Double takes and obnoxious Color

6
Mar

It’s the end of the week; time to blast you with a vision impairing burst of color. Or at least that’s what seems to have happened this week. It looks like I forgot to allow for much white space, and that goes for the art journaling as well as in my life. It’s been a busy week — have you found that happening for you as well?

Here’s a little something to push you over the edge into the weekend.

Done on a sheet of watercolor paper — not my usual approach

The next one came out of a challenge from Get Messy Art Journal, a fun site with prompt, tutorials and challenges. I’d been saving the front page of a newspaper magazine, and the challenge was to use ripped pieces of paper in some way. Can you see the lady on the bottom right corner?

She’s an Inspiration

The next two are two takes on the same thing. I facilitated a workshop, once through The Urban Retreat and once for a young adults group at a church. I like to practice and prepare ahead of time, making sure I keep lists of everything I’d like to have available for the experience. These are two passes at the same material. I like how they turn out differently, even though it’s the same me doing them.

Spray ink, alcohol ink, medicine cup, and -- wait for it -- the needlepoint door-hanger.

Made with (amongst other things) spray ink, alcohol ink, medicine cup, and — wait for it — a needlepoint door-hanger. (Note: I didn’t really use a Sharpie in this one, but I needed to block out something for the photo. You didn’t even notice it until now, did you? Rats.)

I love the colors in this so much I want to nibble the edge of the paper.

Moment of bragging: I found the needlepoint form of a door-hanger for $0.49 at a craft store. It works really well with spray inks and not so well as a stencil. But with a little finessing I think there’s a way to make it work.

That’s all for now. What are you doing to feed your soul this weekend? Be good to yourselves! And be sure to check back on Monday for a Medical Mondays guest post. As always, thanks for reading!

A surprise Visit

27
Feb

My mailbox has had a rough run. It’s been bashed into twice. One time a driver knocked it all the way down, leaving it sprawled in a most undignified fashion, junk mail scattered in the driveway. It has a thankless job, usually delivering mail that’s immediately tossed in the recycling bin, or mail that elicits a sigh from the recipient — another boring bill that needs attention.

I’m sure it was thrilled to get a different response this week, anything to break up the monotony of disdain and neglect.

My friend on the other side of town mailed me a book. It just so happens that this book is one I’ve been planning to dig for, since I didn’t find it on the shelf or in the easiest box to locate. She had it, and she took the time to mail it back to me.

But that’s not all.

In addition to the book, she included a short note that told me I wasn’t forgotten, that she remembers that I’m still grieving the loss of my dad, and in that remembering she told me that he mattered, and that I matter. She even sent a gift card to a coffee shop, which just speaks of the additional thought she put into returning the book, which became so much more than returning a book. It became a care package.

But that’s not all.

Surprises all around.

When I was thinking about finding the book, I was thinking about the author and what he wrote about different kinds of prayer and spiritual disciplines.

I was not thinking about who had read the book.

I read the book, and underlined it and jotted little notes about interesting parts.

My former youth pastor had read the book, and it was originally a gift from him. He wrote a page-long letter inside, affirming me and blessing me.

And my dad read the book.

My dad read the book and jotted things alongside my own. He underlined passages that stood out to him, along with notes that revealed his thoughts to what the author wrote.

It surprised me completely, the receiving of the book, and then discovering kind letter from an important part of my high school years, and then the handwritten words from my dad inside. It was such a gift to me.

Seeing my dad’s notes was like finding a letter my dad had written to me, and getting a little surprise visit from him when I’m so sad he’s gone and I can’t talk to him about everything that’s going on. I’ve been savoring the book, trying not to look through it too much until I have time to dwell in it, soak up the visit in the pages.

This post is for you, R. You had no idea how your act of kindness would encourage me. Maybe you didn’t even know my dad had written in the book — it’s probably been on a shelf for a while. As is common when things are prompted by the Holy Spirit, your timing was spot on. I can’t thank you enough for taking the time to act on what started as an idea, to go through all the steps necessary to get that book (and your note and the gift card) to me. God used you to take care of me. I’m so grateful for your friendship, not just today but always.

This post was in the works already, but when I saw this week’s prompt over at Kate Motaung’s blog and Five Minute Friday linkup I knew it dovetailed perfectly. I may have gone over the five minutes a bit, but this is pretty unedited so that’s in keeping with the spirit of Five Minute Friday.

