Safe at Home

America has always been a country populated by refugees. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore." Throngs of people have landed at Ellis Island seeking safety from civil war, coming from famine and plague to a land where they could raise their children in health and prosperity. Some were the first in their families to ever stray outside their villages. Some had suffered great loss, and were the only remaining survivors. Some lost children en route. Some have become America's greatest leaders and innovators. Many refused to believe they were safe until they saw for themselves the outline of Lady Liberty rising in the distance.

Some friends and I recently studied Psalm 91. The first two verses alone make for an amazing "soundbite", perfect for refrigerator magnets and Bible covers all over the world. A place of hiding and refuge, kept by the Most High God Himself. Doesn't it just make you wanna curl up in peaceful rest? War raging about outside your door, and yet, you are safe and sound, protected from turmoil. Burglars and thugs sneaking around in the middle of the night, and your home, your family remain untouched, inside the fortress of Almighty God. A pandemic that does not touch anyone in your circle. But, what I've discovered is this psalm is not a promise for us to claim when trouble befalls us; it does not guarantee our safety, nor is it without exclusion.

Those who sought refuge here in America, had to be willing to forsake the things of their past, to come to this place and dwell.  Many may have hoped to return to their homeland once peace was restored or the plague eradicated, but most knew this land of refuge would become their home as long as they were in danger outside its borders. They would find jobs, secure housing, start families, join clubs and churches, make new memories, even adopt our language and customs. This place would be more than a temporary bomb shelter, a place to hide when trouble touched them; it would become a way of life for them, a home. And though they sought asylum in America, it did not stop the damage the conflict in their country had caused or the pain they'd experienced. Some still bore scars. Some left fresh graves of those they loved far behind. The safety they sought did not alter or erase the memories of the peril they'd known before they ever saw America's golden shore. It did nothing to change the past, only the future.

Once here, they struggled to adapt and toiled to survive. They were outsiders. Everything about life in their new land was foreign to them. Suspicious nationals did not exactly roll out the red carpet for them. Jobs were scarce. Even those who worked tirelessly to become citizens were betrayed by the accent and skin tone of their native shores. Their pledge of loyalty and their deep-seated desire to "be" American was tested time and time again. Integration and assimilation, while necessary, was not easy.

This is what dwelling "in the secret place of the Most High" is about. This is what it means to "abide" in His shadow. It is a permanent arrangement, a conscious choice in lifestyle, a daily state of being, a new way -- God's way -- of doing things. It is not some basement in which to simply weather a storm, crawling out toward daylight when roaring winds have passed. Likewise, it is not a deluded ambition for the perfect life. No one dreams it will erase trouble from their world or obliterate the brokenness that comes from a past lived outside the parameters and protection of Almighty God. And nothing about this psalm or its promises is unconditional. Like a refugee who cannot benefit from the safety and shelter of a new land unless they actually dwell there, neither can the persecuted soul of Psalm 91 know the benefits of the Father's rest unless he dwells under His shadow. The proviso is dwelling, abiding -- even when life appears to be quiet and under control.

As I read verses 14-15, I wondered just how many times I had caused things to be difficult simply because I had not been proactive in my prayers. How many struggles could have been avoided if I'd simply asked God for His help, even when I didn't think I needed it? If dwelling and resting are activities for everyday, all day, then prayer must be part of that. Do you go for days without speaking to those who share your home? Do relationships whither, or bloom when we go for long periods of silence? Prayer is the means by which we maintain contact and stoke the fires of relationship with the One in whom we dwell. If I begin my day absent of prayer, I have not oiled or activated my armor. I have taken for granted this will be a "typical day," completely manageable through my own efforts. But, apart from Christ we can do nothing. He sustains us. He is our hope and breath. Without daily, constant communion with Him, I am assuming the enemy will not attack. That is a lie, and Satan loves for us to believe it! Satan is a roaring, blood-thirsty lion, seeking whom he may devour; he can't help but attack! And we are foolish to believe "ordinary" is safe. Many times we are lulled into complacency just before tragedy strikes. Prayer is required to prevent or withstand tragedy as God intends. Throughout history, God has shown what He will do when those who dwell with Him, who rest in Him, who trust Him pray. How will we know if we never ask?

The safety and refuge of new shores are of no benefit to one who refuses to leave behind the uncertainty and peril of old lands. Seek the shadow of the Almighty and make your home with Him today.

How Can I Help You?

Do you like to help people? It gives you a pretty good feeling inside, doesn't it? You see the homeless person standing by the road. "Will work for food," her sign reads. I mean, obviously you're not going to bring her back to the house to do your laundry, right? So you slip her a few bits of change from your cup holder. The light turns green and --"Wait, did she just call me cheap?"  Yeah, giving can make you warm and fuzzy all over. Maybe it's your own family. You give him the money to buy a car. "I'll pay you back when I get on my feet," he says. Six months later he's smoking weed in your basement, using your pantry for his personal bodega and hasn't given you back a dime from the job he refuses to go to. LOVE helping others! Whoo Hoo!

