Seize the Day

One of the few things about this city that I actually embrace fully is a wonderful thing called the Broadway musical.  I love Broadway musicals.  They are fun, engrossing, and an incredible display of talent.  And, thanks to a combination of law firm summering and rush tickets with my uber-lucky spouse, I've have the incredible fortune of seeing many Broadway musicals (including Avenue Q, Wicked, In the Heights, Les Miz, Xanadu...).  But due to a spate of less luck, we haven't gone to any shows for the last two years...until today.  

It just so happens that one of my best friends from law school is here, visiting us from Hong Kong.  He is like a brother, and has been for the last 8 years.  To have these three days of vacation with him is such a gift.  He got in last night, and true to form, we stayed up until 2:30am talking.  This happens every time we get together.  (That has been the case for many years now)

Then, this morning, we started out the day by introducing him to almond croissants at Bien Cuit.  Then we went into Manhattan to try our luck at rushing "Newsies," and because it was a random Wednesday in late September (when the number of tourists is way down), all three of us won tickets.  I was so excited.  I grew up watching "Newsies" many, many, many, many times over -- that VHS tape has been worn thin over the years.  I still remember many of the lyrics (as does my brother, who texted me back with full lines of song lyrics when I told him the news), and I have such good memories of the movie.  To be able to see the musical with two of my favorite people (Mr. Squire and our friend) just took the cake.

Before the show, we headed to our amazing, not-so-secret, back-of-the-bodega taco purveyor at Tehuitzingo for their papas & chorizo and lengua tacos.  Sooooo good.  Then we settled into our Row F and Row C seats for the musical.  It was So. So. Good.  So good.  The dancing, the singing, the talent... and the songs that I remembered from so long ago.  When the show opened, I was fighting a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes -- so much nostalgia.  Mr. Squire and our friend also loved the musical (Mr. Squire and I agree that it is our second-favorite, behind only In the Heights), and it doubled my joy to be able to share this part of my childhood with them.

What an amazing first day of vacation.  I feel incredibly blessed and am excited for the next 13 days too!

Lessons from Another Era (Part II)

We think that we are acting particularly responsibly if every other week we take another look at the question whether the way on which on which we have set out is the right one.  It is particularly noticeable that such a "responsible reappraisal" always begins the moment serious difficulties appear.  We then speak as though we no longer had "a proper joy and certainty" about this way, or, still worse, as though God and his Word were no longer as clearly present with us as they used to be.  In all this we are ultimately trying to get round what the New Testament calls "patience" and "testing." . . . Dear brethren, our real trouble is not doubt about the way upon which we have set out, but our failure to be patient, to keep quiet.  We still cannot imagine that today God really doesn't want anything new for us, but simply to prove us in the old way. . . . And we simply cannot be constant with the fact that God's cause is not always the successful one, that we really could be "unsuccessful":  and yet be on the right road.  But this is where we find out whether we have begun in faith or in a burst of enthusiasm.

 

This is an excerpt from a letter Bonhoeffer wrote in 1938, expressing his frustration with the fact that some other leaders of the Confessing Church (which had been established to preserve authentic Christian beliefs in the face of efforts to "nazify" the German "Christian Church") were failing to stand firm against the growing pressure of the Nazi regime.  This passage spoke to me as a powerful challenge in two primary ways. 

 

First, it is a strong exhortation to stay the course in the face of obstacles and even when the rosebush-lined path leads to a thorny bramble.  I used to have a strong conviction of this when I was a child, and I remember finding strength and peace in it.  It gave me courage to endure (somtimes lengthy) periods of tremendous pain and/or uncertainty.  My faith was truly more child-like back then.  It was mostly heart, and less accompanied by questioning eyes. 