Thanks again for reading and being a part of the virtual family here. Have a wonderful weekend, and if there’s a note you’ve been thinking of sending to someone, I encourage you to do it. You never know how a little note can be used to show God’s love to someone.

Color and Love

26
Feb

Life-giving

Bolstering

Discovery

Unearthing

Open

True

Unhindered

Bold

When I allow myself to silence my inner critic, allow myself to play with abandon and freedom, I feel all the descriptors above. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it comes more freely. Time always passes quickly, and when I’m messing around with paint, I’ve had to start setting an alarm so I won’t be late for other commitments. To lose yourself in something you love is a sure sign of an activity that replenishes your heart.

Here are a few samples…

Pages from Paint and Pencils with The Urban Retreat

This next one is a love note to myself, courtesy of the Get Messy challenges. We were challenged to use our favorite materials, colors, arty goodies and write ourselves a love note using this approach. It scares me a little to let y’all see the big ‘ol face I put on there, but part of sharing these is to let you in on my process and lack of artistic training AND IT STILL ENDS UP COOL and means something just to me. Sorry, didn’t mean to yell at you; I just get excited. I happen to be a big fan of modeling paste, so if you could touch this spread, you’d get to feel all the bumps and texture, which just makes it more sensory fun. Maybe I should start using those scented markers to further the sensory experience? Hmmm…food for thought. (My favorite was always the yellow marker — what was yours?)

Big Hair Don’t Care – Self Love Note, Get Messy Art Journal Challenge

Another challenge was to write a love note to a stranger, AND THEN TO LEAVE IT SOMEWHERE for someone to find. ::Gulp:: I did this, but it was not without some fear. My daughter was with me when I dropped one off, and she was pretty convinced we were doing something illegal. It did have an air of conspiracy to it, which just made it more exciting! The first picture tries to show some of the materials I used to create the love notes (complete with a $0.79 paint grid found at the hardware store — gotta love a good deal). The other two are the love-drops around our town.

A paint strainer as a stencil? Yes, please.

Even sideways (because I can’t get it to cooperate) you are loved. Just as you are.

Showin’ some love at our local library.

That’s about it for today. If you’re interested in seeing some other art journal pages and responses to art challenges, click here to go to the Get Messy linkup.

Do you need a love letter today? Is there someone you could send a love letter to, to take some time to put into words your care for him or her? Think about it — it’s hard to say it too much and it’s hard to be over-loved! When’s the last time you got something special in the mail?

JDRF One Walk: We’re not Alone

23
Feb

The alarm went off at 5:30a as the coffee pot started brewing in the kitchen. We had estimated how long the kids would need to wake up at such an early hour, to what degree their slow-motion sleepiness would affect their ability to get ready. We considered how hungry (or not) they’d be at that early hour and how we’d account for an insulin dose based on the lack of appetite. We quietly opened curtains — it didn’t let in any light since it was still dark across the Minnesota landscape — and moved around in the kids’ rooms in order to get them to wake up slowly. It would take us at least 30 minutes to drive to the Mall of America and we’ve never been a hop-in-the-car-and-go kind of family; we take a while to get ourselves collected and out the door.

As we drove and our people started waking up, the excitement began to build. When we pulled up the turn light and saw the line of cars heading into the parking lot, it looked like a deal-driven Black Friday event. Why else would people be out in the cold morning before the stores opened at the mall?

There was no way we’d be out this early or driving to the Mall of America of all places except for this event. It was Saturday, February 21, and it was our first Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) One Walk fundraiser.

When we heard about the One Walk, we immediately knew it was something we’d put on our calendar. We were drawn to the idea of doing something to hasten the development of better solutions and even a cure for diabetes. Maybe it’s grasping at straws, but since I’m not a scientist nor a lobbyist, this felt like something we could all actively be a part of.

We’ve only had diabetes for two months, and I say WE because it truly is a diagnosis that impacts the entire family. We’ve come through the initial shock and how we’re learning how diabetes is becoming a silent member of the family, something we have to factor into all our events and happenings. I wish I could say we’re used to it by now, but we’re not. We will be one day, but we’re not there yet.

