Wellspring

There was a Sunday night in 2000 that was life-changing for me. I had been visiting churches on my own because Ben was taking a break from church. The kiddos were between 2 and 6 and so I'd usually leave them home and go on my own to scope things out. I had slept in that morning and so I decided to try an evening service. An old friend of mine was part of a church plant consisting of a small group of believers that met at a big Episcopal church in town. They had all been members of the host church and yet were unable to reconcile their theology with the changing teachings of the Episcopal church. They decided to start an AMIA (http://www.wellspringcolorado.com//) church and I was curious.

My background is very evangelical, conservative. I had no experience in the high church or with liturgy. I had no idea what to expect or how I'd feel at the service. But I felt like God was calling me to something new. I was wide open. I drove into the parking lot and as I was getting out of the car I noticed a young mother unloading her three young children from a minivan. She was beautiful, outwardly yes. But her smile radiated kindness and sincerity. It was inner beauty that overshadowed whatever else I might have noticed about her. I asked her if I was in the right place to attend the Wellspring service and she said that yes I was and that she'd be happy to show me where to go.

I got settled in a seat, not knowing anyone in this small group of maybe 20 people. There was no blending in. There was no observation that took place anonymously. I was watching them and they were watching me. Actually it was not really a "watching" on their part, but more of an awareness. They did not fall all over themselves to meet me. Their stance was welcoming and yet completely free of expectation. I knew immediately that wherever I'd come from, whatever beliefs, prejudices or failures that I'd brought with me were of no consequence.

We started with music and it was upbeat contemporary style with a guitar accompaniment. I was a bit surprised because I thought with an anglican church I would get hymns. The more sacred style. I had to chuckle at the guitar player because with each song he was getting more animated. He did this marching thing while he played, keeping time with his feet. Not a tapping of the foot but he was actually marching in place. He was REALLY into it. I was amazed by his lack of self-awareness.

We had the Old Testament, New Testament and Gospel readings. This was all new to me. There seemed to be hand signals that went with the Gospel reading, but I couldn't quite figure them out. And then it was time for the message. Guess what? It was the marching guitar player. He was the pastor. And he started talking and I wish I could import a sound clip for you, because it was the way he said "Jesus" that almost broke my heart. He said that name like the Son of God was actually the SON OF GOD. It was not a 'WWJD' version. Or a J-E-S-U-S cheerleader. Or even a 'Jesus is my best friend'. It was sacred familiarity. It was romance and intimacy. It was fear and trembling. It was awe. It was a way of breathing...like he inhaled the name and then exhaled the name. Even when he was talking about a botched home improvement project or a moment of impatience with his son it was like the name of Jesus was at the back of his throat, waiting to be spoken.

We had the "prayers of the people" and people actually prayed out loud, in the middle of church. That was crazy. Praying during a church service. What were they thinking? And then communion. I had to get out of my seat and go forward with all the other 19 attendees. And I didn't know what to do or how to do it. I watched and learned and tried so hard to act right. And something happened in me when I took the cup of wine. I started to tremble and it happened every Sunday for the next 5 years. I could never take the cup without trembling. It was embarrassing, although I don't think anyone noticed. But I think it was the weight of what was being offered to me that was overwhelming. "The body of Christ, broken for you." "The blood of Christ shed for you." I wept.

As I was leaving someone introduced me to Janna, the pastor's wife. By the way, she was the one with the radiant smile who welcomed me in the parking lot. Who failed to mention her role as the pastor's wife. If there was any question about the humility and sincerity of this group, it was gone at that moment. I had come home.

Dog

Our family's reputation is a bit sketchy when it comes to dogs. I grew up with Fluffy, a mut who was waiting anxiously for me when my mom brought me home from the hospital. She lived a good, full life...free to roam and happy to return. She died of old age when I was 9 years old. Then there was Sniffer. Some hunting breed. Hyper as heck and impossible to train. She got adopted out.

Ben also had two dogs growing up. The first, Rusty (part beagle, part terrier?), was a fun little dog who lived with them for about a year but never learned to look both ways before crossing the street. Much much later when Ben was in high school they got a shelty named Shelly (creative) and that lasted until Ben left for college. As soon as he was out of hearing range his mom found a new home for Shelly.