 

I need to return to that time.  Now, when certain types of difficulties arise, I often become so weak and spiritually floppy.  I whine in my soul that God has left me alone.  I inwardly pout.  I find that I cannot join in the chorus that "never once did we ever walk alone / never once did You leave us on our own" without tears forming in my eyes, because in my self-centered and bratty state, I feel utterly alone.  In those moments, I picture myself as a young child whose face is downcast and dripping with hot, streaming tears.  Her arms are folded tightly and her back is hunched.  She can see nothing besides the blurry view of wet splotches hitting the ground.  Beside her, the child's father is patiently standing with his hand outstretched towards her.  He is there.  He has never left her.  And he remains.  She knows he is there--who can deny it?!--but she refuses to acknowledge or feel his presence.  And then she cries that her father has left her alone to fend for herself.  It is all childish nonsense.  That's me sometimes.  It does Him no honor.

 

Second, I am reminded that difficulties and hardships do not necessarily indicate that we are on the wrong path.  And obedience does not always lead to "success," "provision," or a "positive" outcome, as the world defines any of those terms.  We live in a disturbing age of the prosperity Gospel, where certain errant preachers teach that because we follow Jesus, He will provide a good job.  He will provide a home to live in.  He will provide a husband/wife.  He will provide this, that, or the other thing.  No no no no no no no.  That's not the world we live in, and that's not the bargain with Jesus.  Because we follow Jesus, yes, He will provide life eternal.  He will provide strength to withstand all temptation.  He will provide the Spirit as our inheritance.  He will be with us always, even to the ends of the earth.  Those are not the measures of earthly success, though...and that's why we can be on the correct path (i.e. following Jesus) and end up in the "wrong" circumstances.  Life with Jesus doesn't (necessarily) equal an easy life.  But a worthwhile one?  Absolutely.  Too often, we conflate the two.

 

* * *

 

It is not war that first brings death, not war that first invents the pains and torments of human bodies and souls, not war that first unleashes lies, injustice, and violence.  It is not war that first makes our existence so utterly precarious and renders human beings powerless, forcing them to watch their desires and plans being thwarted and destroyed by more "exalted powers."  But war makes all of this, which existed already apart from it and before it, vast and unavoidable to us who would gladly prefer to overlook it all.

 

Bonhoeffer wrote this in a letter to his Finkenwalde brethren in 1940, when he was pretending to pretend to be pastor under the auspices of the Abwehr (German military intelligence).  This particular passage is poignant because it calls us to remember that the genesis of war is sin, not the other way around. 

 

War is devastating, ugly, violent.  It rips apart families, communities, countries, regions.  It results in bloody messes, piles of corpses, unspeakable despair.  And yet, in a very basic spiritual sense...war is just peacetime, writ large, and drafted in highlighter for all the world to see.  Our natural sinful condition is just as present and just as destructive during peacetime.  But we are able to ignore its devastating effects because it slowly and insidiously unravels the fabric of our lives, thread by thread, instead of simply tearing gashes in the garment as during wartime.  The end effect of disintegration is the same: it's just that war forces us to look at ourselves in a way that peacetime does not.

 

* * *

 

Dear Max, You have lost your father. . . . You are still very young to be without a father.  But you have learned from him to honor the will of God in everything God gives and in everything God takes away.  You have learned from him that a person's strength comes solely from being united with the will of God. . .  In such times one must struggle through a great deal for oneself alone.  You will have to learn out there how one sometimes must come to terms with someone alone before God.  It is often very difficult, but these are the most important hours of life.

 

The war left virtually no family untouched.  This is from Bonhoeffer's letter to Max, the sister of his fiancee, Maria, following the death of their father.  The part that struck me about this part of the letter was the idea that sometimes we have to deal with God on our own.  We have to face Him alone, ask Him questions alone, hear from Him alone, wrestle with Him alone.  This goes against our (or at least my) natural inclination -- which is to turn to others for guidance, wisdom, insight, input.  But I have experienced the truth in Bonhoeffer's statement in my own life, so I definitely believe it to be true:  sometimes, we have to confront God on our own.  And it is so difficult.  And yet nothing is more important.

