Rehearse Your History with God

“Rehearse your history with God.”

This was my recommendation to my family last night as we sat around the dinner table. Our discussions lean toward the “heavy” these days. So much going on in the world. Chaos, confusion, concerns. You know. And out of that deep well of heaviness, I drew forth these words:

“In times like these, family, we need to rehearse our history with God. Trace his faithfulness. Trust in his goodness.”

Billy acknowledged my words with words that my father used to say to me … “You know, Elaine, that’ll preach.”

A smile passed between Billy and me, and then the internal gnawing began within my soul … the rehearsing of my history with God.

There’s a lot to recall, to reflect upon, to remember. Instead of focusing on recent memories, I dug further into my past – twenty-five years in retrospect.

As a single mother of two young boys, I made the decision to return home to Wilmore, KY. If “home is where the heart is,” then I definitely made the right choice to move back to the Bluegrass. Wilmore is the place where I first trusted God and began my long obedience with him. Most importantly, Wilmore was where my parents were living, and I needed the safety, acceptance, and love afforded me therein.

I also needed a job. After a disappointing interview with a Christian school down the road (one where the questions were centered more around the reasons for my divorce rather than my qualifications as an educator), I decided to apply for a job at Asbury Theological Seminary – the vocational home of both of my parents. Dr. Kenneth Kinghorn was looking for an administrative assistant; he’d known me as a child, and now he would better know me as an adult. The interview process went forward, and within a week, I had a job. And while I mostly didn’t have a clue what it meant to be an administrative assistant, I did know that, for the first time in a long while, I was safe. Dr. K had given me a chance to start over, to further “grow up” and mend my heart in an environment that had earlier shaped my beginning days of faith.

For three years, I sat under the great favor of Dr. Kinghorn. He protected me, challenged me, walked alongside me while never judging me. He stocked the supply closet with Diet Dr. Peppers, and he lovingly allowed me long lunches with the Beeson girls (you know who you are), as well as daily walks to my mother’s office on the other side of campus. When the bi-weekly chapel hour came, he put the closed sign on the office door and said, “Let’s go.” When my boys showed up at my office after getting off the bus from school, he ended my work day early. When asked for his counsel, he wisely engaged. He daily prayed over me and, on occasion, trusted me with campus “intel” reserved for the privileged few. He didn’t micro-manage my work nor meddle in my personal affairs. Instead, Dr. Kinghorn allowed me the privilege of personal healing according to God’s time table and his immeasurable grace.

Dr. Kinghorn wasn’t the only one. There were many moments throughout my three years at ATS filled with similar privilege. Dr. Ellsworth Kalas’s mentoring moments – his sermon and directives from Moses on Mt. Nebo. Dr. Steve Seamands’s Ash Wednesday service where a quote from Omar Cabrera took center stage in my heart. The day Reg Johnson handed me an envelope with cash inside – the exact amount I needed to cover an unexpected bill. Bill Goold’s after-chapel walk with me, asking me how my “desert season” was going. Maxie Dunnam – a president never too busy for a hug or a word of soul-stirring encouragement. Albin Whitworth’s exuberance, laughter, and invites for the boys to come and swim at his pool.

The list goes on – I suppose not enough room (or time) in this space to record my thoughts. But in my time of remembering today, in rehearsing my history with God from this limited segment of my past, a tender truth is emerging:

Not all men cast stones. Some men carry them instead.

Stones not to harm the guilty, but rather stones to heal the broken-hearted. To stack and to build a better future rather than to hurl and to re-injure a wounded past.

In that season so long ago, I couldn’t fully appreciate the stones that those giant men of faith were carrying on my behalf. But in rehearsing my history with God today, I am overwhelmed with their willingness to do so. Perhaps they did it, in part, out of their great love for my dad, Chuck Killian. No doubt, because of their great love for their heavenly Father. And just maybe, there was a little part of them that knew something of grace because of their own histories with God. Regardless of their reasons, twenty-five years later, I am stunned by their intentional generosity toward me.

Not all men cast stones. Some men carry them instead.

Indeed.

So today, friends, if you’re feeling heaviness of heart, if confusion is creeping in and around your spirit, I encourage you (even as I am encouraging myself) to rehearse your history with God. Look for the stone carriers from your past, your present. Remember them; be grateful; do likewise.

There’s a broken heart nearby who needs the benefit of your strength and the grace of your history with God.

Those who have ears to hear, let them hear. As always …

Peace for the journey,

(7.11.2020. All rights reserved.)

