God is deeply involved in our lives, whether we acknowledge it or not, weaving themes that speak to us. I have noticed in recent years that there are times that these themes are represented in a variety of forms, but if our eyes are open and if we are paying attention we might begin to recognize what He is trying to teach us. Certain times in my life I have been plagued by thoughts only to have them addressed in a variety of forms, speaking deeply to my heart. Or there are other times where you almost feel inspired by something and yet subdued by reticence and doubt and then you open up the Bible and everything seems to be pointing to that or conversations with friends or anywhere.
I have read two books back to back that are seemingly very different and yet they grapple with many of the same things. Both are firmly recommended. The first is called “Silence” by Shusako Endo. It takes place in Japan in the sixteenth century. Missionaries had been met with great initial “success” in that the church was growing and people were following Christ, including important leaders. In a drastic shift, heavy persecution is doled out upon believers that are spared upon apostatizing by trampling upon an image of Christ. The protagonist is a Portuguese priest that sets out for Japan after hearing that his revered mentor had in fact set his foot upon the visage of Christ. This book is a fascinating journey that follows the questions and doubts that fill the priest. He is steadfast in his dedication and yet asks God over and over again why He is silent in the face of their oppression. As he struggles he learns to look at Jesus in a new way and how to listen for his voice.
The second book is also a work of fiction called “The Shack” by William P. Young. It is cleverly crafted as if the author is simply relating someone else’s story. The main character, Mack, struggles with his daughter being abducted and murdered in an old shack. Years later he decides to return to the shack and is met there by God in the form of three people that he has intimate, heart-breaking conversations. Again, this story struggles through doubts and pain and wondering where God is when everything comes tumbling down. Fascinating conversations. This book is also well written in the way things are described and the richness of it all as it comes together it is actually hard to stop reading. You find yourself going through it too quickly and wanting to go back and cherish and mull over some of the things. It is written in a deeply personal manner that makes you wonder if it is in fact fiction.
I hope to be changed by what I have read and to be aware of what is being spoken to me. I also see the power of literature that carries messages, themes, questions across stories that touch our hearts more deeply as they are more vulnerable as we grow attached to characters and identify with their lives.
Check out www.theshackbook.com for more information. Let me know what your thoughts are on it as well. Always open to more learning.
Open eyes.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Last days
I have been thinking about death after catching moments where you see how abruptly life fades from something seemingly under control to out of hand, to weakness, to joy, to pain, to helplessness, to loss of hope.
It was an interesting contrast, and to even call it that might be somewhat of a misnomer, for in so many ways they paralleled each other. In my short trip to Florida I had the chance to volunteer at a place called “Give Kids the World” thanks to my cousin, who signed me up to help even before I got there because of the great experience he had in the previous summer. Give Kids the World is a place where families with terminally ill children get to go and kind of leave things behind for awhile, to have fun and forget what is to come. The place is a theme park all in its own. The cost for this little getaway is zero. At the center of the grounds is what they call the ice cream palace, a place where kids are allowed to get it even in the morning, even for breakfast. Big carousels and game rooms and a theater are just some of the things that I saw in my time there.
As we were on our way, I was somewhat somber, thinking of the implications and forgetting that this was a place of happiness to leave the sorrows on the backburner for awhile. The other thing that threw me off is that so many of the kids looked like they were fine, and yet somehow they were dying. They were all smiles and having a lot of fun, and I just could not help but feel pain for these people. Children are such joys and full of life, to be robbed of it is nefarious.
On the flipside, my cousin and I went to the nursing home in the retirement village my grandparents live in to drop off something for a friend of theirs. This man had gone into the ministry and then into teaching and administration. Yet here he was, a captive of Parkinson’s. Beyond the quivering hands, it had rendered his voice weak to a point that you could barely hear him and you find yourself just nodding and smiling foolishly, not wanting to make him have to repeat himself over and over again. This place was so depressing and weighed heavily on my spirit. I could not help but think about the accomplishments of these people, the lives that they have touched, all to be forgotten as they plod through the last days, weeks, months, years utterly helpless in spite of all they have done. Only to be pushed around in wheel chairs and have people not understand you. The people around are without the rich context of these people’s lives, left with the withering remaining moments. There is a certain sense of frustration that hangs in the air. Sometimes you can see it in their eyes, and yet others are gray and unfocused from resignation, surrender, to helplessness.
