Waffle House

Waffle House

The boys and I go to Waffle House on Saturday mornings. Big fun. Except because I am a smart aleck, I call the place Awful Waffle. And Joe hollers out, “where’s my awful waffle?!” Some of those waitresses look like they could take me. Man, I’d hate to fight my way out of a Waffle House. Give me a bar fight anyday.

Stanley Hauerwas says he thinks Christians should have to learn to do masonry work. He says they need to learn the hard work, vocabulary, traditions, and skill of a craft like masonry to get an accurate picture of discipleship. I see what he means. I’d say that learning to be a Waffle House cook would be just as good. I was watching the guy in there this Saturday. He was handling all kinds of orders. And every so often he would say to the apprentice cook, “See how I stacked those orders?” or “Don’t put the rings down yet.” The kid had to learn a vocabulary, a set of skills, how to do it when it was fast and furious. I was and am impressed.


What would it be like if discipleship was like that? If we had mentors who helped us learn the skills, language, tradition, and discipline it takes to be a Christian? See, we think it’s magic fairy dust. We say we are Christians, go to church and that’s it. I was lucky to have people who showed me how to pray, how to go to Scripture, how to visit the sick and imprisoned. At some point, I have to be humble enough to hear a mentor say, “I am going to teach you to be just like me.” That goes against the grain. We all want to find our own way, be individuals. But Jesus did not say, “go figure it out. Whatever works for you. It’s all good.” It’s more like, “I am the way, the truth and the life;” “whoever would be my disciple must take up his cross and follow me.” Did I learn to do it His way? Or do I want the freedom (read: self-indulgence) to find my owe have my own way? We glorify finding “my own way.” But there is only one way, and it is narrow. I am going to need help to navigate correctly. But am I humble enough?

Melissa is at the clinic today. As I wrote before, we are hoping for platelets in the 30s. We’re in this place where we don’t really know what to say to each other. There was this unspoken thing, unspoken til last night: “tell me we’re going to beat this.” “I hope it doesn’t come back.” Maybe that’s why we don’t know what to say, because what we have to say is difficult. I’m writing myself through a script I have played so many times—so many things to say to people that we don’t say because it would make us uncomfortable. But it’s honest. The funny thing is, avoidance doesn’t feel good.

Platelets, platelets, platelets

Melissa goes into the doctor tomorrow, for a clinic appt and radiation. Her platelets held steady and even inched up over last week. It would be a really great thing if they kept going up. we're praying they will be in the 30s!

She is home now, out of quarantine, and that is a good thing. It was good to see her again, really good. I kept thinking that it's not right that in all this there is more stuff to worry about. You want to catch a break.And sure, we have. But...

Today at the Rock/La Roca we had our evangelism meeting.Fifteen people have said they will be part of a group that learns about evangelism, prays, grows together for encouragement and accountability to visitation. Hopefully it becomes something that keeps growing. There was a fellow who came into the service hungry. We didn't have our pantry open, so we asked him to come to the meeting and at least eat a sandwich with us. He did and stayed. It was interesting. As we talked about the core of evangelism being breaking through in relationship to people who are isolated from each and God, he really resonated. On the way out, he asked for a Bible.

How just like God to break into an evangelism meeting with someone who wants something to eat...

Getting There

A promising sign is that Melissa seems to be getting back to normal. I am sure she doesn’t think so. Maybe it’s being off steroids, maybe it’s that things feel stable. Whatever the reason, she is more like herself. Feisty, coming up with all kinds of ideas.

The weird thing in recovering from something like this is that there is a border zone where you’re still down but getting better. It’s a hard place to be because you start to think of things you want to do but can’t do. Or you stop to pause for a minute to think of all you’ve been thru.

A friend from Christ Church sent her a quilt that is soo Melissa: it has squares with Scripture, mostly from Psalms. It’s beautiful and touching.

So many things come to mind about this ordeal. First, the prayer pager is a witness. We told a number of people about it, and they were touched and impressed. The neatest thing was one day when it went off and John said, “Mommy, someone is praying for you!”

We have been very fortunate so far; the odds were in favor of Melissa having already been readmitted to the hospital to fight an infection or some such. I guess we have taken that for granted, because now that she is “in quarantine” at her aunt’s because of the stomach virus, we’re all a little sad. The simple things become important in times like this—simple things like managing your time. So that when you anticipate a day that you can spend together and you don’t get it, resentment sets in. It has been a struggle not to feel sorry for ourselves, which seems so weird because there were worse things we gritted thru with not much thinking about it.