2015

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Our team’s dominant color was purple, and team members did it up right: a purple scarf, a purple stripe on the arm, purple shirts, purple shorts, a baby in a purple headband, one friend with one purple leg-warmer and matching sock (the location of her other purple leg-warmer remains a mystery), and purple lanyards for each member of our team. They were all there bright and early, each with a positive attitude and a desire to show their solidarity with our family. They helped remind us that we are not alone in dealing with diabetes — their care and love for our family will help us in those moments when it all feels too big to handle.

The atmosphere was festive and the hallways were packed with people. It was moving to see the matching t-shirts and various groups all present to show their support for a loved one with Type 1 diabetes. It was pretty overwhelming, and we’re still processing all that we experienced that day.

We raised over $800, which was $300 more than our goal. We were so encouraged by people’s desire to contribute and be a part of finding new and better ways to deal with diabetes.

If you were a part of that day, thank you. Seriously. Thank you. And if you weren’t, you may get a chance in the future and I’d encourage you to go for it. Look out for us in the spring of 2016 and plan on seeing these again, ’cause how do you use up 100 purple lanyards in a year? You don’t.

Have a Lanyard…Please

Have you participated in a large-scale fundraiser? How do you respond to the energy surrounding such events? How do you think they contribute towards positive change?

Medical Ministers and Presidents

16
Feb

Today’s Medical Monday post is written by someone who is very familiar with the medical world, both conventional Western and alternative. Read his perspective on the power of the White Coat and the differences between what he refers to as prime ministers and presidents.

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Going back as far as I can remember, the White Coat of the medical professional has been the symbol of the reasonable, knowledgeable expert on our health and physical condition.

When I was a boy, the esteem we gave the White Coat was substantial and broad. As a matter of fact, even in my monthly trip to the barbershop on Saturday mornings as a child, there would be a row of hair experts in white smocks, looking every bit like an elite corps of trained medical specialists in the smoke-filled, male-dominated strip mall just a couple of doors down from the Ben Franklin five-and-dime.

Memories of great apprehension still surround me as I recall those winters when I would return perhaps six times in four months to receive the dreaded penicillin injection. After anxious moments in the waiting room, a serious-minded man would come in, look sternly at me, mumble something in hushed tones to my mother, and before long the nurse, always a friendly woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile would execute the will of the all-knowing, fearless expert in the White Coat.

Over the years, a widening gap has developed between me and the White Coat. I can think of a number of reasons for this, but as a chronic sufferer who knows only too well why they call us “patients,” I can name one of the big ones. Go back in time with me to a movie I hope you have seen more than once.

The character’s name is Winifred Banks, a “suffragette” working for women’s right to vote. To a rousing tune, she and her fellow-crusaders march around the room and sing, “We’re clearly soldiers in petticoats; Dauntless crusaders for women’s votes. Though we adore men individually, we agree that as a group they’re rather stupid….”

Now, I assure you, I think highly of most of my many doctors, but the good will does not carry over to the coat (“as a group”…you see). My uneducated guess is that what has happened to them can happen to all of us when politics, custom and other outside forces restrict the way we do our jobs and perform our role in society: we become less effective as a group than we are as individuals. (By the way, the movie mentioned above was Mary Poppins.)

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Why is it that some countries have Prime Ministers (people who minister), others have Presidents (people who preside), and some have both? Ministers are the people that impress me most. (I think Prime Minister Thatcher of Great Britain was the first person I remember quoting the proverb, “If you want something said, ask a man; if you want something done, ask a woman.” Spoken like a true PM!) That is because long after the presider has snagged, bagged and tagged my medical problem, the minister (nurse, PA, and even a low-level, non-technical administrator) still takes my calls and emails.

As a sufferer from numerous chronic diseases, I have learned to be affable, organized and intelligent in talking to presidents so that their memories of me are vivid, pleasant and undemanding. I do this in hopes that they feel good thinking about me because I suspect that once they have stopped looking at me, I wonder whether they will be thinking of me five minutes from now.

I am overstating the whole thing, of course, but it is unfortunate that they must hustle between patients and I am left with only one shot to think of and ask everything I could wish to know before the next billable encounter.

