Better than nothing?

Getting into the van with my hands full of Chinese takeout, I was approached by a stranger. I was cautious because our young daughter had already climbed in with the drinks, anxious because I wasn't sure what to expect from this man, impatient because the food was getting cold while he spilled his story.

"What's your name?" Gary.
"Where are you staying?" In the car.
"When did you last eat?" This morning.
"Can you get home?" No.

He had driven more than seventy miles to the cities for three or four days of promised temporary employment which fell through two or three days ago. He ran out of gas in the parking lot of a business along the main drag - not a big problem when you expect to be paid at the end of the day and the employees are willing to push your car to the back of the lot. Big problem when the work dries up and there's no money in your pocket and you're sleeping in a parking lot. When we met, he had wandered more than a mile from his vehicle and had just decided he was going to have to ask someone for help. Maybe lots of someones if he was going to fill his gas tank with enough gas to get home.

As I listen, I confess, I'm weighing his story for truthfulness. Calculating the amount of cash and coin I have in my purse and car. Aware of how much time I have before the finale of Dancing with the Stars begins. Gauging both my safety and possible stupidity. Thinking about my child in the car - knowing she is listening hard and watching carefully to see how I respond.

To make a long story short, I decided to help. Glossing over the parts where I may have behaved unwisely, the now not-so-stranger was soon on his way home. I think. I hope. As we parted, I handed him my business card and was surprised when he burst into tears. Out poured other stories. About the church he grew up in, the church he and his wife and children had attended together, his divorce and the deep depression that made more permanent employment so challenging, falling away from the church. His desire to find God and the lack of hope. His sense of being profoundly found by God today.

I had to resist driving back to that parking lot later to see if his car was there. Something jaded and doubting in me wanted to know if I had been duped, not for the first time. "Did we do the right thing?" I asked my daughter as we finally drove home. "I don't know," she said, "but it was better than doing nothing. Wasn't it?"

Prayers and more when we can for all the Garys out there, whether we are bamboozled by them or not.

Under Construction

Nearly every street and highway I travel regularly is under construction. I had no idea so many concrete barriers and orange traffic cones even existed but they've suddenly sprouted everywhere. Not only is the preparation for a much-needed new bridge over the Mississippi River underway, the same highway is tricky to negotiate closer to my house - with one narrow lane in each direction and lots of delays. The major side streets between my home and church - just two miles away - are also under construction. Fooled by a street that is sometimes open and sometimes closed, I've accidentally taken the long way home, driving miles out of my way. Over near the kids' school in St. Paul along University Avenue, work has begun on the central corridor light rail project. ARGGH!

It can be frustrating to get around - some of these major projects will take years to complete! No more quick errands. No more dashing out the door at the last minute expecting to make it to school or work with time to spare. No quick trip home to retrieve my forgotten cell phone. We've been forced to take alternate routes, make last minute adjustments, allow extra time, call ahead to apologize for delays, even ask for directions when lost in unfamiliar territory. 

There have also been some real advantages to moving away from the well-worn familiar pathways of my routine. I've discovered new things about our community, stopped to visit church folks working in their yards, noted new businesses and shuttered windows, found areas of new growth or surprising decay I didn't realize were right there outside my narrow vision. 

This major bridge is being replaced.

As individuals and a faith community, we are always under construction. Being pushed from old routines into new patterns brings opportunities for growth and learning. As we mercifully move into summer after a long winter and dismal spring, I hope to discover some new things -- not just about how to get from home to work and back without delays, but about myself and the people around me. Summer has its own pace - maybe it is the season to make a new friend, find an inner athlete, discover a new bike trail, hang out at a new coffee shop, visit every Farmer's Market, build a muscle, go camping, give the kids some undivided attention, plant a new vegetable and actually eat it.

I'm under construction - what about you?

I do and I ask God to help and guide me.

Four of our young people affirmed their Christian faith today, leading us in worship, daring to share tiny pieces of who they are and what they believe with the rest of us.

For my own confirmation in eighth grade, I wore a powder blue dress made by my grandmother, pantyhose in the suntan shade and a pair of regrettable brown loafers. When my pastor revealed the verse he had chosen for me -- Blessed are the meek --  I wanted to kick him in the shin with my ugly brown shoes and run out of the church.

