Volume 9, July 22, 2005

Greetings, everyone.

Newsletters are sporadic for me. If I go on a walkabout for one, it isn’t there. If the walkabout comes to me, I better get my fanny to the office and write. You can file this one under “God, the Genuine Article.”

Lo, one day I was reading Revelations chapter 2. I had a fine time until I got to verse 5. It is not a particularly nice verse, not if you think you’ve got your pencils sharpened, ducks in a row, and a pocketful of cash. (I have none of these, but act like I do; sheer bluff works for me.) No, the preceding verses are more to my liking. Jesus piles on the due praise in verses 2 and 3, and I’m right there agreeing with him: yep, I’ve got perseverance. Yep, I’ve endured for the sake of his name (someone once sneered when they called me a Christian; compared to the rest of the world, that’s akin to martyrdom where I come from—I’m practically enrolled in the Hebrews 11 Hall of Fame). Nope, haven’t grown weary. Nope, haven’t tolerated false apostles. You’ve got me pegged, Jesus. Things are just dandy. High five.

Jesus is so darn nice and agreeable with verses 2 and 3. Why did he have to go and spoil it with verses 4 and 5? “But I have this against you, that you have left your first love. Remember therefore from where you have fallen, and repent and do the deeds you did at first; or else I am coming to you, and will remove your lampstand out of its place—unless you repent.”

It’s such a fundamental verse, isn’t it? And it certainly did not apply to me. ‘Repent’? Did that a long time ago. ‘Remember’? Remember what? ‘Do the deeds you did at first’? Well, Jesus—(my hands are on my hip)—when did I ever stop?

I’ve been in the Christianity Industry for 25 years. I was Big Church when Big Church was cool, and Little Church when it was cooler. I’ve reviled pink-haired smarms, I’ve decried greedy ‘prophets’, I have spoken in tongues, brothers and sisters, and by gum I’ve cast out a devil or two in my time. (I’d like to fancy I did.) And brethren, I…I have been to the Holy Land.

Those two verses categorically did not apply to me.

Until one day, a little girl showed up on my doorstep.

I knew this little neighborhood knockabout. I knew some of her tragic past. And one day she decided she wanted to hang out—with me. Well, I’m no counselor. Didn’t she know I was a busy mom? A busy writer? Didn’t she know I didn’t have time for this? Why me? I was never that nice to her. I hardly knew her.

What did we have in common? I can’t relate to girls. I have an all-male household, including my dog. I hate Barbies. I like war movies. War books. Football. An occasional puff on my husband’s cigar.

I knew her past and had nothing to offer her. What did I know about a child’s mental and spiritual state under abuse? I could make the situation much worse if I tried to mess with her “program”, with what trained professionals were trying to do. (At least I assumed trained professionals were on the case…) Maybe one word from me could screw everything up. Her progress chart could plummet, and they’d track it to the day she went to Miss Tracy’s house.

So I didn’t let her in.

A month later she came again, and again, I did not let her in. It was too weird, too darned inconvenient.

What if I messed up her plan for healing? What if some shrink called me and said, “Who do you think you are? You’ve set her back a whole year! This is what I’m trained to do! Butt out. Lie down before you hurt yourself—and her.”

I couldn’t agree more. And I didn’t want to let her in. She was flat-out annoying me. Every single time she came, it wasn’t convenient. I was scrubbing the kitchen floor or trying to meet a deadline or trying frantically to get something done before one of my own kids interrupted. Most of all, and this is the biggie—what could I say to her? I’m good for 2 minutes of small talk, then I tank. I can’t talk shop with a little girl. I know about Legos and Lord of the Rings and…bigger, boy-kid stuff.

Meanwhile, I’m reading Revelation 2 and not understanding why God has got in it His head that I need to remember, and repent, and do what I did at the beginning. I’m getting unhappy and snarky with God because those verses do not apply, all the while trying to figure out what this kid wants with me.

I think many mid-life crises are simply head-on collisions with Revelation 2: 5.

“Remember…”

Back in the day, in my early Christianity, I had zeal without knowledge, and though it landed me in many sticky places, it landed me.

“from where you have fallen…”

My zeal without knowledge somehow turned into knowledge without zeal. I stopped taking chances on people. I let them reap what they sowed.

“and repent…”

Repentance isn’t “I’m sorry.” It’s getting to the point where you could do it again, but don’t.

“and do the deeds you did at first.”

One day, I let the little girl in. I did it because I would have when I was 19.

I think that verse is more about faith than anything else. More about remembering what it’s like to do the scary trust-God thing. I had no idea what I would say the day I held the door wide and let her in. Later, I realized it didn’t matter much. We could talk about how grape popsicles turn your tongue purple, and I never had to say, “How does that make you feel?” God didn’t ask me to heal her; He asked for a little bit of time, and He asked when it was inconvenient, that’s all. Don’t you love His pop quizzes?

A poster in a house in Calcutta, one of the places Mother Teresa worked, says this: “It isn’t how much you do: it’s how much love you put in the doing.” Sometimes I don’t even think it’s what you do; it’s that you do. I don’t think it’s where you go; it’s that you go. A conversation on grape popsicles does not include the 4 spiritual laws. I reminded God about this, worried because I wanted to get it right, wanted to do what God wanted me to do, and God said, Don’t sweat it—she just needs to talk about grape popsicles.

“Do the deeds you did at first.” I used to invite people in all the time. And I prayed more. I read the Bible more. I gave more, especially when I didn’t have it. I tried to help people when I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, when it wasn’t necessarily asked for, and maybe that was better than if I didn’t help at all. I did these things out of an effusive sense of gratefulness in what I had found in Jesus; or rather, in what I had found Jesus to be. Not what I thought he was, but what I hoped he was all along.

A mid-life crisis should take you back to those wild and crazy days of your youth. It should make you remember a time when things were not so well-thought-out, not so comfortable. It should make you second-guess yourself, wonder what the heck you’re doing, wonder if you’re qualified.

I read a verse the other day in Psalms that made me remember things. “Walk about Zion, and go around her; count her towers; consider her ramparts; go through her palaces, that you may tell it to the next generation. For such is God, our God, for ever and ever. He will guide us until death.”

Kick the tires. Look under the hood. God is the genuine article. He’s dependable; He will guide you even if you think you might screw it up. Don’t go comfortably—go scared. Go worried. Go, thinking you might get it wrong. Go, wondering what the heck you’re doing. You can’t be guided unless you go. Someone staying put doesn’t need a guide.

Groot—out.

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