“Doctor, I nearly fainted today, what should I do? What might it be? Did I just experience an ‘off time’ from the Parkinson’s disease or is it the meds? Can we go out for coffee and have you educate me on how to self-diagnose and what I might anticipate my life to be like now?”

Dialogue about such things is what I crave with my doctors. I wish I could get his or her attention whenever I need it. But who among us has the stamina to treat hundreds of patients with this kind of tender loving care? I understand why it must be that way. I still hate it when something reminds me that life isn’t fair or simple.

There are so many good medical professionals in my world. They make me feel like living when I feel like dying. They don’t have the averted eyes, the somber look or the well-worn words: “Not saying you are imagining things, but the source of your problem is that your mind/brain is making you sick. So I can only treat you for fibromyalgia. Take this for pain and check back next year [read: Please don’t check back until next year because I really don’t know what’s going on with you.]”

No, these solid professionals say things like, “I will stick with you. Are you okay?” Most are good folks who know the old ways of western medicine that I need most when my house is on fire (i.e. things are desperate.)

And then there are the non-mainstreamed variety like the one who said, “Don’t mind those other doctors. You have Chronic Lyme disease. That is not on the public health radar yet. I’ve got your back. Let’s get busy and see what happens.” His treatment worked. Another has said, “I can save you from getting that knee replacement through a relatively inexpensive procedure that insurance won’t cover. Can I pray with you?” Then he proceeded successfully to repair the knee.

All of these people remind me that goodness and decency are far from obsolete. They do take emails and return calls. Some even leave me their cell phone number. Good things do happen. I just wish the White Coat was the uniform for all of those Prime Ministers and innovators too, and that it really did represent all of the best practices and personal attention available today.

All the best, Dear TC.

Uncle Wes

http://mrg.bz/QUhmjX

Color in Winter

12
Feb

There’s something that has become a bigger part of my life in the past year and I realize that I have shared about it occasionally here on the blog but I’ve been holding back. I think some of that is because it is scary you to share things that are personally meaningful. Some of that is because there is the danger of being critiqued about the quality of the artwork that has become a part of my days. It’s scary to think about something that’s been become meaningful to you being diminished or seen as small.

This hasn’t been small. This has been and continues to be important to me, and has become an important part of my journey. I don’t know all of the ripple effects that it will have for the future but I know that for now this has become a life-giving tool for me. Since I try to write about things that are meaningful to me and I try to write truthfully about things that are going on around here, it makes sense for me to write more about this and share it with you because it meets that criteria. I hope I can step into the bravery and authenticity that I value and share more about this with you on a more regular basis. If you want to check back in the future, I plan to put it in the “Mischief” category, so you’ll know where to look for art journal posts.

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Sometimes the landscape reflects a person’s emotional state, but sometimes that landscape causes it! In an attempt to crack some of the ice that’s been forming a thin layer on my brain and heart lately, I carved out some time to art journal. When it went a direction that was different from my initial intention, I allowed it to develop as it wanted. I’ve been preparing for some retreat sessions lately, and haven’t had as much time to just let it develop organically. Granted, some of those other projects infused themselves into these (and one of them actually IS one of those projects but I just HAD to include it) but that’s a lot like finding yourself humming a song you’ve heard on the radio – it just gets in your head and rattles around for a while until it eventually works its way out. Man, now I’m making it sound like I’ve got 45 things to share, but there’s only three. So with no further ado…

So there’re some colors going on there! Maybe that’s just what I needed to try to liven up my own landscape today. And maybe it can liven up yours a little bit too.

On winter days do you tend to gravitate towards more color or less color, and how does that play out in your day?

P.S. This was done via “Dictaphone” on my silly phone so please excuse any kooky typos!

Navigating the ER

2
Feb

Welcome to our first Medical Monday, one day each week when we try to address the world of health, wellness and medicine. This will be a time when we hear from guest writers about their experiences in these areas, some of which will be on different ends of the spectrum medically. I may chime in occasionally as well. We’re going to do this for a while, so if you’d like to contribute your voice to the conversation in the form of a guest post, feel free to send me an email to get more details.

Some people who will write here are providers, some are recipients. The goal is to offer space to hear a new or different perspective, all with an appreciation of the subtleties of health and the intricate way the human body functions. It’s amazing, really, and a healthy body is not something to take for granted (simplistic example: until you’ve had a stuffy nose you don’t generally think to be thankful for the ability to breathe through both nostrils, right?).

