Can God Be Trusted? [melanie]

God’s plans are not our own. I mean not even slightly our own. But He knows what He’s doing, right? And it is good. It has to be. He’s God. Right?

If it sounds like I am trying to convince myself of this truth, it’s because I am. Once again I find myself in a situation out of my control. Once again my faith in God’s trustworthiness is tested. This time it’s a long-broken relationship on the verge of either being redeemed, or causing further pain. Which way will it go, and how do I hope for redemption and healing while protecting myself from the potential of exacerbated wounds?

The eternal question has come up once again. Can God really be trusted? Can He really redeem what’s broken, or is that just wishful thinking? Voices from the world are shouting, “People don’t change.” Are they right?

Fortunately, God has taken me down this road before. And He is eager to remind me of a personal story of restoration that I did not believe was possible until I walked through it with my own two feet, one fearful step at a time.

That story involved a relationship too—my relationship with my dad. For years I tried my best to play the game that things between us were fine, but in reality I was scared to be alone with him. He was an alcoholic, and though he could be tender and compassionate, he also had a volatile side. I never knew what would trigger his anger, so I did what I’d learned to do, tiptoe around and avoid any conversations that had the slightest chance of setting him off.

I had a long list of wrongs I felt I’d suffered as a result of the two divorces (my parents divorced, remarried each other, and divorced again), his alcoholism, and his overall lack of responsibility. I didn’t consider discussing any of these wounds with him. I had learned from experience what his response would have been (an alcoholic’s middle name is denial), and I saw no point to it. So I continued in my tiptoe pattern, with the ever-gracious smile and the silent prayers that I would not step on a land mine.

What I most regret now that I know how far God was willing to go for us, was never praying for our relationship to be redeemed. I never once asked God to heal it. I made no attempt at restoration, or even envisioning the possibility of it. What was the point? Dad was not going to change. Long-ingrained habits and patterns don’t go away. Or so I reasoned. It turns out my short-sighted thinking could not have been more wrong. God had a plan of action that no one could have imagined.

Dad ended up with advanced cirrhosis of the liver at age 62. When he was given six months to live and admitted to hospice, things became too much for my stepmother to handle alone. Being Dad’s only child, I quickly saw that the best (only?) solution was for me move out of state to live with him for the duration and to help out as best I could.

It was uncomfortable at best. Beyond challenging is probably more accurate. Overnight I, along with my stepmother, became Dad’s primary caregiver. It was still difficult for me to be alone with him, but not for the same reasons as before. Suddenly things between us were incredibly different. Dad was too weak, and often not lucid enough to maintain his prior emotional and behavioral patterns. In the process of learning to care for him, I found myself moving from my role as fearful child to one of responsible parent. There was no longer a reason for me to be intimidated by my dad, or fearful of his anger. That Dad, the one I’d known my entire life, dissolved in his weakness.

It was all so gradual, and I was so immersed in chaos, that I didn’t recognize for a while what God was doing. I now helped dress, wash, cook for, and feed the father I’d long feared. Initially I was still very angry with him, blaming him for the position I was now in as well as all that had gone before, but slowly, very slowly, compassion became the more prominent emotion. The bitterness and resentment I’d long held began to fade. It would eventually dissipate altogether.

To the surprise of everyone, Dad gradually began to get a little better. Nine months after entering hospice care, he was discharged to seek more aggressive medical treatment. As he continued to improve month after month, a renewed personality began to immerge. My previously volatile Dad regained his strength, but not his anger. We began to see one another in an entirely new way, and as he became healthy I realized that our relationship in no way resembled what it had been before he’d gotten ill. He was now gentle and I was now strong. Bitterness was replaced with genuine love and respect.

Two years later, Dad was well enough that my presence was no longer necessary, and I returned to my previous life. I left behind a new Dad. Not only had he healed physically and emotionally, he’d also given his life to Christ and become active in a local church. Our relationship had been restored. The fairy tale ending was fact.

Time passed and I began to reflect on God’s creative healing methodology. Dad never asked for forgiveness, and I never directly addressed my need to forgive him. It just happened while I wasn’t looking. With the restored relationship came the forgiveness, with the forgiveness came the healing. And the redemption God brought about in my relationship with my father continues today. I’ll visit him this weekend, my New Dad who is now five years old, and I’ll remember.