James: Recipe for a Living Faith by Leah Adams (book review)

Over a year ago, my friend, Leah Adams, shared with me her excitement at being asked to write another Bible study, this time on the book of James. For her to be entrusted with this privilege brought great joy to my heart. I was further delighted when, about a month ago, Leah sent me a preview copy of her study, James – Recipe for a Living Faith. After a cursory run-through of the study, I called Leah and, through tear-filled eyes, uttered the deep confession of my heart:

“I didn’t know how hungry I was until I read your study.”

And while this Bible study does include some of Leah’s signature recipes alongside in-depth scripture study, Leah knew I wasn’t talking about my stomach-hunger. Instead, I was referring to my soul-hunger, that all-too familiar, raw ache that comes to believers who understand that the Word of God is, in fact, the Bread of Life, the sustenance that fills and that cries out for a steady supply therein.

Sitting alongside Leah’s words about God’s Word from the book of James is a veritable buffet for the hungry soul. It fills our plates with generous portions of grace, practical instructions for living the Christian life, and godly wisdom, all ladled out to us from the hands and heart of one who knew Jesus best, his brother James.

James 1:1 says, “…To the twelve tribes scattered among the nations: Greetings.”

Greetings, scattered pilgrims.

I like that way of introduction. Perhaps, like no other season in our lives, this is a time when we need the greeting of an old friend. We need a letter from the past to reach out from the pages of holy history to feed us, to teach us, and to remind us that in our scattering, we are God’s holy remnant for such a time as this – the living, breathing witnesses of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Since the time of the writing of James almost 2000 years ago, Christians have been physically dispersed and scattered across the globe; in recent days, perhaps it’s more of a feeling of scatteredness in this time of worldly upheaval and unrest. But in that dispersion, whether physical or emotional, we must remember that we have not been displaced from the family of God. Instead, we have a seat at the table of grace, alongside Jesus and his brother James. The Word of God is the great equalizer in our fight to maintain the balance between our faith and our function.

James: Recipe for a Living Faith is a good place to start. Leah’s heart, via her pen, has been given to us in this season to both fill us fully and to equip us mightily. Like me, there are many souls out there who don’t even know they are hungry. Maybe you’re one of them. If so, then I say to you what James said to those so long ago…

Greetings, scattered pilgrims. Pull up a chair; come and dine. Jesus, James, Leah, and I will meet you at the table. As always…

Peace for the journey,

To pre-order a copy of James: Recipe for Living Faith at a great price or to read a free chapter, click here. I’ll be leading this Bible study in the fall at the Benson United Methodist Church. 

A guest post by Nick Woods

Nick and Jo Jo – 1998

My son surprised me with some thoughts he posted on social media last night … not because of what he wrote but, rather, because he chose to share them in such a public way. Nick plays his cards pretty close to the vest when it comes to social media, so I was caught off guard by his vulnerability. Graciously, he’s allowed me to post his thoughts here; they are worthy of so much more than this landing spot. When I asked him for a title, he wasn’t particular – said he wasn’t really thinking about one when he wrote words down. So I’ve been thinking…

about Nick’s first, best friend. His name is Joseph, but we called him Jo-Jo. I dug through some photo boxes to find this one. It was their last visit together before we moved from KY to NC, a dreary day for both of them. When I asked them to smile, this was the best they could offer. Hugs were given, tears were shed, and then, we all moved on. That was June 1998. 

Fast forward to last night – June 2020. The boy who wrestled with his emotions twenty-two years ago, is the same boy who penned these thoughts last night. And I can’t help but wonder if those three years with Jo-Jo didn’t serve as a solid foundation for the years that have followed … the heart that’s been shaped into the man who is now willing to “climb into” another man’s skin. I don’t think it’s the first time you’ve done it, Nick, … climbed into another man’s skin … but it probably will be the most important time you’ll ever do so. I love you, son. Thank you for this gift. 

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A guest post by Nick Woods (6.01.2020. Allrightsreserved.)

Sharing this on social media, an ouroboros of demagoguery, name-calling, and general lack of good-will, may not be a great idea; but I am not posting for likes, I am not posting as a performative exercise. I am not sharing any crazy radical ideas or thoughts that you haven’t already heard before. I am simply writing as it helps me to organize my thoughts and posting in the spirit of feedback and accountability from those who would read and engage this post in good faith.

OK, here goes…

One of my earliest and more formative experiences engaging with “race relations” on an intellectual level was in reading and occasionally re-visiting passages from To Kill A Mockingbird. If you are like me or grew up in the South, it is likely you also had this as required reading in school.

