thinking that what I say is incomprehensible.  If God was there, why didn't he lead me out of the situation, or better yet, never let the situation start?  I can't answer that.  What I can say, though, is that I am here today and part of what I am was created in that moment.  I can honestly say that I don't wish it didn't happen.  I don't know why I had to learn the lesson I learned, but one thing that I do know is that many others have dealt with the same trauma, and I am proof that they can come out the other side whole and healthy.

After you go back and see the events, you have to determine where forgiveness needs to occur.  One reason you might find yourself revisiting an event is that you have not yet forgiven the people involved.  The person most commonly left out of the forgiveness step is yourself.  And even after you've forgiven yourself, you might find yourself coming back and forgiving yourself--or your abuser--or even God--for things that you hadn't even been able to consciously realize at the point you were at before.

After you have gone back and forgiven, you move on.  But you don't move on and leave that place empty.  You pray over the memory--you ask God to seal it for you and to leave it in the past unless and until it needs to come forward again.  You ask him to cover it with his mercy and forgiveness, and then if (when) it comes up again, you ask the Lord if he can take it away.  If he does, great.  If it doesn't, ask what needs to be revealed now.  And then go through the same procedure again--go back, forgive, and move on.

Of course, some of you are not at a point where you can do this alone.  Or maybe you've tried to do it and been thrust into even more darkness and depression--perhaps even despair.  Please don't try to do it yourself.  If you have been so wounded that it is life threatening (whether this means your ability to live a happy life or whether you feel that it's worth living at all), you need help.  Take the step and find it.  When my husband died, it was the third loss in 4 years.  I knew that my children couldn't deal with that, and I sought counseling immediately.  I should have sought it for myself, too, and eventually I did.  There is no shame in seeking help.

So this is my platform.  What do you think?

Next time--how I learned how to write again.

the problem with reality

I'm a Dr Who fan.  I get the craving to revisit my favorite doctor every once in a while, so off I go to once again view my favorite David Tennant episodes.  Of all the episodes, my favorites have got to be the ones in the library--Silence in the Library and Forest of the Dead.  For those of you not in the know, this is where the doctor meets his wife for the first time and she sees her husband for the last time.  It is a strange idea--her timeline is backwards to his.  But believe it or not, this is not my point.  If you're interested, look it up.

The story takes place in a library.  It is a place where all the books ever created are stored.  Millions of millions of books are there--all made out of a single forest.  Problem is, there was a society within that forest called the Vashta Nerada.  This carnivorous society were collected with the wood that made the forests, and now they feed on any flesh that happens to come inside.

As the episodes unfold, more and more people die.  One who doesn't is the doctor's companion, Donna.  She is transported to another world, a world outside the library but actually right in its center.  In this world, she lives a life with a husband and two children.  She later finds out that this is an imaginary world, and that the difference between her and the rest of the inhabitants is that she can--and must--escape.  The others cannot, as they are all dead.

This is where I must part ways with the series.  Oh, my--if you think that the world you inhabit when you're dead is a world of your own creation, a world that exists only because you imagine it--you don't know my Lord.  There is a world awaiting us, yes, but it is a world that is so real, so true, so utterly un-fiction, that I can't even begin to think of a word to describe it.  I have seen glimpses--wonderful little peeks into a world where you can live the rest of your days in Love.  The minute we get there, we will understand that everything up to this point was actually fantasy,  This new world will be absolute reality--and it will be marvelous, in the truest sense of the world.  We will marvel, be amazed, be humbled, and be exalted:  all at the same time.

How can I know this?  Because Paul tells us that we now see as if through a mirror--darkly.  But then, oh Lord!  Then we will see You face to face!  Our eyes will be truly open for the first time.  I hope that day comes soon!

On the path

The more I walk this road toward publication, the more divided I become.  Part of me is excited; part of me wonders what I'm doing.  Too late now.  I've made up my mind and there is no turning back.

It seems like every day I'm reminded of another reason that I should speak about suffering--minister to those going through trauma.  Today, a beautiful woman with a horrendous story came to SADD club to speak.  She was an ordinary mother--she had a son who was in Salpointe, and she and her husband decided to rent a video.  They went to the video store, and as they were coming back, she remembers approaching Mountain St.  She remembers nothing after that, but she was told that a 19-year-old was celebrating his birthday by driving drunk.  She had the right of way and was making a turn, and he slammed into her car.  Her husband was killed and she was forever changed.  She has walked through a lot in the years since, and now she is giving back by sponsoring an endowed scholarship.

