Try sometimes…

The foster son and I, on Saturday, waited anxiously for his package to arrive. The weekend before, we’d together shopped for a new PlayStation 2 game. He’d saved some money. He likes new toys. He decided to use his money, therefore, for this purchase.

Upon scouring the interwebs, we discovered websites peddling used PS2 games. One particular super hero title looked awesome. So I explained how internet orders worked, since he’d never done this. We clicked “buy.” What I failed to explain, however, is that mail doesn’t always work as expected. So when 4:00 pm rolled around Saturday, I re-checked the USPS package-tracking website.

It declared that the package had been delivered…at 3:12 pm. That seemed unlikely.  At 3:12 pm he and I were sitting at the kitchen room table doing Language Arts practice, while staring out the window. Something had gone wrong.

“Sorry, little dude,” I said. “We’ll have to wait until they open again to figure out what happened.” Then came the inevitable, “But you promised!” Indeed, I had! At least, I’d told him what the website told me, that the package would arrive that day. Consolation couldn’t be had, though, for some time, until eventually we played another game we already owned.

Disappointment stinks. And not just for seven year-old foster kids with unfortunate personal histories. For instance, though I’m patient with things, having long idolized the laid-back, “It’s cool dude” ski bum style, an inner rage volcano can erupt at inconvenient times. Like if, say, I’m watching a Broncos game, and the little guy’s with me, and a Broncos player drops another easy-to-catch ball (for the third time that game!). I have loudly screamed at the screen, forcing T to respond, “They can’t hear you, Shane. It’ll be fine. Bummer; next time.”

By the way, that phrase- “Bummer; next time”- is one we’ve taught for dealing with frustrations. There’s something weirdly gratifying and deeply humbling about a child applying lessons to you messing up! Because, let’s be fair, that reaction I just described was messing up. An adult should keep his attitude in check while watching sports with a growing boy! Disappointment happens. Our responses to disappointment, however, aren’t written in stone. We make choices.

At least, we should make choices. Oftentimes, though, our rage volcanoes, our inner anxieties, our unhealed memories make them for us. We hear news we don’t like, or understand, and rather than calmly investigate or pray, we lash out. We post rash Facebook comments. We look for the nearest Muslim to blame. We stop talking to one another.

By contrast, here’s how Philippians 4:4 suggests we choose- “Rejoice in the Lord. Always. I’ll say it again, Rejoice.” That’s the ongoing response to life Paul counsels; the attitude upon waking and sleeping; the reaction to discoveries and disappointments- rejoicing in God, this God in whom we live and move and have our being, and will for eternity. Life can dishearten. God remains faithful. Therefore, rejoice.

I mention that because I find that my inappropriate reactions to disappointment typically arise because I’ve let my perspective get out of balance. Maybe I’m tired, or not praying enough, or have let secondary loves (like sports) replace primary loves (like being a good example to my foster son). In those cases, choices are being made for me, or I’m choosing based on frustration and selfishness, not hope and love. When we step back, however, our faith teaches that we’re held in a forever embrace by the One who sent Love to die and then live again eternally so that we might be always free…free from sin, from fear, from disappointment. In other words, we have reason not simply to feel joy occasionally. We can rejoice in the Lord, always.

So, this week, ponder that spot of resentment that clouds your heart. Reflect on that person who raises your hackles the moment s/he comes into view. Relive that unredeemed memory that remains painful. Then pray, “God, can I- instead- rejoice in you?” I’m not promising it’ll make everything perfect immediately. But the Lord is faithful. And it’s a fair prayer, in any case. Christ died for you. Rejoice.

Then do it again. Rejoice.

Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!

Be prepared…

Forgive me. I’ve written about underwear; the long version, and how last Monday- our first real Arctic weekday this winter- I forgot mine and my foster son’s. It was a rookie mistake from a man in his eighth year of Minnesota cold. Oops…

The oversight began with the boy waking up later than normal, which was fine since extra sleep at his age is precious. Still, the school bus was nearing. We quickly dressed, brushed teeth and got shoes/coat on. Then, we waited, while I silently high-fived myself for finishing morning routine swiftly. The bus came. Little guy left.