I have been thinking a lot about the book recently. It is certainly an old text and dated in many regards. And I know many folks roll their eyes when you bring up this book – and I will certainly acknowledge there are many problematic elements with the “who” and the “how” of the storytelling mechanics. But there are also broader themes of empathy, courage against difficult odds, and fighting for justice in impossible situations that ring eerily true in contemporary America. I am struck by a couple of the more famous lines that Atticus delivers to Scout and Jem: (1) “You never really understand a person…until you climb into his skin and walk around in it” and (2) “simply because we were licked a hundred years before we started is no reason for us not to try to win.”

I have tried to climb into others’ skin and walk around in it in recent weeks. We have seen the very public outpouring of anger, frustration, grieving, and confusion in the wake of the injustice with George Floyd and so many others. We have seen COVID-19 disproportionately impact the health of minority Americans and their families, to say nothing of the disproportionate economic destruction of their livelihoods.

Someone once half-joking said to me “I believe white privilege is real, and I’m sure glad I‘m benefiting from it.” A lot of truth in that statement. Whenever I see a police officer in a public space, I feel a sense of security, that I have someone who is watching my back and looking out for me. I will never know the feelings of fear, worry, and pain that same situation elicits from a person of color. I will never know what it’s like to be born into the wrong ZIP code. I will never know what it’s like to be denied access to educational attainment. I will never know what it’s like to search for a job as a person of color. I don’t know how we fix all that, but that has to be the goal. And even though it may feel like we “were licked a 100 years before we started,” we still have to keep trying to fix it. We can probably start by shutting up and listening to the folks who face these barriers and challenges each day.

But I also hope as we grapple with these important ideas and fight for a more just society that we can also find a lot of common ground – I happen to believe we as Americans have far more in common than things we disagree on.

I believe 99% of the protestors we have seen this week are peacefully, admirably exercising their First Amendment right to call attention to an important problem (the other 1% are simply losers who are breaking things and committing crimes on account of drunkenness, media attention, and a real distaste for capitalism). I believe 99% of our law enforcement officers are operating with the best intentions to protect and serve all people in their communities. Like George Floyd’s brother, I believe that riots, looting and property destruction has to stop if we ever want to build some consensus and not turn off folks who would be allies. I believe that if you want to solve these problems, you can’t count on the folks in White House, and you can’t count on the folks in your Statehouse. Vote however you’d like, but politicians aren’t fixing this mess – and I have a sneaking suspicion many of them don’t want to.

As a Christian, I also think we have to recognize that we are not fighting against each other on this. This isn’t a Left-Right issue. This isn’t an Us-Them issue. This is a fight against Satan and his kingdom of spiritual darkness. As many pastors are fond of saying- racism isn’t a skin issue, it’s a sin issue. The Bible talks about the story of a man named Saul, who had a great deal of experience with leveraging his position, status and legal authorities into a vast number of injustices before he encountered God and changed his life. He later wrote “do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” What a turnaround! What wisdom!

This week, I encourage each of us to climb in someone else’s skin for a bit and walk around some. How does that walk compare to our typical one? What burdens do we discover along the way? What can we do to help remove them? Maybe, just maybe, this will be the time we as a country can come together, listen to each other, ally with each other, and overcome evil with good.

I just want to close by saying how unsettling and heartbreaking this week has been, on so many levels. The amount of pain, anger, and broken-heartedness in the United States is incalculable. Seeing all the riots and broken windows and destroyed property was horrible – but those things can be replaced. Human life cannot. I want to extend my deepest condolences and prayers for the family and friends of George Floyd and to all who have experienced pain in the aftermath of his death. And I also want to think about and pray for the more than 100,000 who have passed away from COVID-19 – a disproportionate majority of whom are black and brown. These folks didn’t just lose one life, they lost two: the ones they were living and the ones they still had to come.

The poet Philip Larkin once wrote “the first day after a death, the new absence is always the same. We should be careful of each other, we should be kind, while there is still time.”

Indeed.

Time for Recess!

As a classroom teacher, I dealt with my fair share of playground squabbles. He said – she said … he did – she did … on and on around the mulberry bush we would go in order to get to the bottom of said squabble. Occasionally we did arrive at the bottom. But sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes the truth eluded us. In the end, it didn’t always matter whether the full truth evolved or remained hidden. What mattered the most was our ability to move beyond the moment … to take hold of the situation in our minds and in our hearts and to be able to find a way through (and often around) the impasse.

You see, we had to go back into that classroom and live out the remaining days of fourth grade … together. We didn’t have the luxury of prematurely exiting our four walls and advancing to the next grade. Instead, we had the power to do something greater.