One ground rule for this series: no matter how much your own opinion and experience might differ from that of the writer, please always be respectful in your comments and interactions. Some of the insights were hard earned, and we want to be a place of welcome and conversation. I know I don’t really need to tell any of you that, Dear Readers, because you know it instinctively. It’s just something we have to get on record for the court stenographer. (Don’t worry, there’s no stenographer sitting here in my kitchen with me…today.)

Let’s hear from our first guest contributor, who has chosen to remain anonymous.

*****

http://mrg.bz/Ek0Y2C

Recently I was sitting in an examination room with a nice middle aged man. He was expressing to me his feelings of anxiety. Just as he started talking about how it feels like the room closes in on him and he gets pains in his chest I hear something alarming drown out his voice. The overhead speaker blasts out, “Code Red! Room 10!” I excuse myself rudely, because there is no other way to do it. I leave this patient and run to the next room to help assist with CPR on a patient that will likely not make it. There is no time to feel badly about the abrupt way in which I left my other patient. My mind is focused only on chest compressions and I try to keep the rate at the correct tempo. After an hour of attempting to resuscitate, the team realizes that our efforts did not pay off this time. I get a drink of water and walk back to the room with my anxious patient. I smile and apologize for the long wait.

Have you ever gone to the Emergency Room and had to wait three hours to see a clinician? Do you ever wonder why the person who came long after you did was brought back first? What is actually going on behind those curtains? We are going to get a first hand look at the inner workings of an ER.

First of all, my credentials. I have been a PA at multiple urban ERs for 7 years, including a level 1 trauma center. What does that mean? I have seen the badest of the bad. And I love it. ER people are a strange breed. We are wild, adrenaline junky, cowgirls/boys. We are confident, and maybe a little arrogant. We work hard shifts, and we want EVERYONE to know it. But don’t be fooled by the bravado. In the end we are softies and care about our patients deeply.

I hope that you never have to come to the ER, but statistics tell us that at some point your evening plans will include me and my team. Here are some pointers to help you get through your experience and help you understand what is going on in the ER.

First of all, if you are coming because of a life or limb threatening event, you are our number one priority. We will drop everything and literally run to keep you alive. I have walked out of a room mid sentence because I overheard a code being called. A code basically is a cardiac, respiratory, or neurological emergency. It means someone’s heart, lungs or brain aren’t working properly. We move fast because time is our biggest enemy.

I know that it is frustrating to wait, but on the other hand, it means you aren’t dying. If you are stable, there are often long wait times. If it seems like there aren’t a lot of people in the waiting room and you wonder why it is taking so long, there are ambulances coming in where you can’t see them. If someone comes in after you but they get called back first, it is because some kind of badness is going on. Please don’t harass the triage nurses. They get so much abuse from people that are annoyed with the wait time. They are stressed out and frustrated that they can’t help you more quickly. And they might bite your head off if you are sassy to them.

Please remember you are your best advocate. If you feel that something bad is going on don’t be afraid to go up and ask for help. People that work in the ER do make mistakes. I’m gonna go ahead and say it. We are not perfect and you need to follow your gut. They may think you have something simple….you may know that something is not normal or going very wrong.

Once you get into an examination room, there may be another wait. Please rest assured that we know you are there. Having a new patient on the board waiting to be seen is uncomfortable for all of us. We see that little blip on our computer screen and it drives us crazy. But if there is a sicker patient, they get evaluated first. While you are in your room, we are putting in orders, reviewing charts, going over results, putting on splints, reducing dislocated joints, suturing, putting breathing tubes in, stabilizing patients. The thing about the ER is that it is unpredictable. Sometimes there is absolutely nothing going on (we never say “slow” in the ER…bad luck). Other times we just don’t stop moving. One thing I know is that just because we aren’t in your room, it does not mean we forgot about you. We are thinking about what the next step is. We are reviewing your past medical history. We are thinking about compassionate ways to tell you bad news.

Here is my last point. No matter how awesome I think the ER is, the people in it are not perfect. We miss things. We judge situations wrongly. If you feel that something isn’t right, don’t be afraid to speak up and ask questions. If you still feel that something was missed, ask to speak to another practitioner. We may be egomaniacs, but in the end we do want the best for our patients.