And as I walked away from the door, I checked my phone’s weather app. The screen read: -6 degrees. “Welcome back Arctic Air,” I thought. “You’ve stayed away longer than normal this winter.” I mean, seriously, we made it into January with barely a day below thirty! Counting my blessings, I smiled. Until it hit me…I’d sent the kid to school without long johns.

That wasn’t an immediate problem, thankfully. For now, he’d only be outside long enough to get into and out of a warm bus/school room. But they might do outside recess. What if there’s a fire drill? When the temperature’s 30 degrees and your foster kid essentially has an internal biological fireplace (seriously, it’s amazing how constantly warm the little dude is!), it’s no big deal that he’s not wearing long underwear. He’s got a hat, a warm coat, gloves. Thirty degrees and Arctic Weather, though, aren’t similar weather conditions. I knew this day should’ve been different. I should’ve been ready. I rapidly dressed and drove to his school, long johns in hand.

Funny enough, after three miles, I noticed a chill and realized that in my haste to take T his forgotten clothing, I’d failed to don my own set! For shame, Shane. For shame.

Have you noticed that Lent and Easter are early this year? So it seems to me. Lent begins February 10. We celebrate Easter on March 27. Thus, unless you’re already paying attention, Lent could arrive soon and you’ll feel unprepared for this season of spiritual renewal.

I hope that doesn’t happen for any of us. After all, it’s nice to take advantage of Lent, mainly because we regularly get out of practice with certain things regarding faith, don’t we? During “Ordinary Time” (i.e. not holidays or holy seasons), our prayers become more infrequent or distracted. Our patience isn’t as full and kind as it should be. Our anxieties overwhelm our serenity.

Part of that’s just being human. Part of that’s our culture. Whatever the reason, The Church in its wisdom, centuries ago, declared an annual period of spiritual refreshment- Lent- knowing that the burdens of daily life can habituate us away from our best selves.

Let me describe this personally. Occasionally, yet consistently, I will notice how my spiritual focus has wavered without even intending so. It’s like I know I should’ve put on “spiritual long johns” to keep warm from the insulation of Christ’s love (…strange metaphor…just work me…). But I’ll have become distracted by the stress of schedules, the shame over weight gain, the confusion about effective parenting, the joy of following the Broncos more closely than I ought. Some of that- especially the parenting- includes prayer and God, but not as much as would be best, unless I’m making a conscious effort. Without such effort, I get used to less engaged spirituality.

Lent, then, is a time to hit reset, to shock my system into restoring balance between devotion and daily pursuits. I’ll give up something, or take up a new spiritual practice, in order to warm and energize my soul. The question is whether we’ll be ready once the season fully arrives. Given that it’s approaching quickly (and we’ve been focused on other, pressing, important things), I wouldn’t be shocked if it hasn’t crossed your mind yet. That’s been true for me. But I know I don’t want to neglect Lent. Because my life is colder without Christ’s presence. So I’m hoping to prepare, in the next week, to greet its arrival feeling organized and excited. Feel free to join me!

Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!

Gratitude…

My wife read an article over the weekend that sparked off a good conversation. From what she said, the author took to task an idea that seems, at face value, uncontroversial: The notion we should all actively cultivate an attitude of gratitude.

“Well, that’s just crazy,” I initially thought as Tabitha described the argument. After all, our church’s 2010 Thanksgiving focus was…Attitude of Gratitude. And I remember being quite proud of what we did in discussing said attitude for several weeks, praying for it, developing ideas for including more gratefulness into our routines. All that led to a successful collection of food and funds for people in need on Thanksgiving Sunday.

So what’s wrong with an attitude of gratitude?! “Honey,” I therefore considering saying, “You’re wrong!” Fortunately, I didn’t butt in immediately (this time) and let her finish. Turns out that the article didn’t critique thankfulness, per se. Rather, its target was a certain version of gratitude cultivation that’s become a bit too common in our culture.

And that is the use of gratitude to make us happy.