 

Lessons from Another Era

This book about Dietrich Bonhoeffer--this very, very long book--has been such a challenge to get through.  And not just because it is 624 pages long.  

More so because Dietrich Bonhoeffer the man was so entrenched in the Gospel, so taken by his Savior, so single-mindedly devoted to his heavenly Master, that his brief life compels a very long, hard look.  The words from his letters have me highlighting in my Kindle on every other page.  The tough choices he made--with an attitude of genuine surrender to the good hands of God--have caused me to pause and think so many times.  This hasn't just been about reading a book about a historical figure.  This has been every bit a spiritual challenge to learn lessons from a brother from a dark era in history.

What God has done, it is well done. 

His will is always just.

Whatever He will do to me,

In Him I'll ever place my trust.

Bonhoeffer's mother chose such lyrics to be sung at the funeral of her son Walter--Dietrich's brother--after he was killed in action during World War I.  We often sing during church songs such as "Blessed Be Your Name," in which we pledge to bless God's name "on the road marked with suffering, though there's pain in the offering."  I'm sure that such sentiments coming from my own mouth are far more aspirational than they are descriptive.  Not having walked a road marked with any real suffering in a very long time, I don't know if I will really bless God's name on such a day in the future.  I should hope so, but I can't say for sure.  And besides blessing Jesus's name, will I then also reaffirm the goodness of who He is and His will?  I'd like to say yes.  But it is tomfoolery to boldly predict that I will.

* * *

It is remarkable how I am never quite clear about the motives for any of my decisions.  Is that a sign of confusion, of inner dishonesty, or is it a sign that we are guided without our knowing, or is it both? . . . . The reasons one gives for an action to others and to one's self are certainly inadequate.  One can give a reason for everything.  In the last resort one acts from a level which remains hidden from us.  So one can only ask God to judge us and to forgive us . . . . At the end of the day I can only ask God to give a merciful judgment on today and all its decisions.  It is now in his hand.

Bonhoeffer wrote the foregoing in a letter to a friend during his second visit to New York, at the opening of WWII, when he came to the United States to avoid the difficult choice of serving in the military under the Fuhrer, or being executed for his refusal to do so.  Soon after he arrived, Bonhoeffer felt that everything was wrong in coming to New York, and that he must return to Germany to suffer alongside his brethren in the faith.  Of course, returning to Germany undid all of the many efforts and strings pulled in high places to protect him. And so, he questioned his motives for returning.  Of course, the balance of Bonhoeffer's life strongly suggests that his return to Germany was the right thing for him to do.  

But whether it was objectively right or wrong seemed to be of secondary importance to Bonhoeffer.  Throughout the latter part of his life, it became especially apparent that his philosophy was to fully embrace God, and to live life fully for Him--even if it meant risking doing the "wrong" thing.  He would rather move in a full-fledged direction toward God, even at the risk of making a mistake, rather than tiptoeing around and doing nothing in fear of doing something wrong along the way.  In the end, God weighs our motives, and in any event, He can redeem the choices that we make.  

I found comfort and courage in this, being reminded that sometimes we make the wrong decisions, or we end up in the wrong places, even after concerted prayer and attempts to discern what God has for us.  In my results-oriented worldview, the fear of ending up in the wrong place, or making a major mistake, can be crippling--even paralyzing, to the point where I choose not to do, rather than risk doing wrong.  Perhaps that is not the perspective God desires from me.  Perhaps my "fear of doing wrong" is really just a manifestation of too much trust in myself, and too little freedom in God...?  Not sure.

* * *

Where God tears great gaps we should not try to fill them with human words.  They should remain open.  Our only comfort is the God of the resurrection, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who also was and is his God.  

Bonhoeffer wrote this in a letter to brothers whom he had previously taught at Finkenwalde, an illegal theological seminary of the Confessing Church, sharing the news that another of the Finkenwalde brethren had been called up at killed at war.  