We could exit the moment … give it a farewell and move on. We had to. Our well-being as a classroom depended on our ability to do so. For the most part, we were successful. Ten-year-olds have shorter memories than adults do. They more easily move on from moments, especially the ones that (in the end) carry little weight as it pertains to long-term success. The “he said-she said” and the “he did-she did” weren’t so significant when there was a game to get back to … a sidewalk to chalk … a monkey bar to cross … a slide to go down … a secret to share.

Life on the playground was meant for fun. And the kids knew it. I think that this was the key to their ability to “move on” from the tougher moments. They wanted to get back to the fun.

Life in real life isn’t much fun these days. Long gone are the once imagined and then realized playground romps. Instead, we’re mostly strapped to our seats in the classroom, living out this endless stretch of spring, anticipating the glorious arrival of summer break.

This virus has us stuck in the fourth grade, friends, at least for a moment or two longer. And the kids sitting next to us? Well, some of them we like and some of them we don’t. Call it the “luck of the draw” or “how the cookie crumbles.” Either way, we have what we have–you’re stuck with them and they’re stuck with you. And if we’re smart, we’ll start acting like fourth graders bound for the playground instead of insisting on acting like adults in the boardroom.

Let’s move on from our squabbling. Let’s find a way to shake hands without always having to be right. Let’s get back to the playground … back to the game, the chalking, the crossing, the sliding, and the sharing. Life is just more fun on the playground. This doesn’t mean there won’t be squabbles; instead, it simply and most beautifully means that we’re willing to settle our differences because on the other side of that settlement is something more precious to us …

Fun. Life together and life lived out in peace until the summer bell rings, and we’re all released from this academic obligation.

Together, we’re learning. Together, we’re stretching toward summer. Together, let’s have some fun.

I’ll meet you on the playground. As always…

Peace for the journey,

the restless ache of night…

“When you come to the door, kiss me on the cheek so that I know I am safe.”

I found the piece of paper inside my red diary. I keep treasured notes from days gone by tucked inside its pages. The diary was a Christmas gift to me in 1974. The note inside? Well, it was gift to me in 2012, written by my ten-year-old daughter who needed to know that she was safely tucked in and remembered by her momma. In writing the note, she put her faith into action, knowing that her slumber would more than likely precede the kiss. But the promise of a kiss, the certainty of a final “tucking in” was just enough to soothe the restless ache of night.

I imagine I did kiss her that night. I don’t remember the occasion leading up to the letter’s writing; but I remember seeing the note gently lying outside her bedroom door and thinking to myself,

“I’m going to need this someday. I’m going to tuck this one away.”

And here I am, eight years later, needing it now. Like my daughter, my heart cries out for safety–a tucking in beneath the covers and the covering of a gentle kiss–something just strong enough and tender enough to soothe the reckless ache of my night.

Perhaps that is what led me to make a spontaneous journey to see my folks today. They reside in a senior living community that could, at any moment, be put under quarantine because of the coronavirus. I’m glad I went. We shared a meal and some conversation, and before I left, I did something I’ve never done before. I took my daddy’s hands in mine, and I clipped his nails. Not because he couldn’t, but because I wanted to … wanted to tenderly touch the hands that first held mine. The hands that cradled me. The hands that raised me. The hands that blessed me. The hands that, time and again, tucked me in as a youth and reminded me that I was safe, that I was under the watchful gaze and the tender care of a daddy who loved me very much.

He still does. And while today’s “tucking in” didn’t include a bedtime ritual, the same sentiment was shared between us. Today, we tucked each other in tightly, reminding one another that we are both safe. That even in the restless ache of this night season, our faith is strong. Today, Daddy and I wrote our own note to our Father, a prayer that harkens back to a little girl’s wish from eight years ago:

When you come to the door tonight, Father, when you tiptoe down the hall and see us in our fitful slumbering, kiss us on the cheek so that we’ll know we are safe. Remember we are here. Remember we are hurting. Remember we sometimes get spooked by the shadows surrounding us. Hem us in tightly, behind and before, and place your blanket of peace over the restless ache of our night.

Maybe tonight you seek the same assurance that my daughter sought so long ago … the same I sought today. Perhaps the restless ache of night has gotten the best of you. You’re hurting; you’re worried; the shadows around and the shadows within are dimming faith’s light. It’s been a long time since you’ve experienced a tender tucking in and a sweet slumber therein. You need to know that you are safe; you need to know that your Daddy is watching over you. You need to know that your Father is within reach.

He is, friend. He’s just down the hall, and he’s on his way to your door right now. He has seen your note, and he has noted your need. The restless ache of your night is no match for the peaceful salve of his touch.

He is here, and you are safe. Rest confidently and faithfully in his arms tonight. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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