I wonder why it is that we have to exit life like this. Is it that we are to be humbled and realize our utter helplessness, to bring us to complete dependency, to physically embody human frailty before we enter glory? Is it a test of our hearts, to see what we do or how we live when robbed of strength and vitality? What about those that lose their minds, what is the purpose of this? I cannot see a purpose, only that we truly were not designed for this.
My grandparents are some of my biggest heroes because aged 79 and 82 they are still working so hard. They spend many hours of the day making calls to donors for Samaritan’s Purse, an NGO under Franklin Graham. On top of this they are very active in the community and still travel. They are so dedicated to service, to not simply sit back and rest. In fact, one of my last days of visiting them, my grandmother put in a 13 hour work day. They are the wisest people I know and have come through so much. They will be greatly rewarded when the King returns.
The commonality of all of this is simply last days and how they are lived out. I saw escapism, I saw joy, I saw determination, I saw resignation, I saw fear. What I could not see was myself in the same place, it is too hard to imagine how you get to that point. That may be the problem, that we fail to remind ourselves when we see these people that we will be there one day as well. The contrast between the happiness and sorrow was striking. One on hand, there is an underlying sadness beneath the surface of the fun for life cut short, while on the other hope for paradise underneath the layers of age and frailty.
How quickly we go from nursing to the nursing home. Forget not the brevity of life.
It was an interesting contrast, and to even call it that might be somewhat of a misnomer, for in so many ways they paralleled each other. In my short trip to Florida I had the chance to volunteer at a place called “Give Kids the World” thanks to my cousin, who signed me up to help even before I got there because of the great experience he had in the previous summer. Give Kids the World is a place where families with terminally ill children get to go and kind of leave things behind for awhile, to have fun and forget what is to come. The place is a theme park all in its own. The cost for this little getaway is zero. At the center of the grounds is what they call the ice cream palace, a place where kids are allowed to get it even in the morning, even for breakfast. Big carousels and game rooms and a theater are just some of the things that I saw in my time there.
As we were on our way, I was somewhat somber, thinking of the implications and forgetting that this was a place of happiness to leave the sorrows on the backburner for awhile. The other thing that threw me off is that so many of the kids looked like they were fine, and yet somehow they were dying. They were all smiles and having a lot of fun, and I just could not help but feel pain for these people. Children are such joys and full of life, to be robbed of it is nefarious.
On the flipside, my cousin and I went to the nursing home in the retirement village my grandparents live in to drop off something for a friend of theirs. This man had gone into the ministry and then into teaching and administration. Yet here he was, a captive of Parkinson’s. Beyond the quivering hands, it had rendered his voice weak to a point that you could barely hear him and you find yourself just nodding and smiling foolishly, not wanting to make him have to repeat himself over and over again. This place was so depressing and weighed heavily on my spirit. I could not help but think about the accomplishments of these people, the lives that they have touched, all to be forgotten as they plod through the last days, weeks, months, years utterly helpless in spite of all they have done. Only to be pushed around in wheel chairs and have people not understand you. The people around are without the rich context of these people’s lives, left with the withering remaining moments. There is a certain sense of frustration that hangs in the air. Sometimes you can see it in their eyes, and yet others are gray and unfocused from resignation, surrender, to helplessness.
I wonder why it is that we have to exit life like this. Is it that we are to be humbled and realize our utter helplessness, to bring us to complete dependency, to physically embody human frailty before we enter glory? Is it a test of our hearts, to see what we do or how we live when robbed of strength and vitality? What about those that lose their minds, what is the purpose of this? I cannot see a purpose, only that we truly were not designed for this.
My grandparents are some of my biggest heroes because aged 79 and 82 they are still working so hard. They spend many hours of the day making calls to donors for Samaritan’s Purse, an NGO under Franklin Graham. On top of this they are very active in the community and still travel. They are so dedicated to service, to not simply sit back and rest. In fact, one of my last days of visiting them, my grandmother put in a 13 hour work day. They are the wisest people I know and have come through so much. They will be greatly rewarded when the King returns.
The commonality of all of this is simply last days and how they are lived out. I saw escapism, I saw joy, I saw determination, I saw resignation, I saw fear. What I could not see was myself in the same place, it is too hard to imagine how you get to that point. That may be the problem, that we fail to remind ourselves when we see these people that we will be there one day as well. The contrast between the happiness and sorrow was striking. One on hand, there is an underlying sadness beneath the surface of the fun for life cut short, while on the other hope for paradise underneath the layers of age and frailty.
How quickly we go from nursing to the nursing home. Forget not the brevity of life.
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