God uses our stories as Ebenezer stones, solid reminders of His redemptive power and trustworthiness. Today I return to mine as I redouble my efforts to trust God in the broken relationship I now face. God is not predictable, and He works in different ways in each situation. More pain may well come before the relationship is redeemed. But I’ve been reminded in the sweetest of memories that with God all things truly are possible. I will not make the mistake again of failing to pray for answers beyond what I can see or imagine. I know God can be trusted. I know, because He’s proven to me in profound ways, that He is in the business of redemption.

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Holding Back The Tide [joshua]

Clark S. Judge, special advisor to President Ronald Reagan, recently asked his readers, "Have we lost touch with the American narrative, with the nuances of the nation's culture, with the fabric of its life?" His question, coming on the heel's of Barack Obama's historic Presidential victory, conveyed concern over the values of a country so quick to place it's care in the hands of so liberal a man. Is President-elect Obama's acsendency evidence of the American way lost? I would say not. His is a cyclic triumph; a political season. But our way is under attack from a different source, and I think we ought to try and save it.

With some space and more time, I could show how American values, in their original and best form, are directly linked to Christian values. I could show how freedom, self-government, and democratic law foster an environment which brings out the best in us. But let me assume we can agree that our American ideals are worth preserving. [For further clarification on just what our ideals are - see Alexis deTocqueville. His observations of early America are the most distilled picture of what I'm referring to.]

Any cursory glance at modern society reveals corruption and evil aplenty. No question about it. I think inward spiritual decay necessarily precedes the outward display of it. Depravity signals spiritual deficit. Assuming a connection between our American values and Christian morals, it's clear that spiritual decay in America has also wrought the abandonment of our civic ideals. Misery loves company; as the keepers of our values falter [people of faith], those with less fervor for our American way discard it easily. To compound the problem, we accept of a daily influx of people with no connection to our culture and who've no intention of adopting it. This aspect of the problem is larger than most people realize, and I'd like to examine it.

While our national spiritual health must absolutely be addressed, discipline in action is often the first step to recovery. Let me suggest something controversial and ask you to stick with me through the end of my argument. I think we ought to stop all immigration into our country except in the most exceptionally worthy cases. I know. It's actually a bit of a painful thing for me to say. Heck, like many of you, my great-grandparents were bonafide foreign immigrants. Just like the immigrants of today, they came here in hope of a better life. But something is different now, and it's not, in fact, the people who want to come here. They are largely the same. Rather, we've changed.

Before the 1960s, immigrants were expected to learn English, be self-sufficient, and, as the Citizenship Oath says, truly give "all allegiance and fidelity" to the United States. They were expected to become patriotic Americans. Immigrants entering our nation today are met with an entirely different experience. Mark Kirkorian, Director of the Center for Immigration Studies puts it this way, "[T]he rise of identity politics, political correctness, and Great Society programs means we no longer make these demands. In short, the problem isn't them, it's us." We no longer demand of new citizens that they become "Americans". Public schools love to indoctrinate kids with the idea of America as the "Great Melting Pot", but it is a modern day myth. Hardly anyone "melts" anymore. Demanding that anyone learn our language is insensitive, demanding that they work is uncaring, demanding that they love our country is unreasonable.

A few statistics from the Center for Immigration Studies, "Massive Mexican immigration into the United States is a relatively new problem - in 1970 there were less than 800,000 living here. Now there are more than twelve million. Mexican immigrants have the lowest citizenship rate of any immigrant group, 43% of illegal Mexican households use at least one major welfare program, and even third generation Mexican-Americans use welfare at a level three times that of American natives. Polling shows that over half of Mexicans believe the American southwest belongs to them, and their children are much more likely to be incarcerated than Americans. Second-generation males aged 18-39 from El Salvador and Guatemala are incarcerated at a rate six times higher than American natives, and those from Mexico at a rate eight times higher. Studies show illegal immigrants pull down wages - about 40% in California between the years of 1969 and 1997. The United States spent about $4.5 billion subsidizing the education of foreign college students from 2005-06. The average lifetime cost of low-skilled immigrant households was about $1.2 million to American taxpayers."