After the students left, she and I stayed together for awhile and talked.  She has been a speaker for quite some time, and I told her of my plans.  It was crazy how many feelings we have in common.  We both lost our husbands, though in very different ways.  We both had encounters in the hospital with people who were sent by God (in fact, I've always wondered if my hospital visitor was really an angel).  We've both walked a long way to come back to ourselves, and we both feel mandated to share our experiences so that we can help others.  Donna is an important part of our substance abuse awareness program for parents, and she also volunteers for MADD and other organizations.  As I've said, I'm readying myself for a ministry to the person who is walking through trauma.  Both of us agree that the training that we've received--and the life that we live--is exhausting.

Exhausting.  I sometimes wonder how I'll make it through.  For example, right now it is 10:13.  I am writing in my blog because I know I need to record this.  It's a marker for me.  But it means that once again I'll be late getting to bed.  I'm exhausted all the time these days.  If I'm not teaching, I'm grading papers. If I'm not doing school work, my mind is working on another story--sometimes unbeknownst to me!  I'm constantly second guessing myself, and I often find myself thinking that this will fall by the wayside.  I have never managed to be published, so why should I think that I can do it now?

Another thing that I deal with is the overimportance that I place on relatively unimportant things.  I have misplaced some files.  I know they're here someplace--but there is no need for me to overturn my house looking for them.  If I can't find them, I know there's a reason.  But still I obsess.

This is all part of the walk.  I'm sure of that.  I promise myself, here and now, that I will keep walking.  I WILL finish this book.  I WILL fulfill God's plan and purpose for my life. I KNOW I will, because I know that HE is here--right now--guarding and guiding me.  Amen.

Susana

January 27
   I know it's the right thing to do.  I don't have a job; don't have money, don't have education; don't have oh so many things.  What I do have is a world of love for this little girl--for you, Sweetheart.  I don't get to give you a name--that is going to be your mommy's job--but just between you and me, I already have.  Your name is Susanna.  Even if nobody else in the world ever hears it, I want you to know.  Susanna, I hope you know how much I love you.  I only get these few minutes to talk to you and hold you and give you a lifetime worth of love, and I know that's not enough, but I hope you somehow understand that it's because I love you that I'm giving you up.  If I were selfish, I'd keep you with me and make you suffer through my mistakes.  But I'm not going to be selfish. I love you too much for that.  So just know, my precious Susanna, that my heart is always going to be broken because I want you to be strong.
                                                         Love,
                                                                Mommy

February 14
Can it really be that over a year has passed?  I thought about you all day today.  I hope that somehow you know that you have inspired me.  Because of you, I've gone back to school.  I'm going to be a teacher, Susanna.  I'm going to teach elementary school, I think.  I have a long way to go, but I'm hoping that I treat every student--boy or girl--as if it was you.  I think about you every day.  I wonder about your hair, your eyes, your family...did you get my curly hair or your daddy's straight hair?  Did your eyes stay blue like his, or did they turn green like mine--or even maybe brown like my father's?  Do you have brothers and sisters?  Do they hold you when you cry?  Do you ever miss me?  I hope not, Susanna.  I don't want to be the reason you feel bad.  I love you so much.  I hope somehow you know that.
                                                                    Love,
                                                                           Mommy
December 25
Susanna, I know that you're almost 10.  My goodness, how time flies!  Did you have a nice Christmas?  I stayed with your grandmother.  This is her first Christmas without your Grandpa.  Oh Susanna, I wish you could have known him.  He was a great man.  I will always remember him carrying me piggyback on his neck.  I felt so tall--like I could almost touch the sky!  He made me feel that way, anyway, Dear.  He was a good, good man and I really miss him.  He died of a heart attack, but before he died, we had time to talk.  He knew about you, Little One.  I didn't keep you a secret.  Both he and your grandmother knew that I was pregnant.  We all prayed and talked it through together.  Susanna, did I ever tell you that I wasn't a teenager?  I was an adult--20 years old.  Your daddy and I were in love and planning to get married, and we chose not to wait.  We chose together.  When I got pregnant, though, he got scared and left.  He knew that I wouldn't dream of abortion, and he didn't want to raise a child.  Not that I would have asked him.  I knew we weren't ready.  But this introduction to responsibility scared him and he left.  Grandma and Grandpa didn't pressure me in any way.  We prayed together and decided.  It was an easy decision for me--I've already told you that I wanted you to have the best home and the brightest future possible, and I knew that couldn't happen with me.  I think it was really hard for Grandma, though.  I heard her crying in her room, but she never tried to talk me out of it.  I'm thankful for that.  Before he died, your Grandpa told me that he knew I did the right thing.  He said that if I ever got to know you, though, he wanted me to tell you that he loves you.  He's always prayed for you--his granddaughter.