Ben LOVES dogs. I could go either way...although I didn't realize that until 3 failed attempts at dog ownership after we were married. Our first was a golden retriever, adopted after only about a year of marriage and left alone all day because we were both working full-time. Her name was "Roo" (like from Winnie the Pooh) and she was sweet but incredibly hyper. She piddled when the mailman dropped the mail in our box. She was never fully potty trained and after we had Emma it was too much for me. She went to a farm in the country where she could run and play (no, really...there was a farm where she could run and play). Next came "Bo"...an animal shelter rescue and I picked him out. I can't quite remember what went wrong with Bo but we never bonded. And he ended up with some friends of ours (he died shortly after, sorry about that). Then Ben got it into his head that we should get a cool breed, like a Rhodesian Ridgeback...African origin, bred to hunt lions, with a ridge up his back where the hair grows in the opposite direction. We got a deal from a breeder in Texas. Our Ridgeback was ridgeless. We named her "Honey" (which was a little confusing b/c that is also what Ben and I call each other). She was hyper. She ate sandwiches off the counter and hunted Anna Grace (who was 2 years old at the time). The collective eyes of our friends and family were rolling back in their heads. It took us less than a year to figure out that we were not cut out for this. Honey went to a fellow Ridgeback owner. They called her a rescue. That didn't make us feel very good.

We were total failures and we knew it. And just in case we might forget, there was always someone standing close by to remind us.

About 5 years went by and we moved to Asheville. I started talking about getting a dog. Ben couldn't quite believe it. He said that if we got a dog, it would have to be my doing because he didn't want to be held responsible when the dog started driving me mad. It is the hair that really makes me crazy. I HATE swiffering dog hair every single day. I begin resenting the hair-producer. Well, we had recently met a family who had a labradoodle. That's a lab/poodle mix. Strange but true. No shedding. Now, I'm not a big fan of the poodle but these dogs are cute! Seriously. So I found a breeder (http://labradoodlebreedersc.com/ ... totally cheesy sight but you get the idea) and we filled out an application and amazingly they approved us. Winston was born on November 17, 2005.

He is all black. I am in love with him. My friends cannot believe it. They keep asking how this could have happened. It's a dog after all. What's the deal? All I can say is that he is precious. I baby talk him. I let him sleep on the bed with us. I feed him pork loin. Caleb bought him a kiddie pool this summer. We put him in an up-scale doggie day care when we go away. And I call to check on him. Some people practice on a pet and then when they have children they know what they're doing. We did the opposite. Winston, for one, will grow up to be perfectly well-adjusted, able to give and receive love with his boundaries firmly in place.

He does totally annoying things...he eats Emma's flip flops and cannot chill out when we have guests. He doesn't always listen to the "come" command. He barks his head off at his reflection in the window. He pulls on the leash when we try to walk him. He likes not-yet-laundered underwear. He begs at the table. And will not shut up when we take him on car rides. He failed puppy manners class. (They gave him a diploma, but who were they kidding?) I actually cried.

But he waits expectantly for us to come home. He runs away but when he comes home he is a happy puppy who doesn't realize he's been naughty. He cocks his head when we say unfamiliar words in baby-talk. He is SO soft. And his hair turns to dreadlocks when he hasn't been groomed in awhile. He runs to the neighbors and steals their dog toys, bringing them back like a prize to be cherished...like the toy was meant for him in the first place. He exemplifies unconditional love. He always expects good things and never fears us. He is independent, not needy except when there's a storm. Then he follows me around or hangs out under Ben's desk. He is absolutely predictable, never in a bad mood and always ready to enjoy my company. Even when I'm unenjoyable.

When we were waiting for Winston to be born I would pray with the kids and ask God to choose the perfect dog for our family. Caleb thought this was ridiculous..."God doesn't care which dog we pick." I can understand his skepticism, but I think he's been converted.

50"

We have a HUGE television. It's a 50" projection tv. It's embarrassing. Our home really isn't big enough to support such a massive object of our affection. And it really is the center of our living space. Everything revolves around that area. We pass by it on our way to and from the stairs. We walk by it when we enter our home and when we leave our home. Sometimes I think Ben touches it affectionately when no one is looking.