There are right ways and wrong ways to help people. (Scott and I have pretty much mastered all the wrong ways, in case you'd care to contact us for our "NEVER Do This" list.) But I think the "right and wrong" of it all stemmed more from our motives than it did our technique. For instance, we helped because it made us feel good. A great byproduct, but it probably wasn't the best incentive. Sometimes we helped out of fear. Like, "If I don't let her use my car, she says she'll just steal one." That's really not fear; it's two opposing camps battling it out for control -- one to get what they want, and the other to get who they want. We've certainly helped out of obligation before. Those sad animal shelter ads or the ones where refugees are starving? Whoo, they can certainly tug at your heart strings! So what is a better motivation for helping people? Who and when do we help? And how do we help them?

As Christians, the first thing we are to do is seek the kingdom of God (Mt. 6:33). That should be our motivation for all we do -- to seek Him, to bring glory to Him, and to desire His kingdom come for everyone. God has a plan, and we are part of it; we are the vessels He uses, but it is His plan. That is the who and the when: help everyone all the time. But in the manner God directs. Imagine the Church as God's tool shed (my pastor's analogy). God goes to His tool shed and pulls out those He needs for this particular part of His project. Screwdrivers do not jump from their hooks, determined to prune the trees. Power tools do not spring to action on their own, but require Him to supply the power and allow Him to direct their use. Put that way, it's hard to be so overwhelmed with our position as individuals, and easy to understand the importance of bringing each situation, each need, each individual before the Lord in prayer (Phil. 4:6-7). If we're reaching into our pockets or throwing about a casual promise to pray for others without first consulting our Master, we are the hammer deciding for itself to remove an oil filter. At best, we are ineffective for the Kingdom; at worst, we may do more damage than good.

The Bible does give specifics on how to help: feed the hungry, clothe the poor, visit the sick and incarcerated (Mt. 25:31-46); visit orphans and widows (James 1:27), and love (Mark 12:30-31) -- God first, others next. But it is in complete surrender to what God has planned for you and for the person needing help. It is, first and foremost, the desire to please Him, to bring glory to Him, to obey Him. And none of this is without the preaching of the gospel (Mark 16:15), the justification for our actions. Practicing what we preach, as we preach it. If we do good without ever specifically, publicly pointing to Christ and His work in us, we are merely "good people" to the rest of the world. If we talk about Jesus, but never demonstrate to folks who He is, we are clanging cymbals, out of time with the opus God has written for our lives. Our words are not the substitute for our actions; nor are our actions substitutes for verbally sharing the gospel. The two accompany one another, just as faith without works is dead (James 2:14-22), or helping without the correct motivation can bite you in the tail (Murphy, 2020).

A Truly Fabulous Gift

I'm late to the party on this one, but there was a Peloton Christmas commercial that threatened infamy. A husband got his wife a Peleton bike for Christmas. She was thrilled. She began vlogging her fitness progress, the ad concluding with her affirmation, "A year ago, I didn't realize how much this would change me. Thank you." Regardless of the character's gratitude and sense of accomplishment, a portion of the general public was not sold, calling the add sexist. Apparently, people not very happy with themselves and, possibly, their marriages began to believe the (imaginary) husband's message to his (imaginary) beautiful Size 4 wife was that she was a bit too porky. Peloton's stock actually dropped more than ten percent, costing the company over $1 billion! Trust me when I say I have better things to do than fight over a commercial, but just this week, one conversation got me thinking about gifts, and another brought this ridiculous social media frenzy to my attention. 

A month ago, as that ad was running, many of us were thinking of the moment our loved one would unwrap the "perfect" gift. Just what they wanted, or needed, or both. You probably never considered your gift might be sending a message other than the one you intended. If you had, you might not have given it, right? Well, I'm gonna say this upfront: my gift this year was a cast iron Dutch oven. Romantic, huh? In previous years I have received a stand mixer, a collar for my dog, and a remote start for my truck. Talk about taking a veiled shot. Cookware. Get in the kitchen and fix me some vittles, Woman! Dog accessories. How is that a gift for me? Car parts. Get lost? The real message is, my husband loves me and knows me. The kitchen is my happy place, and cooking with antique cast iron cookware? Amazing!! I loved, loved, loved my dog, and my truck almost as much. My husband knows what I like, and he knows what I need. I may not get oohs and aahs over his "extravagance and thoughtfulness" from onlookers, but is that what getting a gift is all about? What others think? Those gifts were designed with me in mind. Truthfully, I can't say that upon opening those gifts on Christmas morning, I was thrilled beyond measure. (What about tickets to some remote island, or a new Tesla, or a personal chef? Wouldn't those things be fabulous?) I had to trust Scott's love for me and use those gifts regularly to know just how fabulous they were.   

Here's the part where the second conversation brought this all together. God gives gifts, too. And they're not all fabulous. Some of the gifts He's given me would not have been on my Christmas list ever!, but they were exactly what I needed. When I said "I loved my dog?" Losing our Moosey was one of the biggest heartbreaks that made way for one of the greatest joys. Had he remained, we never would have been able to fulfill what has been our calling for the last seventeen months. My old truck? As much as anyone could love a piece of American machinery, I did. And, while it had seating I could be using right now, my current vehicle has a story I have told others time and time again as I bragged about what God has done. And the young man I met the night the Pig Mobile said "goodbye," will always have someone praying for him. And our current vehicle does not have the repair costs my older vehicle had. What a gift, right?!