My little girl--I know I shouldn't say "mine", but I still feel you in my heart, just like I told you I would.  That's why I've written this journal.  Just in case, some strange way, we should ever find each other, I want you to know that I never, not even for one day, stopped thinking about you.

                                                                   Merry Christmas, my little angel,
                                                                                Your mommy, who loves you

July 28,
Susanna, school is starting up again soon.  I know that you will be a freshman this year.  Are you excited?  I wonder if you'll go out for sports, or maybe play in the band like I did.  Do you have a gift?  Mine was always music.  Even when life was hard, music always lifted me up.  Coming home, I always had on my I-pod.  Sometimes I would hear people laughing and realize that I'd been singing along again.

I've been teaching for quite a few years now.  Fifth grade, mostly.  I see so many little girls, and I wonder if that's how you look-or looked, you know what I mean.  Blonde and pretty, brown hair in pony tails, chubby redheads--all of them are you.  Not knowing what you look like, I know that any one of them could have been you.  It helps me remember to treat them all with love and compassion.  What if that little girl that I snickered about turned out to be my own daughter?  So even now I look for you in every face and treat every child (even the boys) as if they were my own.  Just another way you make me a better person, Susanna.
                                                                 Love,
                                                                          Mommy

March 18,
Dear Katie,
            Thank you for giving me the chance to see you.  I was scared about the idea of looking you up, but I always felt that there was a connection.  When I turned 18, I talked to my mom, and she gave me her blessing.  I wouldn't have done this so soon if she hadn't.  I didn't want to do anything that would hurt her.  You did give birth to me, but she gave me life.  She told me a little about the situation.  She told me that you were young, unmarried, and you wanted me to have the best.  She knew you from the letters that you had written to the adoption facility, and she was impressed by the love that you had for me.  She knew that it was hard for you to give me up, but that you were determined to do what was right for me.
           When we met, you said that it was like you were looking at yourself.  I'm with you! I think that the first thing that struck me was how alike we look.  Your mom (it seems funny to call her Grandma still, but I'll get used to it) says that I look just like pictures of you when you were 18.  I brought my photo album (and my phone) and she took hers out, too, and we were all in tears--it could have been me in your book and you in my book!! Honestly, it was hard to figure out whether we laughed more or cried more.
           Katie, I was so blessed when you gave me your journals.  Eighteen years' worth--20 books!  I can't believe you thought of me every single day!  You have no idea how close you came to truths about me.  That day that you worried about whether I'd find the right boy...I had found the wrong boy and came so close to making the same mistake you made!  But I remembered the nights that I'd cried in my mom's arms--why would my parents give me up?--that I knew I couldn't risk doing that to another child.  I don't blame you, Katie.  You did do what was best.  My parents are there for me, and I've had a great childhood.  But you must know that it hurts, even when you know that your parents let you go for the best reason possible.  We talked about that a little, and we both cried a little more.  What a day of tears!!
             I'm looking forward to learning more about you.  I'm glad you understand that I can't call you Mom--that's not something I can do--but I was thinking--I learned German, and the word for mom in German is mutti.  I really think I want to call you mutti.
             So anyway, mutti :-), I'm looking forward to more time together with you.  Maybe one day you can meet my mom and dad, too.  They're great people, like I said.  But we'll play it by ear.
              I love you, Katie.  Mutti.
                                                                          Love, your daughter
                                                                                          Savannah

The night my mother died and after

Eyes so tired from crying.
Sitting in the bleachers at a football game.
Remembering that my mother is gone.
Hating the fact that I can't be home.
Watching balloons going up up up into the black sky
And wondering if she might catch one.

Surrounded with family
I have never felt so all alone.

Healing comes with time.
With time, I learn that life goes on.
With time, I realize that it wasn't that he was thoughtless--
Just that he didn't know how to cope, either.
Realizing that he probably had few memories of that night.
Just as I have no memories of the night my husband died.

I feel the emptiness
And allow myself to realize
That was his emptiness, too.
Maybe we didn't know how to express it,
But our world had come to an end.
I don't think he ever figured out how to recover--
But I did.

Time passes, and I can look back
And remember
And forgive
And move on.

I love you, Daddy.
I know now exactly how you felt,
And I'm sorry that you didn't get the support you needed.
I no longer blame you--
You tried, I know.
More, Daddy, I thank you.
You taught me how not to respond to death.

Because of your stagnancy,
I realized the need to live.
I owe my recovery
In part
To you.
In doing what you did not,
I walked to wholeness,
And am dipping my toe in the pool of joy.

When I'm ready, Daddy
I'll swim a lap
In your honor.