I’m sure you’ve heard a version of the following self-help advice: Instead of spending mental energy cataloging what you don’t have or why you’re upset, count your blessings and meditate on what you do have and why you’re grateful. That’s mostly good advice, I think. In fact, just last week I read another article that included gratitude in a list of health essentials. Alongside sleep, good eating and exercise, it counseled weekly time “contemplating what you’re thankful for.” That- it claimed- improves blood flow, energy and positive self-regard, all of which is apparently what we need to be happy over the long-term. And that’s our ultimate goal, isn’t it? Happiness…?

Well, sure. But not really. At least not exclusively, right? As Christians, Christ said to pray for “God’s Kingdom come on earth” (i.e. God’s reign of love and justice to rule in our lives and societies). Notably, that’s a prayer for not individual, but collective salvation.

In other words, focusing on our own happiness isn’t a bad thing; it’s just not the only thing. Indeed, the main thing for Jesus was that all life- including you!- have enough to live abundantly (John 10:10). Which isn’t the same as living luxuriously. But rather, that we a) yes, focus on blessings we have without obsessing over what we lack, yet also b) ensure that those who aren’t sharing in the world’s abundance get what they deserve as God’s beloved children.

Put plainly, an attitude of gratitude that’s solely concerned with what you have verges on selfishness. Which is ironic, since thankfulness done right should increase a person’s humility, amen?! It ought remind us of all the ways we’re dependent on others, on God, on luck for what gives us sustenance, what provides us joy. In turn, we should be more willing to share what we have since it isn’t all ours anyway. Our lives, rather, are gifts; from our ancestors, our neighbors, our Creator. As such, God calls us to be gifts to others, to be Jesus’ hands and feet.

So here’s my suggestion for cultivating a proper attitude of gratitude: Count your blessings while also thinking of others who could really use your time, your influence, your commitment so they don’t starve, so they’re less oppressed, so they’re not kept from their divine birthright of abundance.

Gratitude without compassion is vanity. But gratitude-inspired action has a staying power that just feeling bad for another’s plight can’t match. After all, if you’re regularly reminding yourself that- thankfully, by God’s grace- you have enough, you’re less likely to hoard your stuff or spend all your time keeping others away. Instead, you’ll stick beside a friend, say, as she slogs through another chemo treatment, or help a neighbor for the seventh time get back on his feet. Because that’s what grateful Christians do. We find happiness in helping others, in building the Kingdom of God.

How we each make that work, of course, depends on our unique situations. But I hope you’ll pray about, this week, using what you’re grateful for to make more a difference others.

Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!

Renewal…

I’m writing this after Christmas, at my in-law’s farm in Mississippi. And I just learned that they recently invited bees onto their farm. A neighbor who’s getting into that industry asked to use their land. They said fine. And their explanation of the bees’ impact reminded me of Jesus.

Here’s what I mean. Initially, the farm’s focus was beef. More specifically, they raise grass-fed cows who aren’t pumped full of antibiotics and unnatural chemicals. Plus, they allow their cattle to roam freely across their ample pasture land. In other words, it’s an operation that shames most grocery store beef, whose cows may start on farms like these, but eventually are packed into overstuffed feed lots and industrial slaughter machines.

Not an ideal cow life, to say the (very, very) least. It’s also terrible for soil. When cow farmers pump pastures with extra fertilizers and herbicides, they boost production over the short term. It also kills the soil’s long-term viability; by encouraging shallower grass roots, destroying diversity of bugs and microbes, stripping away beautiful black topsoil. Plus, when rain washes those ugly, artificial inputs into our groundwater, it poisons ecosystems down river. Anyone hear about how diminished ocean life has become in vast swaths around where the Mississippi drains into the Gulf? Ugh.

So my in-laws’ farm is intentionally planned to behave differently- more local, more attuned to older/wiser/pre-industrial farming practices, more respectful of the health of both nature and beef customers. Besides, their meat tastes waaaay better! I’ve looked forward for years to packing a cooler full of their steaks and burger meat right before we return home after Christmas.

But cows aren’t the only commercially useful farm animals, of course. So a few years back, they lent some unused land to an organic hog and chicken farmer. Then, they integrated both operations into each other. The chickens run around on the cattle pasture, movable fences keeping them away from steers. Every few days, that set-up shifts a bit north or east, and the chickens peck at and poop on new parts of the pasture. That natural fertilizer beats any petroleum-based product eight days a week. It just takes patience and time, and respect for the earth. The result has been healthier creatures and farmland.