Today, her platelets were 21, another increase. Nowhere near out of the woods, but maybe it’s getting better. The only thing good I can say about having sick babies is that you wake up a lot and then you have time to pray.

One of the things I figured early on in all this was that it was going to make me reexamine things. I was going to have to come to grips with what is truly important. The sad fact of the matter is that I knew that you just generally float along from here to there, getting by day by day, pursuing some things, dropping others, having dreams that get laid by the way for no better reason than that they weren’t the order of the day for enough days in a row.

I knew also that I might become one of those frustrating people who was going to ask way too many questions and be impatient when nothing happens. I’d say that’s probably where I am. I hope where I am going is to a place that can be graceful but inflexible when it comes to the things that matter. Like I know!

People tell you to make a list of all the things you want to do in life. I guess that’s a useful exercise, but it can also make you feel bad. I have in my head that I need to have things like skydiving or going to Patagonia on my list. But they’re not on my list. In fact it’s not very dramatic at all. I don’t really have a list, other than to say that I hope things turn out well and I can be good to the people around me. I want a pop-up trailer where we can stop wherever we feel like it. Nowhere special to go. Maybe a canoe. I’d like a few acres to plant a few fruit trees, a place I can get to every month or so and just veg out. That’s it. At some point when things calm down I need an unspecified period of time on the California Central Coast so I can just stare at the water until I know it’s time to quit staring.

Illness as Metaphor

Let's see. Melissa's platelets are still low, but steady. That is since Thursday of last week they have been 21, 17 and 19 when checked yesterday. She can't remember when she got platelets; it was somne day last week. So maybe things are holding.

The spots on the brain are shrinking fromt he radiation, so we are hopeful there.

Joseph came down with the stomach bug last night. If you recall, this has been the bane of our treatment process! Hopefully, Melissa got away soon enough (she is with her aunt) and she won't have to go back into the hospital. Is it possible that the rest of us can escape, too? Poor Joseph, he was miserable last night. But by this afternoon, he was more himself. So I suppose tonight we watch!

Pray that Melissa's platelets go up. There is some opining among the doctors that you can live with low platelets. Not that they want her to, but it may just be the way it is.

Thanks for all the prayer cover; it makes a difference. We feel it every day.

There is a ministry of undoing. A woman recently came into our community, needing to sober up, needing Jesus. I saw her sitting on the curb outside church one afternoon. As we talked a little bit, I had one of those insights you get from God about what was really happening to her. I just stopped what we were talking about and told her, "You don't have to believe what people told you about yourself when you were a girl. You don't ahve to believe what you tell yourself now." She just started bawling. I opened to one of the most powerful Scriptures, the account of God creating humans in Genesis. Before we are anything, I told her, we are created in the image of God. Before anything else, beyond anything else we are created in the image of God. "There it is in His Word. This is who you are. His child. So why do you listen to anyone, anything else?" We have to undo a lot of what has been done to people. And it is going to take a lot of people to do it. I may get to talk to a few people and share Jesus with them. There are many more who need to hear it.

It's a joy to be here. Sunday, a kid from Owensboro came to church. He was here looking for a treatment program. Had nowhere to sleep. So I put him up in one of our lovely accomodations on the Northside of town. He had to wait another day to find out about one treatment program. He was looking for another night in a room. He worked that day for tips at a car wash, so he paid for half the room and I picked up the other half.

We have a great relationship with the Lexington rescue Mission, a Christ-centered residential treatment program. But they were close to capacity. Could we get this motivated guy in? Sure enough, he got in. Finally, a chance to meet one of the deepest needs in our society: treatment for addiction.

Nothing makes you clean like getting mad when everyone is puking. I cleaned the heck out of the bathroom. I think a spider died from the fumes. I had the radio up, some hard rock blaring because there is no better mad-as-all-get-out cleaning music than hard rock. How do I know? Because my mom, the original, archetypal cleaning lady (her nickname is Ma Kelly, for those of you who like Johnny Dangerously) used to vacuum to the Scorpions. She'll deny it, but I came home from school one day, she had the vacuum running and I could still hear her over the top of it singing Rock You Like A Hurricane!