A new series: Medical Mondays

28
Jan

This may be something obvious to the fully-actualized adults around me, but a new thought dawned on me the other day: the older we get the more chance there is that we will interact with a health issue. Be it our own or in the health of someone we love, the longer we walk around alive, the longer we have to experience something going haywire.

Pretty obvious, huh?

You’d think so, but up until the past few years, there have been relatively few instances of health issues in my family or in most of my friends. And with that, many of you are saying, “Go on, tell us how it is, Ms. Exempt-from-the-real-world.” Yeah, I know. It’s obnoxious. But it was just the way things were, just as for many of you, the day-to-day reality of a chronic condition or a diagnosis is just the way it is. You don’t get to decline, graciously or otherwise. It’s more than an occasional trip to the sick-child hours at your doctor’s office or the minute clinic in the back corner of your big box store. It’s research, support groups, more research, fundraisers, awareness-raising, advocating, and navigating the world of healthcare.

Some of you are on the provider end of the spectrum. You’re the ones who take the late night phone calls, or respond first when other people run the other way. You know all about the system because you’re one of the people who provide care and solutions for the countless people who walk through the doors of your clinic, hospital, treatment center, or office.

The nuances are many and the world of health and healthcare is multifaceted. What I’m looking for are stories. Real stories of your interactions with the world of medicine and health. Mental health, physical health, mind-body connections, caregiving, miracles, you name it. The one thing is that I don’t have is a deep desire to debate health care politics or anything legislative, although for some that is a topic they hold dear because it impacts the type of care they are able to seek out or receive. So even that is up for grabs, as long as it’s in the context of your story.

Therefore…

[trumpets, please]

In what may be yet another hair-brained idea, I’ve decided to start a new series. It will run on Mondays, and it will be focused on the world of medicine: medical jobs, diagnoses, treatments, alternative medicine, and health revelations. We don’t need a defense of this or an argument for that; what we need to hear is YOUR story. How your health, and the changes in that area of your life, have impacted you or someone very close to you.

Too often, we demand that medicine be an exact science. We want answers, we want a treatment plan, and we want compassion, doggone it! It’s insanely frustrating to discover that, just as our bodies are mysterious and unique, each one different from the next, medicine can’t always perfectly find the exact answer for our exact ailment every time. There aren’t solutions for every problem, and while we know many many things about how the body works, there are just as many things we know.

Do you have a story?

Do you want to share it here?

I’m looking for contributors to this series. I’d love to open up this blog and include stories from people with varied backgrounds and experiences. If this catches your attention, and you’d like to be a part of it, please send me an email [tclarsonwrites (at) gmail (dot) com] or a personal message on the Facebook page to find out more details. Otherwise, stop back every Monday to see what happens next!

If this is God’s economy, I might want to go Off-Grid

20
Jan

The kingdom of heaven is a flurry of paradoxes. Paradoxi? Paradeux? Anyway, multiple instances of a paradox, such as:

Lose your life to gain it.
Become like a little child as an adult.
The last shall be first.

These things don’t make a lot of sense until they are exemplified by Jesus, and then they become clearer. Even then, it takes a long time and many occasions of re-learning to figure how they work themselves out in our own lives.

Here’s one that gets some air time as people grow up in the church:

“I have told you these things so that in me you will have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

From this and from the church tradition I come from, we are taught to expect challenges, persecution, disappointments, and other stuff-of-life. We are also taught to remember that ultimately these present circumstances are conquerable, or at least we can endure through hardships, because Jesus lived through life and ultimately overcame death. We don’t go through these things alone, because the Holy Spirit, The Comforter, walks alongside us.

We’re taught that because Jesus’ turned on its ear the natural sequence of things (i.e. dead and you stay dead) that means He can help us overcome any circumstance we’re facing. If Jesus overcame death, then we don’t even need to trouble ourselves with worrying about anything as severe as that (which is really supposed to be a minor hiccup in the overall journey of our souls if we have “dealt with our salvation”), much less anything smaller in scope.

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As part of the Sermon on the Mount, in Matthew 5:45 Jesus says that God “causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” It’s stated in the context of loving one’s enemies, a.k.a. out-loving pagans and tax collectors who love the people who love them and greet their own people.

