In the wake of the scandal revolving around Harvey Weinstein, so many women have come forward with the simple statement of #metoo. As in they too were victims of sexual harassment or assault.
I wish I could say that I can relate or even that I understand. Honestly, I can’t. I can’t begin to imagine what it must feel like, not only in the moment, but for days and months and years afterwards to live in the shame and false guilt of it all.
I’m sorry that some men are pigs and predators who think that women exist solely as objects to satisfy their own never-ending and degraded lusts. They forget that women bear the imago dei, the image of God, as much as men.
I’m sorry that it’s not only women who can say #metoo. Many boys and some men have been harassed and assaulted. They need to be heard as well. They need to find hope and healing.
I’m sorry that so many have made you feel ashamed. Many have tried to place the blame on you rather than on the deviant where it belongs. Statements like “She was asking for it” or “She said no but really meant yes,” are nothing more than lies from the very pit of hell and should go back there where they belong.
I know that Jesus never condemned anyone who was hurting or broken. He said to them, “Come to me, and I will give you rest for your souls.” I know that Jesus offers healing and restoration for everyone wounded and scarred at the hands of another.
I’m sorry that all of us have to live in a broken world where almost nothing is they way it was supposed to be. I’m thankful that one day (hopefully sooner than later) God will restore creation to the way it was before sin entered the picture. He will make all things new again and wipe away every tear from the eyes of those who have suffered or grieved.
I want to understand. From now on, I will do my best to understand and to celebrate the fact that the enemy threw his very worst at you and you survived. The fact that you’re still here is in itself a victory.
Last night, I did something I probably haven’t done since I was like 5 or so. I went to bed at 8:30. And I did so voluntarily without anyone else telling me I should. I was that tired.
This latest incarnation of The Crud doesn’t make me feel sick or icky. I just feel extremely sleepy most of the time. Hence, the early bed time.
I woke up this morning feeling 500% better. Not all the way cured, but much closer.
I attended the Sunday gathering of my church (because after this weekend, I refuse to say that I go to church since the church isn’t a place but a body of believers).
Afterwards, I browsed all sorts of retro stuff at Pre to Post Modern. I had some fantastic vegetarian pho at Peace, Love and, Pho. I did some quality music hunting at Grimey’s.
I capped the day off with community group, followed by fellowship and dinner at Hwy 55. It was a good day.
All that said, I’m still not completely cured. I still have a lingering cough, and I’m not exactly ready to go out and run that 5K race just yet.
Oh, and Peanut the cat says hi. Or she probably would if she weren’t curled up next to me, asleep and completely oblivious to everything. At the moment, she looks more like the tiny kitten that I rescued way back in June.
My health may not be picture perfect, but I did manage to wake up this morning and the part of my brain that tells me when I need to pee still works, so I call that a win.
Good night, sports fans.
I attended a Kairos retreat from Friday evening until Saturday evening. I didn’t put it all together until after I arrived, but having a retreat at a remote YMCA camp on Friday the 13th (and staying in cabin 13)? It’s a good thing I’m not superstitious.
A good time was truly had by all. It was good for me to get away to the woods, even if only for 24 hours. The camp reminded me of a typical summer camp that I would have gone to as a kid (and yes, even that infamous Camp Crystal Lake where Jason Voorhees made his debut).
The only downside (and it wasn’t really much of one) was that I still have The Crud. It didn’t affect me other than a little bit of coughing and the whole not having a lot of energy thing.
My takeaway from the speaker was that we’re called to make disciples, and that means not a mere transference of information and Bible knowledge but “teaching them to obey everything I [Jesus] have commanded you” (Matthew 28:20, NIV).
That means I have to live out what I believe if I want to make disciples who live out what they believe. It’s simple but not easy yet definitely worth it.
Now I’m off to bed early to deal with this Crud.
“. . . . Hope is a revolutionary patience . . . . Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up” (Anne Lemott, Bird by Bird).
For a lot of us out there, we’re still waiting and watching and working. We’re a millimeter away from giving up, but we decided to give it one more shot today.