One of the great joys in life is reading aloud and listening to something being read aloud. One of the sublime joys in life is reading Paradise Lost aloud. Better yet, having James Sims read it to you. I was privileged to be in three classes where we studies Paradise Lost with Dr. Sims, one of the world’s foremost Milton scholars. I have taken to reading it to Melissa as we sit in the doctor’s office or at night before she goes to bed. Not only is it pleasing to the mind and ear, it is a stunning insight into the sinful mind. Satan and the rebel angels set about the work of Hell very quickly, and in a compelling way. Sad to say, you understand Satan and his motives, because so many of them are our own!

If you have kids, maybe even in spite of the fact that you have Good Night Moon memorized, you know how important reading aloud is. Joe, for example, cannot read, but he can take a long story like Arnold Lobel’s “Small Pig” and repeat it to you almost word for word. In some way, memorization is more important than being able to read. He has learned the story without having to resort to reading it again. All that is required is that it be told every so often.

There is great meaning in this for the disciple. We are part of Jesus’ story. It does us good to not just know where to find such and such passage of Scripture, but to know it the way Joe knows Small Pig. More than that: there was a time when reading aloud was the most common way reading was done. Even if you were by yourself, you read the words aloud. Reading is a solitary activity today. But it was not always so. In a time and place where perhaps only a few read or only a few had books, you relied on someone else to read to you. And there was not only the reading involved. There was fellowship because you were with others. You were, in listening to the Scriptures, being formed together. If what we Christians say we believe about the word is true, the Holy Spirit is the author of Scripture, and in the reading of the Word, all kinds of things may happen.

I think one of the things that shows the fellowship function of reading aloud is found in John 11. (as an aside, I would argue that even the great writers of today need to be read aloud. Maybe skill with writing a word to be spoken is a dying art, but reading Cannery Row last month, I realized that even that was meant to be read aloud to a group.) In John 11, Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. But when John mentions Lazarus, he mentions that he is the brother of Mary and Martha, and glosses that by saying that Mary is the same Mary who anointed Jesus with oil. But, that scene happens in chapter 12. Why does John tell us that in chapter 11? I like to think that it’s because he was telling the story of Jesus and when he mentioned Mary and Martha, someone interrupted and wanted to know if it was the same Mary who… Maybe a child who fixates on a character or event is the one who breaks into the story and wants to know. And so John says, by way of deflecting the interruption, “Yes this is the same Mary who…”

Hearing the Word read aloud lets us know who we are in a very powerful way. It’s one thing for us to independently know the same stories and come together. How much better, tho, to learn them and hear them repeatedly together? The Spirit moves us in different ways at different times.

A year or so ago at Melissa’s grandparents’ house, John was having a hard time. He was upset and frustrated about something. I took him aside and we ate our lunch together. We were sitting on the ground and I told him how in Jesus’ day people sat back to back so they could sit up when they were on the floor. You were the other person’s chair-back, as it were. I told John a bit about the Last Supper, and how Jesus was reclining at the table, and John was backed up to Him. I showed him the closeness of how they could talk by turning and laying back their heads. Two things, ok maybe more, came from that. First, John calmed down and had a good time. Second, he heard an important part of the story. He thinks depictions of the Last Supper with them in chairs has missed the point! And when we come to the story, he finds himself in it somehow.

There’s a way to live it that I think is going to require us to get together and hear the Word more than we do. And not to do the whole Quaker thing where we sit around tell what it means to us. But rather, we hear the Word, and let it form us. Otherwise, we’re still going to be doing our own thing and trying to call it “together” all the while wondering why we’re not together.

The Little Seminary

Melissa’s platelets held steady for two days. That’s a good sign, but they’re not very high, and they tend to drop after a few days. I think the docs like her so well they are doing anything they can to avoid taking the spleen out. She is off steroids and has more energy. She is more herself.

I took the boys in with me to work today. I had missed Wednesday with Joe being sick (and me, swimmer’s ear. Ye gads. I told Melissa I have never had it before. She said, “You’ve never been old before.”) Friday is normally my day off, but I had some stuff I did not get to.

I went out visiting with the boys, especially going to families with children, inviting them to our Family Fun Night—sheet draped on the side of the church so we can show a movie, hotdogs, popcorn, carnival games, blankets on the lawn, a great time of people getting together.

John and Joe each took a turn hading out fliers. Joseph talked to an older man who got the biggest kick out of him. “We are the Rock La Locust. (then some unintelligible words) movie tonight, popcorn (more jabber) hotdogs.”

I was reminded how good it is to walk at their pace. I sometimes get to moving too fast, blown away by how close the houses are and how many places I can go, rather than taking it in, and being ready to share the joy of hot dogs or Jesus.