In my own church tradition, this passage has been used to focus on loving those who are hard to love, rather than focusing on provision in the natural order being given to people who are unjust. ‘Cause really, who wants to think about nice things being given to mean people? Sometimes the question comes up, “why do good things happen to bad people?” but we like to gloss over that one with the assumption they’re cheating the system somehow, they’ll prosper in this life but pay for it eventually. This justice system is supposed to cut short the question, and somehow people are left to almost hope the jerks DON’T end up following Jesus because then they will have double cheated the system, a “they’ll get theirs eventually” mentality. Sick huh?

And yet, the recurring question people often have is: “Why do bad things happen to good people?” The answer given is, often citing the book of Job, is “Who do we think we are to question God’s decisions?” or “Why not?”

I’ll tell you why not, and I bet quite a few other people can tell you why not as well.

Because it seems to me that while God doesn’t “owe” any human anything, it wouldn’t hurt the balance of the universe to throw a bone to someone who has actively worked to advance the Kingdom for his entire adult life.

It would be a rad miracle if a committed follower of God would be healed and that miracle could further the faith of others, being able to be sited as evidence of God’s provision for the people who serve Him well.

Because in a world filled with corruption, abuse, manipulation and malice, a person who is free from those things is a keeper, someone who’s existence you want to prolong.

That’s why not.

Or, if you’d rather, lets step back from the long goodbye and work with something serious but less “complete” — say, chronic illness.

How is it that God can’t see His way to giving a pass to people who love Him, people who are innocent, people who are young, people who maybe made some mistakes but admitted it and got things cleaned up, figured out, squared away?

How is it that a person who is doing their best to live right and follow God is allowed to suffer?

Or if you’d like, zoom out even further. How can it be that groups inflict horrific abuses against other people, who’s only “crime” is not believing the same things as their oppressors? Who’s only disobedience is wanting to go to school and learn to read regardless of gender or age? Who’s only “offense” is being born with a certain skin color? Why are these people allowed to be attacked, afflicted, and abused in ways my heart can’t begin to imagine possible?

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Provided by Death to Stock Photos

If this is God’s economy, I want to go off-grid. If this is the way God protects the innocent, then who needs that type of anti-protection? If this is the way God sets the world a-turning and then sits on His anthropomorphic hands, then how can a person in good conscience worship such a God?

It’s a crisis.

It’s a questioning of everything you’ve up-until-now taken as true.

It’s an untethering from the shore you thought to be solid, a setting adrift into a lonely ocean filled with perils. And the place you left for the Holy Spirit to accompany you because that’s what you were assured, that place remains empty.

We are tested to our breaking point. We are pushed past our own endurance. We are asked to remain faithful in the face of all the evidence showing us that it’s a one-sided contract.

And yet…

My heart turns to prayer. Instinctively. Without stopping to reason out whether it makes sense or not. Without asking if it actually “changes things” like the old bumper stickers claimed. Is this a result of long-term conditioning or genuine spiritual instincts? Am I so desperate that in order to not do nothing I return to prayer even if it’s prayer to a God that’s got me spittin’ mad?

There’s no good answer. My faith is so entwined with my life that even when I’m mad, doubting, or complacent my posture continues to be turned towards Jesus. In spite of myself, when I am ready to wash my hands of big-g God, I want to still work something out with Jesus. Somehow I feel that He gets it, that He can make it clear to the Father, between Jesus and the Holy Spirit they can make God come around and DO SOMETHING. Maybe it won’t be something for me specifically, in fact I’m coming to realize it probably WON’T be for me. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. That doesn’t mean that Good can’t still act and act swiftly. Somewhere in our collective subconscious, we still hear God’s whispers of hope and kindness, even on a small scale, within our own circles of influence.

So I won’t go totally off-grid, not yet. I will wrestle with God and faith and be as honest as I can about how crappy everything seems, because God can handle that. God can handle me, in all my contrary, questioning, fight-picking. And believe me, if He can handle me, I’m 100% sure He can handle you.

Do questions like these make you want to duck for cover? Does your faith allow for questioning or doubts? What do you do when life doesn’t line up with the beliefs you’ve held for a long time? I’d love to hear some of your story in the comments.