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Thankful for the rear view
This weekend has been a trip.
I came to Oregon to hang out with some cool kids, the Masango brothers three. But God, as usual, had so much more in mind.
I grew up here, and some of the worst times in my life happened in this area.
When I know that I am going to travel down memory lane, I prep myself for the memories and yuck that often resurfaces. I didn’t do that this time, mostly because I was so excited to be with the boys and getting to have tea and chat with their parents, I didn’t give anything else space in my brain.
The weekend started by me going with Eman and Jennifer to camp to drop stuff off and have some prayer with them. This is the camp where I accepted Jesus in my top bunk at 11 years old. I met my first boyfriend here, and I have a sweet scar on the top of my right big toe from the old pool- it was like sand paper at the bottom of that thing.
Camp Kuratli might be the most sacred space I’ve ever been to. The place where it all started usually is.
I accepted Christ in the cabin second from the left.
On the first full day with the boys I took them to the imagination station. This is an awesome park that was right across from my first High School. When I pushed them on the swing I looked across the field and remembered how my Freshman year at that school I failed or got an incomplete in every single subject.
You can see my old school in the background on the left. But I prefer to look at the present, the cute kids that call me Auntie climbing that sweet rock.
My mom’s addiction was out of control, and I just wanted to run away. I would skip school and ride the MAX (public transportation light rail- cool train thing) all day. I would watch the trees flip past my window, while day dreaming that life was different. Dreaming about someone loving me enough to take care of me. Dreaming about not having to sleep with a knife under my mattress out of fear for who might try to come in. Dreaming about things at that point, I was sure would never be true for me.
After we were done at the park I asked the boys if they wanted to see a waterfall. I took them to Multnomah Falls. This is where I feel in love with nature. I saw God here. I still see God here. This is one of my favorite places on the planet. You can enjoy nature and beautiful things without having to drive 3 hours or having to hike until you feel like you are gonna vomit. It is the fat kids natural paradise.
Today (Sunday) I took the boys to church, the church where I was first introduced to the body of Christ. But first I drove past the projects that I grew up in, and where my mom sold drugs out of. They’ve gotten a face lift since then, but they are still the hood, and they are still filled with hurting and broken people- just like I was, and sometimes still am.
This was my apartment. The half on the right side. I would climb through that small window on the top right hand side and jump off that small roof when I needed to run from something or someone downstairs.
This is the basketball court. It has no hoop. I thought, how appropriate. You might have a basketball court, but no hoop. You can only do so much when you have a whole lot of nothing.
The church building is new and beautiful but it is still in the hood- right where it should be. The people are also different. I only recognized one face, but the love from the congregation was the same. Being in this space was more difficult than I anticipated.
I vacillated between two hardcore feelings. The first was the feeling of being haunted by the past. By who I used to be, by how scared I felt all the time, by the feeling of hopelessness crippled me. The second feeling was overwhelming gratefulness for what God has done in my life now. Things could have been so different.
I ran into a girl that I knew from back in the day, we are about the same age. We started talking and she told me about how she has 3 kids from 3 different baby daddies, and has had a struggle with addiction, and a laundry list of other terrible things that have hurt her and set her back in life. I didn’t talk much, mostly listened, and thought, “Lisa, this absolutely could have been you. This is where you were headed, and God moved and changed everything”.
It was like I was being visited by the ghost of Christmas past, but in an alternate universe…
Today I am thankful for memory lane, even the rough parts with road work and congestion. The parts that aren’t easy to pass through, and even wrong turns along the way. I am thankful for the reminders of rescue and redemption. I am thankful for the ways Jesus intervened on my behalf, and I am thankful that He’s not nearly done with me yet.
He’s dead
Jesus dies today. As Christians we believe that is a true story, and that truth is what sets us free; free from sin and captivity. He paid the price and was our ransom. And all that other christian jargon we hear repeated over and over during this time of year. Then comes the best cliche of all… “But Sunday’s coming”.
I get it, and I even believe it- with my whole heart. But something’s always felt missing.
Sunday is coming, but what about Saturday? Jesus died- for you and for me (and for all the people you don’t like, or who you think aren’t worth of grace and forgiveness. Your wrong about that BTW) and He rose again– on Sunday. But what as Christians are we to do with the dark day in between?
On Saturday Jesus was dead and gone, along with the hope head promised. The disciples spent the day hiding in fear of being arrested, probably caught up in their sadness of Jesus murder and in their confusion of Judas betraying them all.
Some believers ‘celebrate’ the day known as Holy Saturday by living that day in contemplative reflection as we think about how hopeless and terribly depressing our world would be without the light of Christ’s resurrection.
I was first introduced to the concept of Holy Saturday by my good friend Stephanie. She came to visit our first Easter here in Phoenix. She shared with us the meaning and practice of this day,and we chose to join in this observation by spending a calm and introspective day in the back yard. Not in a church, or expansive place of worship, but the back yard on our lawn chairs as my boy played with bubbles and chased birds.
We talked about times of personal sorrow and disappointments. Times where we felt lost or abandoned, even by the Lord. That happens for believers too, sometimes God seems silent.
Funny story: little at was 5 years old when we first observed Holy Saturday with Stephanie in the back yard. As he was walking around, he found something. He ran up to me with excitment as he said, “Mommy! I found an Easter egg!” I was confused as I hadn’t put any eggs out yet. In his hand was 3/4 of a small blue egg shell. A real one. The baby bird hadn’t emerged too long before. I proceeded to lose my mind. In my head he was now covered in bird flu, swine flu, and possibly Ebola. I panicked and frantically told him to put it down. He refused, and I kept screaming. I tried to grab it from him, and in his attempt to keep it, he squeezed his hand shut and shattered the germ infested bird egg. Then we all doubled over, cracking up. Little didn’t think it was nearly as funny as it really was…
Holy Saturday is full of great memories.
When you spend the day before Easter (in my openion, the best day of the year. The day that restores hope for living with Jesus and the the kingdom of God here on earth, as well as for eternity. The day that shows us that Jesus was totally legit, and had it right the whole time. It’s better than Christmas and even better than my birthday- and my birthday is AMAZING) in contemplation of how hopeless and desperate life could be without a risen Lord, it makes Sunday so much sweeter.
So if you don’t have plans for tomorrow, you may wanna observe Holy Saturday for yourself too. And if you are in the Phoenix area, you are welcome to come to our backyard and Holy Saturday with Team Barnes.
Grace and peace to you as we celebrate our risen Lord.
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