The Rock Keeps Rolling

Let’s see. Melissa is getting more days off more frequently. That’s a good thing, because it means that there aren’t any serious problems with the transplant. Platelets remain the main concern. She had about 3 days off and her platelets did not dip as low as they were before even after a day, but they were still dipping. So, Dr. Herzig did another bone marrow biopsy to make sure that she is making platelets. If she is, then the spleen is destroying the platelets, and the spleen will have to come out. Not much fun to consider. One more thing. But as our friend Judy Lyon said, “at least there is ‘one more thing.’”

Melissa came to church Sunday for the 11:15 service. It was really something. Irma Rodriguez, our associate pastor, very tactfully introduced Melissa and told everyone to wave at her so she wouldn’t get mobbed after the service. Then she told an amazing story. The church has been really inspired by Melissa. First, because we came here when it would have seemed to be easier to stay in Louisville. We keep trying to say it would not have been easier; you have to go where the Lord’s work is calling you. But anyway. And then, Nelitas, Irma’s son’s mother-in-law told the family Saturday that she had a dream that Melissa would be in church. So it was a very emotional time for everyone.

At the beginning of the service, I get to sit with the congregation. So I was back there with Sissy, my mother-in-law, John, Joseph, and our friend Steve McKinney. At one point, I had my arms raised in prayer. Well, one arm. With the other hand I was holding John. He took my arm and raised it up. Immediately, I thought of one of my favorite Bible stories, in Exodus 17, where Joshua and the Israelites defeat the Amalekites. They are winning as long as Moses can hold his arms up in prayer. They start losing when he gets tired and can’t hold his arms up. So Aaron and Hur stand next to him and holdup his arms. I told John that story later, and he wanted to re-enact it. So I stood there and told him what happened, he held my arms and cheered, “We won! We won!” Then he gave me a high five. Now, what an interesting window on that story and prayer. Prayer can be life-and-death desperate. But get ready—and know how!—to rejoice!

p/g,

Aaron

Life on the Rock

Sunday evening, I preached in the Hispanic service. Before I went into the service, I read something I often read, the last line of Ralph Ellison’s novel, Invisible Man: “who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you.” Invisible Man is a powerful novel about being black in a deeply segregated time in America. As the title implies, he is invisible, doesn’t count.

When I got home Melissa told me this about Joseph. I had dropped the boys off and went back to the Hispanic service. After a while, Joseph asked where I was. Melissa said, “Daddy went to work.” Joseph was insistent that I did not and asked where I was. He knows that preaching isn’t work! She told him again that I went to work. Joseph said, “no, he has gone to preach to the invisible people.”

He senses, even at his age, even at The Rock La Roca, that there is some separation. It’s natural, some of it. There are language barriers. Cultural barriers. But we are dedicated to helping them come down.

The Rock/La Roca is a place that will always need money. We have good attendance, but so many of the people have limited economic means. So we’re not the usual church with 300 people on Sundays. But I have a mantra; if you do the right thing, the money and the people show up.

We had proof of that a few weeks ago. We were in a meeting where we were discussing where to come up with the $3600 needed to send some of our kids on a mission trip. In came a group from a church in Illinois with $5000 for some roof repairs. Frees up money to send the youth. You have to count on that, or you should. When you quit needing the miracle, you will think you did it all yourself, and then you’re in real trouble.

Melissa had a long day yesterday. We had an early appt at the bone marrow transplant clinic, and then a later one with the radiologist. At the radiologist’s we learned that she will get two weeks of focused radiation to the spots on the brain. There are two spots, one shrunk the other probably gone, but the doc doesn’t want to take any chances.

The radiation treatments are short, about 30seconds or something. The issues we’re dealing with there are that she has already had brain radiation twice, and there is concern about long-term effects on the brain. Hopefully that won’t be a problem.

Her platelets—hard to tell. She is able to go 4-5 days and hold steady, then they start falling. Dr. Herzig says maybe she is making them and keeping them, so he is willing to let the numbers dip more than usual, and see if they hold. We are optimistic they will hold and increase.

She received a dose of chemo to the brain thru the spinal fluid, which involved a lumbar puncture. That’s no fun, and she was sore for a few days. Until they can put in the brain port (once the platelets get up) she will have monthly lumbar punctures to inject the chemo.

The way she puts it, the hardest thing is it seems like it’s always something else. When does it end? A few nights ago, she couldn’t sleep and so she read from a devotional. The title of the reading was something like Patience During Trials. She read a number of Scriptures, and strangely enough was encouraged. I say strangely enough because I am constantly surprised by the Bible’s openness to suffering, its honesty in addressing it and its spiritual results. And then, when the Bible says to joyfully accept trials, I am always surprised how comforting that is.