God has allowed and given trials and pain. In the book of Job, God not only allowed Satan to mess with His beloved Job, but in the exciting conclusion, it says Job's friends comforted him for all the trouble "the Lord had brought upon him." It seems God allowed it, God endorsed it, and God gave, at least, some of it. The message of the cross is even clearer: God sent His Son to die! If God would give His Son to a brutal death, what makes us think He would never give us gifts that cause us to grieve or struggle? God authored the murder of His Son for the greater good! A tough pill to swallow, when we think He could arrange and administer "bad gifts" in our lives that a greater purpose might be served. What kind of message does that send? Well, if our focus is on us, it's understandable why we'd get the wrong message. God hates me. God is cruel and judgmental. But when we receive God's gifts, bearing in mind two things -- that He loves us immeasurably and most assuredly, and He is working all things out for our good -- we can (maybe with time and some spiritual growth) see the goodness in whatever He gives. Like the remote start that kept my tuchus warm for many years after; or the stand mixer that has churned out loaf after loaf of deliciousness with children and grandchildren at my side, and brought enjoyment to our friends; or the dog collar that brought a smile to my face each time I stretched my fingers under it to stroke my boy's warm, soft fur; or the Peloton wife, who beams as she proclaims, "A year ago, I didn't realize how much this would change me. Thank you," -- we can always know that whatever comes to us has passed through the hands of One who loves us and calls us to be the best version of His people. That is a fabulous gift.

Just For U(P)S

I am struggling with my job these days. Not exactly the way I'd wanted to begin a new year, or a new week for that matter.

I have been with UPS over thirty years. I have, through my employer, been given opportunities I would never have had at most other companies. I walked into the Human Resources Department with little to offer but healthy muscles and a willingness to work hard. I walked out with a part-time union job with full benefits, and an employer I was proud to call my own. The first time I walked under the wing of a 747 or sat in what would typically be the luggage hold, or drove a monstrous deck loader, was at UPS. The first time I booted up a computer, or planned the load distribution for an MD-11, or orchestrated the movement of over fifty tractor trailer loads and drivers, delivering thousands of packages to homes, hospitals and hardware stores, was at UPS. It was exciting! I was part of a team "delivering service" to millions of people all over the world everyday. I was no surgeon or scientist, but everyone was impacted by the work I did. I was doing something for everyone. And the skills I gained were one of the benefits of working for a top-notch company that took pride in its equipment and the people it employed. The folks I met were the cream of the crop in the industry. The day I was approached to be part of it's management team, I was driven to a condo where spit-shined suits in Aviator glasses sat across from me telling me I was on the cutting edge of something wonderful. There I was, in my work boots, grease ground into the calf of my jeans, not knowing who any of these guys were -- yes, they were all men, the Boys Club -- but knowing they were definitely "big." But UPS had a "first-name" policy: the CEO to the local porter were known by their first names -- we were all partners, none more indispensable than the next, and certainly none disposable. It was a multi-million dollar, international company with a Mom and Pop mentality towards its image, and, Oh! How I loved it!

Things began to change. First, a name change: no more United Parcel Service. Then, new programs were rolled out -- cost-cutting measures packaged as "different options." A company savings plan was, allegedly, dissolved. Those who heeded the deadline and cashed in learned, later, the program existed for many years after, for some. Healthcare benefits that once gave employees carte blanche at medical facilities around the world were reduced to payroll deductions, co-pays and networks. Meetings were exchanged in favor of group chats and email. "Homey" little touches like Christmas turkeys, paper towels in the bathroom, and a heartfelt "Thank you" from your partners were done away with. Retirement celebrations and safety incentives were no longer funded. Trucks were no longer washed or maintained on schedule; light fixtures remained broken for-- well, ever, it seems; and "two means of egress in case of fire" was disregarded in order to keep vandalism under control. "More with less" has become the mantra, and there are no more partners, only plebs.

Perhaps I've watched too many movies where the CEO appears before employees, thanks them for their service, and then gives them the "tighten our belts" speech. I can respect that. I was once a partner, a partner who would do anything for Big Brown. I would have gone to my grave eating cat food to save the company I loved, if I thought it needed saving. But it doesn't -- not from financial ruin. Day after day I see former bonuses wasted on management decisions a fourth-grader would question. I see former raises wasted on people that aren't worth the paper their degrees are printed on.

But UPS does need saving from itself. Day after day I see former camaraderie vanquished by classlessness and the cutthroat self-promotion that always rears its head under corrupt absolute power. I see former attitudes of pulling others up with you and sharing the wealth being long forgotten, and survival of the sleaziest becoming the norm. I see what was once pride in a benevolent employer dissolving into grief, abandonment, and even disloyalty.

Maybe that's why I felt the need to write this: to help me process my grief; to, maybe, contribute something to save UPS from itself; or maybe, because I haven't completely lost hope.