Rage, Rage

Though He slay me, I will hope in Him. Nevertheless I will argue my ways before Him. ~Job 13:15

I got the results from my biopsy today. Turns out that the abnormality that was picked up on my nuclear image last week was benign. So, my week of prayer and tears and nervousness was all for nought, right? I don't think so. As much as I hate those scary, vulnerable moments, I also think they have a certain beauty. During the past week, I was raw and honest and scared before the Lord. I played out worst case scenarios in my mind. I battled the bitterness of the "unfair" things that were happening to me. I prayed and worried and tried to distract myself. And I felt a little bit of what it means to suffer in the face of the unknown.

I pray that this experience has taught me a lasting lesson in empathy. I pray that the good news I received today will motivate me to spread Good News to others. Despite my angst, I was never without hope. I know that not everyone knows that kind of hope for themselves.

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Magnetic Monday #10*

*This should really be number eleven, but I didn't do one last week. I just wasn't feeling it.

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Angel Food

My good friend (and former roommate) just told me about a program called Angel Food Ministries. Through this program, you can buy boxes of groceries for very reasonable prices. If your money is "funny" these days, you may want to check it out.

Be blessed.

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When You're A Stranger

My friend is very sick. I can see it in his face.

Almost every day over this past year and a half, I see him as I'm driving to work, on a particular stretch of the trip. He walks with a cane and wears a baseball cap. He wears a leather jacket if it's cold; shirtsleeves if it's not. He was plump--he had a healthy roundness to him, but he was not exactly overweight. From his facial features, I assume that he has Down Syndrome. I think of him as my friend, even though I have never actually met him and don't know his name. Even though he doesn't know I exist. (Unless he has happened to notice a stressed-out-looking girl driving by in a red car.)

So, nearly every day, while I'm late for work, he strolls with purpose, facing toward me. I can tell how late I am by how far he has progressed down the sidewalk. If he is no longer walking, but instead sitting outside one of the shops near the library, I know I should be very ashamed.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that he looked a little thinner. His face looked somewhat wrinkled. He looked aged. It was noticeable, because he had previously looked relatively youthful. Right then I knew he was either sick or had been sick recently. I didn't think much of it. I guess I had assumed he would recover.

Last week, I didn't see him because I rode to work with my husband all week, and we took a different route. So, when I saw him this morning, I almost didn't recognize him. It wasn't until I had nearly passed him and noticed the baseball cap and cane that I realized who I was seeing. He was sitting in front of a shop. (Shame on me.) His face was not merely wrinkled; it looked like it was completely caving in.

I was horrified and dismayed. "What HAPPENED to him?!" I whisper-shouted this aloud, although I was alone in the car. "He is so sick." I had never before seen a person who I thought was literally dying before my eyes. It crushed my heart.

I tried to pray for him. But it felt like one of those spiritless prayers, because to me, it looked like he was already gone. "Abba, take care of him," in whatever way that could possibly mean.

Because I'm human, I couldn't help but make this somehow All About Me. I thought about how lately I've been feeling scared and alone, with my financial concerns and my mysterious ailment. Feeling isolated and forgotten. (I know I'm not, really.) I thought, if I can care about this man, a stranger whose name I don't know.... If I can care about him and be touched and concerned when he is clearly ill, then maybe a distant stranger somewhere cares about me, too.

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Green

Green has been my favorite color for a long, long time, and I think it is because of this video.



(If you're impatient, fast forward to minute 3:09.)

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Nuclear

Nuclear

Jenine injected me with nuclear medicine today.
In my life I have imagined myself as many things--
archaeologist,
photographer,
writer--
radioactive was never one of them.
I sat twisted awkwardly,
clamped into the nuclear scanner,
tapping my radioactive toes
to The Outfield
and Matchbox Twenty.
I thought about Homer Simpson.
I thought, it's funny,
I don't feel very radioactive.
It's like on your birthday--
you know you're older,
but you feel like the same you.
Today I was the same me,
except maybe I could glow in the dark.

~robyn, 10/20/09

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Tension

I have mentioned before that I have distant Jewish ancestry. This fact causes me to struggle from time to time, because I long to be fully Jewish, and recognized by others as such. However, I have known and loved Yeshua nearly all my life. (And He has known and loved me for much, much longer.) I will not let Him go. I don't desire to. I can't fully put into words what He is to me....

My Yeshua-faith, coupled with my ambiguous Jewish ancestry have me in a place of limbo. I know full well that mainstream Jews will never accept me as one of their own. But I feel that I am one of their own, forever. This feeling is as intractable as my Yeshua-faith.

I could convert. But, here's why I think I probably won't. My options would be to either pursue a Messianic Jewish conversion or a "mainstream" Jewish conversion (e.g., Orthodox, Conservative, or Reform). If I were to go the Messianic Jewish route, essentially nothing about my life would change. I would continue to pursue Torah as I currently do. I would not be considered a Jew by anyone outside the Messianic community. I would not have the option of making aliyah to Israel. On the other hand, if I were to go the "mainstream" route, I would be considered a Jew by almost everyone's standards (unless I underwent a Reform conversion). I would be able to make aliyah. However, in the process, I would either be asked to openly renounce Yeshua, or I would be tempted to deny Him by omission just to "get through". Bad, bad, bad.