This is a brand new thing...Up until a few months ago we had one 14" television, and only one. When we moved to Asheville and into a rental home we bought this little television because our other 14" tv was on the fritz. We moved into the house and it had one of those built-in tv holes above the fireplace. We could fit the tv, the cable box, my scrapbooks and decor that I didn't know what to do with up there. If we wanted to watch a show together as a family, we had to pull up chairs and get our binoculars out just so we could make out the expression on Ryan Seacrest's face. Let's put it this way, no way would we ever invite anyone over to watch the game.

The other thing you should know is that we are a computer family. We have 4 computers and parts to build at least one more. Plus we have two laptops. That's 6 computers. There's only 5 of us. Ben's work PC has a Mac monitor that is HUGE. It's the envy of our entire extended family. Ben has boxes and boxes and boxes of computer parts. He has a large rubbermaid storage box filled to the top with computer fans. Just fans. A whole box. The garage houses tons of computer stuff and it spills out into our everyday lives, everyday. We could open an Internet store and put our kids through college.

One of the PCs is hooked up to the BIG television. It also has Internet access. We can check our email on the 50" screen. We can download movies from Netflix right to the PC and then watch them on the 50" screen. We can listen to hours, days of music that is stored on that PC. The kids can do their homework on the 50" screen. This makes Ben very happy.

Now, before when we had our extremely modest tv I had a pride issue. People would walk in, immediately comment on our teeny tiny little screen and I would say something like, "Yes. The size of the screen reflects how much we care about tv." I think I was a little self-conscious and I was trying to compensate by making them feel bad about being so materialistic. (Sorry if I did that to you.) And it's weird how changing the size of the tv we own hasn't squelched my pride. I'm embarrassed (another form of pride) that our tv is monstrous and so I say things like, "Well, before we had a 14" tv and this is Ben's dream come true. He's been waiting for like 15 years to get a TV he can watch from the comfort of his very own couch!"

Why can't I just smile and ask if anyone wants to watch the game?

Blind

I'm getting in touch with my inner pharisee.

I've been ranting all week to anyone who will listen about how bad I hate it when people use morality as religion. I've been upset with the gossip that gets spread as if it's a prayer request or even a genuine concern. I've been angered when I've seen legalism win out over grace, causing people to feel "less than".

And then I went to church.

Dave is preaching on John 9, where the blind man gets healed when Jesus makes mud pies with dirt+spit and spreads it on the man's eyes. He talked about how the Pharisees got really p.o.'ed and started questioning the parents of this man and the man himself, just daring this little family to talk about Jesus as if he's Someone special. The guy's folks ditch him. They turn away in fear and say, "He's a grown man. Go ask him." The Pharisees use man-made Sabbath laws to make Jesus look bad. It's ridiculous. Well, now I'm even more fired up. Those stupid Pharisees. But the more Dave talks, the more I realize that my pent-up resentment towards modern-day legalism and morality-talk is big trouble. It's me looking at my fellow humans and saying, "I get it. I get grace and you don't. You're all a bunch of jerks." And guess who's acting superior now?

It's hard. How can my sin of feeling good about "getting it" be as bad as their sins of awful self-righteousness and legalistic judgement? Well, it just is, that's how. When I receive the gift of sight it's very easy to fall into the belief that I earned the gift or that God favors me because I'm cute. I start feeling sorry for all the church-going schmucks who think they get the big picture, but don't. And now I'm beginning to wonder if God regrets blessing me with any such knowledge or understanding. If I'm just going to use this gold to make someone else feel bad, then what's the point? If I'm just going to use it to make myself feel good, then what's the point?

Simple truth: My sin is just as much sin as the next guy's. Just when I think I can wrap my brain around that I start feeling good...because I can wrap my brain around that. And then I've got pride.

John 9:39-41 And Jesus said, "For judgment I came into this world, so that those who do not see may see, and that those who see may become blind." Those of the Pharisees who were with Him heard these things and said to Him, "We are not blind too, are we?" Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would have no sin; but since you say, 'We see,' your sin remains."

So is it the admission of sin that frees me from my blindness? Is it when I can finally say, "I'm so full of sh__", that Jesus heals me? I think that's what He's saying. So I will, day after day, claim that I'm more righteous than the legalists. Then God (in his graciousness, and because I asked for it) will point out that I am blind in a very bad, needy, un-cute way. And I will learn to love because He loves me. And I will pity my inner pharisee and I will love the ones who surround me. Not because it's the seeing thing to do, but because it's the blind thing to do.