One of today's confirmands sported purple hair, a matching tie and new black converse as he quietly and confidently shared the careful words he had chosen about his mother's great faith and example. One deftly negotiated the chancel steps in five inch heels, bravely expressing both her faith and her doubts. Another shared a story about God's presence and protection while wearing the first dress she'd owned in years - stretched far beyond her comfort zone in every possible way today. One shared how powerfully God had worked through others to speak to him - surprising him with clarity and faith the rest of us sort of envied. Although the two young men would probably not appreciate this description, there was also some sweet, sweet singing that brought me to tears - favorite songs the kids shared with the congregation.

People lead busy lives and Christian education, including confirmation, often takes a back seat to other commitments - sports, jobs, piles of homework, weekends at the cabin, an opportunity to catch up on lost sleep.  Almost everyone I know has an opinion about how to properly educate our youth and hopefully keep them involved in the life of the church after a day like today. Some Wednesday nights I went home shaking my head after confirmation, wondering if we had accomplished anything together. Our conversations often veered from the Creed to broken relationships at school, from the Lord's Prayer to prayers for better grades, from God's love to budding romances, from the Ten Commandments to ten or more worries about the world we live in. Hopefully, despite our missteps and theirs, these young people know that they are loved and celebrated - by me, by the congregation, by their families and by our generous God who has blessed each unique one with gifts to share.

Do you believe? It's really very brave to stand and declare in front of everyone:  "I do and I ask God to help and guide me."  Please pray for the young people in your lives and celebrate the courageous things they do and share.

Peace like a river

Our first-ring suburb is strung along the mighty Mississippi River.  At one time, the busy stockyards along its banks were among the largest in the world - a source of both great pride and prosperity (and odor). Though the stockyards are now (mostly) closed, other
businesses and a busy

recreational trail have
cropped up in recent years.

Although I do have an unusual fondness for the smell of manure, I'm drawn to the river for its watery connection to people and memories in both directions. We once took the kids on a much-treasured vacation to Lake Itasca where the river begins its journey. Sarah took the word "headwaters" literally, dipping her head repeatedly into the cold, shallow water.

I grew up on a farm near the Mississippi farther south in eastern Iowa. A long, narrow toll bridge spanned the river between us and the closest Pizza Hut -- the open grate that kept the dead shadflies from piling up on the bridge offered a freaky view of the water far below. Even now, I believe I could fashion a sturdy (enough) raft out of driftwood and spend a lazy day drifting away from my life's demands downstream to Dubuque or Bellevue or Sabula where life flows at a slower pace. 

As a child I explored the river's banks -- collecting rocks while my brother took his turn at piano lessons from Mrs. Sorg whose house was on River Street in Sabula. Although I wasn't picky, my favorite stones were the layered agates - so beautiful under the water, so dull and boring when they dried out in my pocket. 

One year, Santa brought me the coveted rock polisher I needed to transform my pile of drab river stones into gleaming treasures. The rock polisher came with mysterious packets of grit, jewelry findings and extensive instructions. I imagined myself wearing a stunning polished stone pendant and matching ring, the envy of my friends. Excited and determined, I added my rocks, water and grit to the tumbler and plugged it in. Not realizing that the process of polishing rocks can take many weeks, I checked my stones approximately every 5 minutes and quickly became discouraged - abandoning the polisher to the basement where it was eventually thrown away without producing a single polished stone.

Sometimes I expect needed transformation in myself and others, in our faith community and in our world to happen quickly - and sometimes it does. But often it happens over time, like a river that carves out its winding path or like a stone that is carefully chosen and lovingly polished. When I become fearful, discouraged and impatient with the world and the people in it (myself included), I head to the river to pray. Remember how beautiful and vibrant those agates are when they are immersed in the water -- and how lifeless they become when stuffed into my pocket? Watching the river flow, I remember the promises shared in the waters of baptism - God's persistent, wildly generous, enduring, unbroken, foolish love for us and the responsibility God shares with us to create a world that is more generous, more loving, more just, more peaceful, more beautiful, less isolated and more connected.  Stay close to the water.

Where does God find you when you are discouraged, impatient, isolated?