It boils down to this: Why would I want to undergo conversion? To gain the approval and acceptance of people? To fit in? And if I did convert, would God consider me a Jew? Isn't it His opinion that matters the most?

The way I see it, my sense of identity should come first and foremost from my relationship with God through Yeshua. My sense of purpose in life should come from seeking to please Him. If this means spending my life traveling God's path in tension between Jew and non-Jew, so be it. If this means the "discomfort" of explaining to my children why we follow Yeshua and Torah although we're not exactly Jews, so be it. There is more to life than seeking to satisfy my own yearnings.

You may be in a situation similar to mine and reach an entirely different conclusion. That is between you and God. What I have written here is a message mainly for me, but I felt compelled to share it.

Shalom, friends.

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Hope Through Tears

The week before last, I was going through an incredibly difficult time. One night, when I was in despair and praying through tears, I thought, "Just remain faithful and something may change." I don't know if that thought came from me or the Ruach, but it was solid advice nonetheless.

I read a post on BlogHer today that has something similar to say. It's short. Give it a read when you have the chance.

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Taking a Lesson

I'm loving these songs right now:

scarlett

And I'm taking a lesson from Ms. Scarlett Johansson. People often scoff when an actor "veers off" into the music world. From what I've heard, in Scarlett Johansson's case, her first album was not well-loved by the critics. That didn't stop her, and really, why should it have? If she loves to sing, she has to sing. I imagine that if she had quit singing after hearing the critiques of her first album, a little bit of her creative self would have died. And she would not have gone on to make the beautiful music I'm loving right now.

So, I'm going to do the same. Well, not perform duets with Pete Yorn. I'm going to worry less about what others may think or expect of me, and keep on doing what I need to do to ensure that all the little bits of myself stay alive and flourish. How about you?

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The Wedding Singer

When my middle brother was about five years old, our mom gave him an album of delightfully irreverent children's songs by Barry Louis Polisar. I was around ten or eleven at the time, but my age did not stop me from appreciating the lyrical qualities of songs with titles such as "Wet Again", and "I Still Don't Like Asparagus". Truth be told, I think I liked that album as much as my little brother did. I still remember at least one full verse from Polisar's song about a boy and his cruel father:

I love my daddy,
though he always yells at me.
He says, "Take the garbage out
before I count to three."
I say, "Let's discuss it."
He points and I must go.
I say, "I'll do it later."
He says, "No..."

Fast forward about twenty years. I watch the movie Juno with my then-fiance', and it makes me cry. (In a good way.) I start listening to the movie's soundtrack on imeem while I'm at work, and absolutely love it. I decide to use several songs from the soundtrack on my wedding playlist, including "All I Want Is You".

Unbeknownst to me at the time, that song was written and performed by the very same Barry Louis Polisar that I loved in my youth. So, technically, he played at my wedding.

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Kicking Myself

Earlier today, I was contemplating all the (lame) reasons I don't do the things I dream of doing. Then, I saw this via a link on Twitter:



(Hat tip to Chookooloonks.)

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Roughing It

So, Sukkot. After several days of stress and more stress with extra stress on the side, I finally set out for my camping trip. As I mentioned once before, my husband wasn't able to be there for the first night. So, I spent a night in a tent. Alone. And I survived! I woke up every time I heard a strange noise (feral cats?) and every time a pine needle dropped onto the roof of my tent. But, I did it. I slept in that tent alone, and woke up the next morning whole, untouched by bears or any other manner of wild creature.

I was so glad when the sun came up. I was even gladder that my husband was there for the second night of camping. And I will be even gladder still if I never have to sleep in a tent alone ever again.

Aside from the sleeping-in-a-tent, Sukkot was fun. I enjoyed a good balance of together time with people from my congregation and alone time to read and rest. The highlight of the trip was a walk a few of us took around the campground and the surrounding state park. I took some pictures.















More photos here.

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Magnetic Monday #9

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Reminders

Sukkot is supposed to be the season of our joy, but personally I have been feeling like it is the season that my life is going to implode. I know it's not really as dramatic as all that, but health issues and money issues have been seriously dragging me down.

However, despite all the turmoil, I have still found reasons to be thankful. I am so thankful that I have a supportive family--my husband, my parents, my parents-in-law. . . .

I am so thankful that I have friends and acquaintances (both in real life and in the blogosphere) who give me important reminders. . . .

Jessica, who reminded me that it's important to get a second opinion.

Derek, who reminded me that I should aim to read the Bible every day. It could only bring me closer to God.

Danny, who reminded me that God's provision is not merely monetary or physical, but is also spiritual.

And Judah, who reminded me that "peace-planning brings joy to the planner".

I will take these reminders (and my Bible) with me as I venture into the woods-by-the-river for my camping trip. I will plan to trust in God's provision and enjoy the rest of my Sukkot in peace.

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Magnetic Monday #8: A Little Bit Late

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Lucille

Today would have been my maternal grandfather's 81st birthday. (I never met him because he had passed on years before I was born.) My mom just informed me that this funky song was one of his favorites--undoubtedly because my grandmother's name was Lucille.

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