His statement resonated so much, particularly since I am among those who often feels the need to fill moments of misery with words of encouragement and peace.  Sometimes that is good. But sometimes it is superfluous.  Let the pain be felt, let the pain be real.  Do not whisk it away prematurely, but let the wound stand agape.  And in that moment, in a very Presbyterian fashion, let me call upon Jesus--the only one with power to address and heal the wound--and remember that our hope lies in Him.

More later...

Follow-up to Yesterday's Post

Excerpt from a recent email from my dear friend Bumbleberry:

 

"I never worry about your career; you trust in God, and He takes care of you. The scary thing about God's will, I find, is that you have to trust it even if it's not what you want at the moment.  My goofy phrase before law school was that I trusted in God's will because he obviously wanted me to go to Harvard; now it is much more scary, with my last few year's work hanging in the funding balance."

 

Indeed.  I, too, am learning that when the path leads us to places we had not previously envisioned, or planned for -- in other words, when we reach the unexpected hairpin turn that provides no visibility whatsoever as to what lies ahead -- that is when the true test of faith becomes apparent.

 

 

Forgetting God

Over the last few weeks, our pastor has been preaching out of Exodus, and trying to drum into our heads that the Israelites were not the only ones who forgot God; we do, too.  He says that the Israelites, having been dramatically rescued from the Egyptians through the parting of the sea, suddenly forgot God when they found themselves hungry in the desert.  He calls such hunger "apocalyptic, end-of-the-world problems," and says that we face no such problems...but even our "first-world problems" cause us to forget God.  And then he uses something about an iPod charger's battery being too low as a first-world problem that makes us forget about God.  

The example doesn't resonate with me.  Personally, I don't get all that upset when my iPod is out of battery; I just charge it. It doesn't make me forget about God.  So that example doesn't speak to me.  But his point remains, and is a good one:  I do forget about God, all the time.  Even though He has poured out enormous blessings in my life, I forget about His goodness, and worry about whether He will provide for me.  On the train ride home, while discussing this with Mr. Squire, I tried to come up with examples that were more relevant to me than the iPod example.  It was hard, which just goes to show how self-unaware I am when it comes to this subject.  So that's probably a good thing to reflect on this evening... because if I can identify some of my easy trigger points, perhaps it will help me not to fall into such traps as easily in the future.

Let's see... areas in which I easily forget about God...

• Mr. Squire's safety and wellbeing.  I have a terrible and strange fear that Mr. Squire will die early in life.  It makes me terribly sad, and I can become very dull and depressed just by thinking about it.  I think the genesis of this fear is that I have an extraordinary number of friends and friends-of-friends who have lost young relatives (often spouses) at an incredibly early age (i.e. younger than 35).  One young wife died in her sleep at 25.  A young husband died in a helicopter crash at 34.  I can count three who were lost to cancer.  And so I also fear that my nearest and dearest will be taken away from me, too.  Even the thought (considered too long) is enough to put me in a funk.  And I fret over every bike ride (will his become a white ghost bicycle?), every flight (will he crash?), every car ride (accident?), and even when he's away playing ball (who knows what crazy people will do!).  It's a little insane.  And I forget that God holds our lives--including Mr. Squire's life.  God has already done the impossible by bringing to me this incredibly loving and servant-hearted (not to mention ridiculously hilarious) man...and God holds our lives together in any event.  Yet I keep worrying.  It's silly.

• Finances.  God has provided for us in so many ways in this area.  He let me keep my job during the economic downturn in 2008--even as many other lawyers more qualified than me were being laid off.  He let me pay back my loans with impressive speed.  He gave my roommate and I an unheard-of rent reduction during my first three years in the City.  And He blessed the Squires with a rent-stabilized apartment (off of Craigslist, no less) in a city where real estate is prohibitively expense -- and He even planted a gorgeous garden and park just 100 feet away, bringing my beloved nature to me for free.  So...why do I worry about finances still?  It's as if I have forgotten all that He has provided, or looked at it askance, with an arched brow.  Why is that?