As Krikorian has noted, there are three major problems associated with massive immigration - both legal and illegal. First, low-wage illegal workers drive down wages and thereby discourage innovation. If labor is cheap, companies have no incentive to create new methods of production. Economies grow when creative destruction occurs, that is, old jobs are phased out as new technology is invented to replace the workers, and new jobs are created in the production and implementation of the new technology. This growth is stymied by cheap immigrant labor. Second, the whole idea that there is a class of jobs that are unfit for dignified American citizens destroys the very thing that democracy is founded on. Self-discipline and hard-work are corner-posts of self-government and individual liberty. I want my kids to learn those values through a hard days work. Mass immigration perpetuates the notion that there are some jobs which are beneath American citizens, and that destroys equality, placing some above others. This is truly a moral issue. Thirdly, its a security issue. The quintessential example of this is the case of the Fort Dix Six. Three of these men, all from the Middle East, crossed the Mexican border in 1984. In 2007, by all external accounts, they were Americanized. They spoke English well and went by English names. None were citizens. They were caught by the FBI plotting to blow up Fort Dix military base. They had not bought into our values.

Why all the problems associated with immigrants? Because the United States government has become an enabler for their vices. We require nothing, and give everything. Why is it bad for America? Because it threatens the integrity of our American ideals. We are diluting our nation of Americans into a nation of Ameri-Mexicans, Ameri-Vietnamese, Ameri-Guatemalans, Ameri-Whatever. People leave their homelands to reap the benefits of being in America without having to truly become part of it - and they do quite well. It is our country that gets the short end of the stick.

We solve this problem by aggressively overhauling our immigration policy. Of course, we cannot deport 12 million people. What we can do is virtually shut down the borders until we can get control of the problem. In order to become a citizen, you must be college educated or otherwise demonstrably skilled. You must be able-bodied and self-sufficient. Exceptions can be made for marriage to a citizen. You may bring your family into the country once you are financially established here. All immigrants must learn English. They must learn about American culture and history and swear allegiance to the United States. As for the illegals currently in the country, we first deport those we can. Then we eliminate the largest reason they come; jobs. We impose dramatic fines for employers found to be employing illegals. Once the jobs dry up, many illegals will return home on their own. We completely eliminate welfare programs for illegals.

If America is to maintain "the fabric of [her] life", then her people must subscribe to her unique culture. It's that dynamic that made immigration such a source of her strength in the early 1900s and it's the lack of it which has begun to undermine her. With some adjustment and good sense, I think it can again be a vital part of our democracy.

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The Children Gathered 'Round [mark]

The children gathered 'round
after following the laughing clown
he was walking through the town
"he is so strong" a few would say
the anvil in his hands would sway

to and fro and up and down
the painted man with fear and frown
his tiny hat then hit the ground
loose change to beg as every day
for such a laugh they gladly pay

then all in a hurry
with floppy feet and flurry
and entertaining scurry
he the jovial jester may
with heave and haste be on his way

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The Depression Box [theodora]

Do you remember the depression box? I remember it quite well. It started with an old shoe box I decided to take into the front yard and spray paint. The shaking of the can made music and fumes hung in the air like heavy, cheap, suffocating perfume. I coughed. I sat on the crunchy leaves, watching as the paint began to dry. It was early evening. It was an early, sad evening.

That was when it started getting dark early. The sun would hide behind the trees at 5pm and I would fear that all soon the darkness would be our scenery. Chills go up and down my spine even now as I can still feel the days grow shorter, shorter, shorter, sadder..

During that time, I started using child scissors to cut out forms and shapes. I bent paper clips into stick people. I preserved the leaves that otherwise would have been trampled. I scribed every word that crossed my mind. I emptied bottles of pills. I let red and blue paint run like glorious symbolism of blood and sorrow. Art was my breath. It was the depression box.

The box now sits in a paper bag, tucked away in my closet. I have not opened it in months, for it somehow still holds a haunting power I am not sure I am courageous enough to confront. It is the reminder of all of what the human heart can hurt. The depression box was the home that I never should had visited, the place I never should of had to dwell. (And where does that leave me now you ask? It leaves me with a story I have to tell, a testimony that thrives, a journey that is still being walked.)

A year later. I breathe in, I breathe out. The spray paint can is empty and a new autumn is here. I swear, I can see hope everywhere.

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Affected by the Weather [liz]

Never out of control
Heat the house, a different feel awake or asleep
In your car warm your seat, cool your face
Park in the garage, never feel a drop
But here with a hundred names
The storm soaks through to my cold, cold skin
Night lights shine where the water falls
A current in the path
Each drop hits my head
Running down this coat to the ground
And when winter breathes in my window
I know she’ll not be gone for a long, long while
An unwanted guest following me around
Put on more clothes, find a companion to keep warm
Alone the air could stop your heart
Change with the earth’s movement, we do
Sun, rain, cloud, and cold
Here with the rest, we will always be
Affected by the weather

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