Hence, when another neighbor brought up bringing bees to the farm- for honey production- the in-laws said, “Alright.” And apparently, those bees then spent all last summer pollinating garden flowers and pasture grass. They flew all over where cows and chickens went already, or were going next. The results were even deeper roots, increased biodiversity, and much healthier soil. In fact, a Mississippi State University researcher has been studying their farm. He claims that within two years, it’ll be a carbon neutral, profitable operation. Awesome!

All that reminds me of Jesus because, as a Disciple of Christ, I believe the church’s essential function is inviting as many as possible to the Lord’s Table. That table’ open, after all, to all. God so loved the (whole!) world…etc. Thus, we’re called to make that blessed mission a reality at our communion table.

But here’s the thing; God didn’t give us that calling as a burden. Instead, God knew that the more people we welcomed and kept at our tables, the better our communities would be. Like the soil on a farm, diversity is the source of health, of blessing, not a distraction or an optional aspiration.

Would only that all churches believed the same, amen? Or acted like it… Would that we didn’t spend all our time reaching out to only those who think or look like us, who make the same amount of money or share the same political opinion as us? Have you considered recently that if you found ways to bring folk to church who other churches aren’t working to include, the result won’t be embarrassing? It’ll be unexpected blessing, more healthful community, more diverse and- therefore- exciting church!

That’s what those bees did on my in-laws farm, at least. It’s a brighter, better, more beautiful place now than before. And it’ll share those blessings for generations to come. Jesus, I bet, approves.

Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!

Neighbors…

Another crazy thing happened on my block recently. I was in my home office working on worship when my dog started barking like she does when people approach my gate. Being the holiday season, I guessed it might be a package delivery. So I put on slippers in case someone came to my door. Sure enough, a UPS van was parked across the street.

The worker, however, wasn’t moving my way, even though it was sleeting. Instead, a white car had parked in front of the van. Its driver had exited and was talking with said UPS guy. I stood in the doorway waiting. But rather than cross the street, he handed the car’s driver two packages and said my next-door neighbor’s name.

Suspicion bells rang loud in my head. So I got the man’s attention. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are those for Jeanne?” He said, “Yes,” as he watched the car’s driver sign his gizmo and walk toward her car. “Then who’s this?” I asked. “I’m Jeanne’s roommate,” she said. “I’m holding these for her.”

The suspicion bells ramped up their volume to deafening! After all, Jeanne’s husband of 40+ years had died not long ago. She’s lived alone ever since in a house she owns outright. Why would she suddenly get a roommate?! I said as much to the lady and the UPS guy. Committed thief that she was, she said, “I’m new. How else would I know her name?” Never give up, apparently.

I told them that, if she wasn’t lying, she’d be glad for me to hold the packages and to know she had a good neighbor. The UPS driver decided in my favor. She gave up the packages and quickly drove away. When Jeanne got home, I took them over, and she and I laughed nervously about this audacious robbery attempt.

This past Monday, the same UPS driver delivered a package to my house, and thanked me for helping out. I took a moment to bask in the glow of being Shane the Good Neighbor, Crime Stopper Extraordinaire! Or whatever. Mostly, I’m glad Jeanne’s grandkids will get their presents.

But it’s not lost on me that, had it been earlier in my life, I wouldn’t have been so helpful. In other places I’ve lived, I didn’t meet my neighbors. I wouldn’t have known about their losses, their goings-on, their families. That thief would’ve gotten away.

I remember talking with a local Muslim friend years back. He married a woman from abroad, he told me, who’d moved to Plymouth, where he grew up. He’d lived in the same house for years, so she was horrified to learn, upon arrival, that he didn’t know his neighbors. She decided a block party was needed. He got nervous, “What if they don’t like me? Reject us for being Muslim, or whatever?” She said, “Don’t care. I intend to be a good neighbor,” and sent out invitations. Nearly everyone came and said the same thing: “I’ve been waiting for someone to do this!”