I suspect that Melissa would tell you that the benefit, the result of all this has been a deeper trust in Christ, a surer sense of His presence. And who doesn’t want that?

The difficulty comes when we start to neglect the Cross. While Melissa was on the transplant unit, I would go pray at St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church. St. Martin was a very popular saint in the part of Germany where we lived when I was a kid. He has a huge impact on Christian culture, even today, but I won’t go into that now.

The church downtown is amazing. It is a very alive congregation. Their sign says, :Our doors never close.” There’s something about that, always having a place to pray, even at three in the morning. I took it as a good sign that it was a church dedicated to St. Martin, for I suppose that of the Early Church figures, I am most attracted to him, out of habit from childhood, and respect for his putting Scripture to work in his life.

St.Martin’s is just a great place to pray. There is a statue of Mary holding the dead body of Jesus. It is done so skillfully that when you kneel in front of it, your hand can slip right into His. And if you look up, you are at eye-level with the wound in His side. And if you look to Heaven, you stare into Mary’s sad eyes. A very powerful place indeed.

Catholic Churches also have a Stations of the Cross. These are paintings or sculptures that depict aspects of the Passion. Now, not all of them are in Scripture. But the point is to allow yourself to meditate on His suffering. Over a few days, I would go and pray at each station, asking “Why?” Why the Cross, indeed.

It is a strange symbol. It’s one you have not thought about much, because if you had, you would not have adopted it so easily. I dare say, you would feel uncomfortable with it in your life, much less your church.

It is a symbol of brutality. Of shame. Degradation. Humiliation. An inexorable grinding away of life. And yet, we Christians believe that it is life. Or at least we should. It is an honest assessment of our lives. How so?

We will all die.

Many will die painfully.

Some will be killed.

In each of us there is enough Hell to crucify someone.

And because, to varying degrees, we lead dark and twisted lives, the Cross is a dark and twisted thing. If Jesus were going to take on our form, our infirmities, what did we expect? A well-dressed fellow with a jaunty hat? While there is so much joy in Jesus—His words and His life—just like our lives, darkness and pain had their day.

Here are two websites that have some renderings of the stations of the Cross.

http://frpat.com/stations/stat01.htm children’s illustrations

http://www.christusrex.org/www1/jvc/TVCmain.html I think these are Dore’s artwork.

So, as I stood before each station of the Cross, I would ask why.

I don’t say that I have THE answers. Maybe some. Maybe partial answers. But I would like to share the fruit of this meditation. So, as you come to each station, think about the image, the action. Meditate on the Passion of our Lord.

First Station. Jesus is condemned to die. Why?

--Because we are

Second Station. Jesus is laden with the Cross. Why?

--Because there is no heavier burden; He knows our sorrows

Third Station. Jesus falls the first time. Why?

(For meditation on the three times Jesus falls, I am indebted to Heidi Klein, a friend from Belgium we have not met.)

--Because the burden is heavy.

Fourth Station. Jesus meets His afflicted mother. Why?

--Because our suffering pains our loved ones.

Fifth Station. The Cyrenian helps Jesus with the Cross. Why?

---Because help comes from unexpected places.

Sixth Station. Veronica wipes the face of Jesus. Why?

--Because suffering opens up paths for mercy.

Seventh Station. Jesus falls the second time. Why?

--The burden IS heavy.

Eighth Station. Jesus speaks to the women of Jerusalem. Why?

--Because we must be warned of the real nature of life.

Ninth Station. Jesus falls the third time. Why?

--Because we wonder how will we ever get up?

Tenth Station. Jesus is stripped of His garments. Why?

--Because humiliation is the devil’s joy.

Eleventh Station. Jesus is nailed to the Cross. Why?

--Because suffering will be complete.

Twelfth Station. Jesus dies on the Cross. Why?

--Because death is the way of the world.

Thirteenth Station. Jesus is taken down from the Cross. Why?

--Because in death He seems to no longer be a threat to the powers that be.

Fourteenth Station. Jesus is laid in the tomb. Why?

--Because we think death is the end. (here Melissa had an editorial comment: “Ha!”

Howdy

Hey folks. I am trying to enter the 21st century. This is the place I will be posting about Melissa, the boys, and the ministry. It will take the place of my emails, I think.

Aaron