Hope truly is a revolutionary patience because hope is based of the God who not only does the impossible with regularity, He does it with ease. There’s not only no impossible for God, there’s not a difficulty for Him.
All those things you long and wait for– the better job, the relationship, financial security, a family– sometimes seem to be infinitely far away but to God are closer than your next heartbeat.
Don’t give up. Keep showing up. Keep trying to do the right thing. Keep trusting that God IS working all things together for your good.
Hope is still a revolutionary patience with an unbelievable payoff.
“A cold in the head in June [or October] is an immoral thing…” (Anne of Green Gables, L. M. Montgomery).
I’m sick, but I’m not sick. I don’t feel bad, but I don’t especially feet good at the moment. In other words, I have The Crud again.
I’m not sure how to define it other than a wonderfully delightful mixture of sinuses and allergies and possibly a few germs thrown in for good measure. The result is the occasional headaches, coughing, sore throat, and (my favorite) that ol’ run-down feeling. At this point, I feel like I could sleep for days.
The good news? All of the above means that I’m still alive and kicking. No toe tags for me today. I’ve been able to go to work and stay up on all my other weekly shenanigans.
Tuesday night, I had some chicken noodle soup at Chick-fil-A. I don’t know if that particular batch was pre-blessed or if my body was craving it, but it was possibly the best chicken noodle soup I’ve ever had in my life. Maybe even in the top five greatest chicken noodle soups in all of history.
I’m also loving me some hot tea. It tends to be more beneficial than coffee and the hot water feels good on the ol’ sore throat.
The diagnosis is that I’m alive today, and, God willing, I will wake up tomorrow. And look, ma. No fever.
While I won’t be running in any 5K races any time soon, the chances are good that I’ll be fine in a day or two. Thanks for all the prayers sent my way.
Tonight, Chris Brooks talked about wasting your life . . . in a good way. The idea is that you give up pursuing what society and the media and culture tell you are worthy pursuits, and you spend your time, your talents, and your treasures to reach out to the least of these that the world calls nobodies.
You waste your life (according to the world) if you live selflessly and sacrificially and deliberately choose not to keep up with the proverbial Joneses.
You waste your life if you serve and give to those who will most likely never have the means to pay back what you’ve done for them.
You waste your life if you give up a promising career to go halfway around the world to serve the poverty-stricken in a third world country.
You royally wasted your time and your life (according to everything the world tells you) every time you lift your voice and your hands in worship to celebrate a baby born in a barn and laid in a feeding trough and who favored the outcasts and the marginalized but who is now the Risen King who lives forevermore.
If that’s a waste of time, let me be the first to waste my life for the God who didn’t spare any of His own life for me but lavishly wasted it on me in the person of Jesus Christ.
Here’s the book Chris mentioned in his sermon:
As I was scrolling through Facebook memories, I ran across a blog post I wrote two years ago about how I was saving up for my Mac Book Pro (cleverly titled “Get My Mac On”).
Here I am, reading that post on my Mac Book Pro that’s now about a year old (and still as fast as ever). It’s one of those little reminders of how time can change your perspective. Things look quite a bit different in hindsight once you’ve had a little time to gain that perspective.
Thankfully, I never became an Apple snob who looks down at anything PC or Microsoft (or Samsung). I just happen to prefer my Mac to my old PCs.
I also realize that at the end of the day, it’s still all just stuff. As much as I like my stuff, it doesn’t come close to bringing true fulfillment or happiness. It can’t begin to compete with what really matters: people and spending time with them and making memories with them.
The best use for technology that I’ve found lately is that it helps me to remember. I check out Timehop and see my old cat Lucy and see old friends that I hadn’t thought about in a while. Every now and then, I see old pictures from the Stone Age from when I was little (and yes, they did have photography back then– in color!)
I also remember that there were a few times when I never thought I’d be able to get my Mac. I didn’t think I had the patience and the discipline. This blog post written on my Mac goes to show that as long as you’re still breathing, it’s never too late and there’s always still hope.
And yes, my blog posts ARE 35% hipper and trendier now.