They didn’t want to live isolated, apparently. But they lived busy lives, their homes were spread out, they worried about being rejected, like my friend. So no one made the first step to create community. I’ve wrestled with that attitude, personally, for years.

Which teaches me a) The next time you hear nonsense about American Muslims being “too foreign,” ignore the speaker’s ignorance or enlighten them graciously. We’re all human, all children of God. More importantly, b) Jesus was onto something by focusing on living neighborly. I read recently of studies that measured the impact of community on happiness. Unsurprisingly, people who act like good neighbors (and who accept help from neighbors) are much happier throughout life than those who value independence more, who doggedly cultivate self-reliance. I’ve seen that work in my life, certainly, and pray it continues as I keep growing.

So maybe, as the year ends and you make “to-do” lists for 2016, you’ll include the goal of being an even better neighbor. Not only has social science shown it adds happiness, Jesus himself called it a top priority. Besides, you may get more packages!

Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!

How we love…

Last month, the city of Minneapolis designated our dog Fawkes a “Potentially Dangerous Animal.” Ugh. For those not in-the-know (like me until recently), this designation is level one in Animal Control’s disciplinary scheme. Level two is “Dangerous Animal.” Level three is “Destruction Oder.” All in all, then, Fawkes got the lightest treatment. Phew.

It came about because Fawkes “nipped” (i.e. slightly bit) our foster boy in early November, while the two were sitting together on a chair. T might’ve squeezed the dog around her tail, or hugged hard. We’re not clear. We were in the room with heads turned. There was no growl. Fawkes simply reacted, and her single chomp caused a small puncture that’s since healed. He’s fine, thank God.

But that little wound was enough to concern Animal Control, since dogs really shouldn’t use teeth to express displeasure. Had T been physically attacking her, that would’ve been a different story. Her behavior here, though, was unprovoked. At least, not in response to a physical threat. Rather, she reacted from some mix of his size v. hers, stress and anxiety. Such is what the trainer we subsequently brought in hypothesized.

Needless to say, we’ve been on egg shells since the designation. The county’s foster care licensers require that we separate T from Fawkes unless we’re training or walking. Animal Control is making her always wear a muzzle when outside and be on a three foot leash. They may let her run in the back-yard, once they inspect whether our fence is adequate. Until then, she’s an inside-dog. So life has changed for the Isners.

Plus, I’ve also been constantly scouring my memory of the past five years, wondering what I did wrong with Fawkes, how I failed her, why I’m not a good puppy daddy. To which the trainer said something that made me feel better. Sure, she admitted, we could’ve been better about training. Most dog owners can. But Fawkes reacted/snipped at other dogs in puppy class, meaning there’s a history. Hence, the trainer’s comment, “Compare Fawkes to an alcoholic. She just has an aggressive tendency. It’s not terrible, but it’s there. There’s no cure. We can modify her behavior a bunch to make everyone safer. But it’ll be lifelong. You simply have to accept her for the dog she is.”

Ever notice how- for almost every significant relationship- you don’t really choose who you love? Your parents, children, broader family, even many friends. You love them because that’s who was there, who was ‘assigned’ to you by The Universe. And even people to whom you say, “You. I chose to love you,” reveal new things over time or change. I didn’t see this about Fawkes when she was young, not entirely. I’ve changed, she’s changed, our family circumstances changed. One of my wedding vows was “To love what I already know of you, and trust what I know not yet.” I still consider that profoundly right.

Fellow church folk are like that too; by and large, unchosen. They’re still family. But once you officially “join,” you’ve given up veto over who else gets in. The next new members won’t ask your permission to join. They’ll simply step forward when invited during worship. And we can have several responses. 1) Shrug our shoulders, avoid connecting with them, maintain “control” over whom we love. Or 2) Joyfully accept the cards God’s universe deals, finding ways to make them a winning hand.

When it comes to new Plymouth Creekers joining, that’s rarely a serious difficulty. You’re all lovely! But even in my dog’s case, with her real challenges, life won’t be miserable unless we chose to stop loving her. Maybe that will have to, one day, and put her down for safety reasons. I hope not. We planning to adjust our routines, our expectations, our training schedules to accommodate and shape this unfortunate character trait of our otherwise beloved Fawkes. Indeed, I pray that now that we know her better, we’re better able to provide her more of what she really needs, not just what we hoped she needed. That’s how to truly love, after all. May we all be so worthy. 