• Future work.  We all know this about me.  I have no idea what I'm doing now.  I feel as if God has dropped me into the desert and left me there to fend for myself.  Of course this cannot be true.  Yet I feel this way, day after day.  I don't know what the future will bring.  And it scares me.  So I develop plans in my head--many, many plans.  What I really want is to hear a word from the Lord on this.  But I'm sure that to some degree, I just don't trust Him to speak to me on this subject anymore.  Even though it is because of His doing that I am here, in New York, doing what I am doing,... somehow I feel that the future is up to me. The burden is tremendous, but needlessly so.  I myself am choosing to carry a bag of bricks.  Not sure why.

These are areas in which I must grow.  I confess my need for help and inability to help myself in these areas in particular.  Praise God for His patience and forbearance with me.  I'm looking expectantly to the future in hopes that my heart will markedly improve.

Stories I Will Tell the Children: Fall

I had the pleasure of waking up with my legs wrapped up in a sheet and a blanket, the best and softest combination, particularly when mixed with cool air.  Fall is coming; I can feel it.  We had an unusually merciful August that barely hit 90 degrees but once, and now I am sensing that summer's heat is over and the briskness of autumn is just around the corner.  I can't wait.  I love autumn.

I can't quite describe my love affair with autumn, except to say that I wasn't always infatuated with this season.  But at some point during the last few years, I started to really love the fall season.  I wonder if it has something to do with missing home, because when I think of fall, my mind immediately reverts to all the wonderful things about fall at home:

• picking apples with my mom...sneaking a few straight from the tree...attempting to clamber onto higher and higher branches, only to be thwarted by my own fear of heights

• carving pumpkins after school with Becky and other friends from Chorale during my junior year of high school

• coming home to find that the corn that soared toward the sky all summer long was being harvested, and watching the stalks fall under the tractor, leaving a wake of bare land upon which the snow would fall

• seeing frosty dew on the blades of grass in the morning

• waking up to more than a hundred Canadian geese flooding the neighboring lot with the noise of their honking, then mirthfully chasing them into flight

• arranging my new school supplies: notebooks, folders, pens, pencils, erasers, loose leaf...

• observing the neighbors' evolving home decor to usher in the new season:  pumpkins, scarecrows, autumnal wreaths

• smelling the scents of autumn: apple cider, pumpkin spice, apple pie, cloves and oranges...

• taking in the miracle of the changing colors of leaves...Mom always said that God is so rich that He can strip away every tree in the fall, and replace each one with new leaves in the spring. 

• breathing in the brisk air, seeing my breath in the air for the first time since March

• gazing into the big, open sky, shrouded in that glorious hazy mist that signals the coming of winter

I miss it all.  I love fall.  I love home.  I love remembering fall at home.

Mr. Squire, the Childlike Wonder

How can a grown and mature man somehow keep his clear-eyed innocence and boyish antics?  I have no idea, but Mr. Squire somehow does it.

 

Yesterday, as he was walking me to the train in the morning, we talked about J.K. Rowling's ingenuity in writing the Harry Potter series.  The following conversation ensued:

 

Mr. Squire:  I love the names she used.  You always learned something new.  Like Delores Umbrage?

 

Me:  Oh, like "I take umbrage with..."?

 

Mr. Squire:  Yeah.  And like...what was the name of the wolf guy?  Lupin?  Has something to do with the moon?

 

Me:  Right.  And Slytherin sounds like slithering--like a snake... 

 

Mr. Squire:  Hufflepuff sounds like a brain.

 

Me:  What was the name of that thing...the Deciding Hat?

 

Mr. Squire (in obvious fake but adorable frustration):  It's the Sorting Hat!  Geez, I can't take you to Harry Potter World in Florida next month!  Sigh!

 

He cracks me up.  I love how he knows the Harry Potter series (and many other children's book series) inside and out.

 

That is all.  I love my husband.