Grace and Peace, 
Shane Read more!

Full service…

Here’s a conversation I unexpectedly endured at the drycleaners last week. It was the day after the shootings in San Bernardino, but before any information about the attackers had been released save for their names and his place of birth:

Drycleaner employee, “Shame what happened in California.”
Me, “Absolutely!”
Employee, “I think they’ll find it was terrorism.”
Me, “Oh? Uh, All mass shootings are terrorism.”
Employee, “Sure. But his name. It’s so foreign…”
Me, “Umm...he was an American, born and raised, right?”
Employee, “But the Muslim name; it’s gotta be like Paris.”
Me, “There are Muslim Americans.”
Employee, “I’m just saying. His name’s suspicious.”
Me, “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”
Employee, “Listen, the name…”
Me, “I said I don’t want to talk about this.”

The employee awkwardly- and loudly- said thank you as I quickly left, growling. The word “bigoted” escaped my mouth, louder than I anticipated.

Of course, the employee happens to have guessed right, in part. We now know that the attacks were carried out by people with affinities toward radical, violent Islamic ideology. I further read that they were planning other violence, but got sidetracked by this workplace dispute. Not, shall we say, a stereotypical terrorist event. Tragic nonetheless.

That said, I remain angry about the employee’s behavior. The reason, I think, is obvious: Calling an Arabic-sounding name “foreign” is bigotry. And especially when the tone of one’s voice treats “foreign” as akin to “malevolent” or “untrustworthy,” which this person made clear was the intent. I don’t care if the killers did, in fact, intend to commit terrorism. The employee had no grounds for making that huge leap, and severe moral condemnation, other than these folks’ names.

I mean, consider the consequences if we accepted that reasoning. Then, any neighbor named Mateen or Sadia, Abdeel or Yasir (i.e. Board members for our local, friendly Mosque) would be legitimate objects of suspicion, worth keeping at arm’s length, needing a close watch. After all, it would be argued, some radical Islamic terrorists had similar-ish names. They aren’t included in what we call “normal.” Who cares if their grandparents were born in St. Cloud?!

Well, I certainly care. My sister lived in San Bernardino for years; her father still does. That doesn’t make me any more interested now in painting all Muslims with the broad brush of “terrorist.” I mean, I didn’t feel that way about “Roberts” or Christians in the aftermath of the Colorado Springs (where I went to college) Planned Parenthood shooting either. Thus, I won’t start acting more apprehensive about Muslim neighbors- citizens or immigrants- because a misguided couple perpetrated evil.

Yet I’ve heard anti-Muslim rhetoric escalating. My encounter at the drycleaner. From politicians and pundits. Liberty University’s President, Jerry Falwell the Younger, encouraged students to carry concealed weapons so they can, “End those Muslims before they can come in and kill.” I read that he misspoke, meant to say ‘terrorist.’ The slip-up is telling. This is, alas, normal human behavior. When we get afraid, we look for someone to blame, to demonize. Normal human behavior and Godly human behavior are NOT, however, always the same.

Indeed, consider this. One of the worst things ISIS does is see the world in black-and-white terms: “We are Good. Everyone else is Bad.” Hence, they can kill whomever is not “Us,” whomever doesn’t share their beliefs and values. We should never do that, never see the world so simply, treat God’s children so cavalierly, regard unknown neighbors so judgmentally. Jesus said to “pray for our enemies,” i.e. recognize their humanity, see God’s image in them too. I’m convinced we can do that even while we oppose their violence with force. The point it is, when we follow the lead of ISIS-type terrorists and pretend we’re in a clash of civilizations, good guys v. Muslim evil guys, we feed their propaganda. What’s worse, we alienate decent neighbors in the process, and so act like bad Christians.

Soon, I’ll go get my laundry. I hope that employee isn’t working. But suppose so…What do you think I should say? Anything? In the meantime, may we all pray for peace.

Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!