I'm a fixer by nature. I like to take action. I see a problem, and I immediately start figuring out how to help fix the situation. Its instinctive for me. I'm often not conscious of the fact that I'm doing it, its just something I do.

I don't know if its my personality, the way I was raised, or what- but if there is something broken, I want to fix it. If there is something hurt, I need to help heal it. If there is a rift, I will figure out a way to fix it. Even if the problem doesn't affect my life directly.

Sometimes, people appreciate this aspect of me. And allow me to help, and fix, and offer what I can.
However sometimes, people don't want to be helped. People don't like the "fixer" side of me. People want me to leave it alone.

And I'm not good at that. I'm not good at looking at a broken situation and leaving it broken. I'm no good at facing a hurting heart and not reaching out to offer comfort. So I don't do well when I'm not given the choice to help. I don't know how to handle when my only option is to sit back and watch from afar. When the only help I can offer is prayer from a distance.

But maybe that's a lesson I need to learn. That I can't and won't be able to help/fix/heal everything and not everyone is going to be open to letting me help. And I have to find a way to be able to live at peace with that. Find peace that I can't help save everyone and every situation. Find peace in the fact that I'm not the savior of anything at all. The fixer of anything at all. The healer of anything at all.

I have to find a way to face at the end of the day, I'm not capable of anything. That I am utterly dependent upon Someone to help me.

And its only because of that, that I can offer help (humble as it is) to anyone else.

Good Friday?

I’ve always thought calling it “Good” Friday seemed a little weird. Actually, I’ve found it downright obnoxious. It feels like calling that particular day good is rubbing salt in an open wound.

What was good about that Friday? I’m guessing if we polled all the people there, they would agree that nothing seemed “good”. Maybe exciting, maybe thrilling, but certainly not good. Probably sad, quite possibly disturbing- but good? I sincerely doubt it. Even to the Romans, or the officials, or the crowd who cried out for the crucifixion, I doubt when they got home that night they sat down and thought to themselves: “Now that was a good day.”

Because even if they got what they wanted, I’m guessing there was a nagging sensation in their minds that what just happened was not quite right. That what took place was wrong. That even though they asked for it, when they got it, it didn’t make quite as much sense.

The day certainly wasn’t good for Jesus. Tortured and crucified.

The day couldn’t have been good for his friends- watching the man they spent their life serving slowly die a public humiliating death.

The day probably shattered Mary’s heart- watching her much loved, first-born cease to breathe.

And the people who just happened to be around? Who really had no strong opinion in the matter? I bet they could feel the evil in the air. The hopelessness of that day as it covered the ground like fog. I bet they would agree that something was terribly wrong about that day.

I can’t even imagine what God felt. Watching the Son He sent undergo the most painful physical and emotional suffering that anyone has ever felt before. Knowing that He could stop it in an instant, but refusing out of His love for the rest of His children to do so. To know you could save your child, but to choose not to? How can that be good? Necessary, gracious, loving maybe, but certainly not good.

We have a tendency to gloss over the misery of the day. To try and temper the absolute grief and awfulness of what transpired. I think we are largely uncomfortable sitting there and simply facing the tragic awful truth about the events the transpired that day. We don’t know how to sit and simply let the reality of those events penetrate our minds. We are afraid to call it like it is. We don’t want to admit that it actually was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. We like to skip over the events of Friday and focus on Sunday. We don’t even begin to deal with Saturday. Its just too hard to deal with the two most hopeless days in history.

I think it is necessary to learn how to do that though. I think it would be good for all of us to reach the place where we can face an awful situation and just admit that that is what it is. To find the place where we stop trying to gloss it over, we stop trying to make it better than it actually it, to find the place where we can just proclaim it for what it is: bad. To figure out what it means to simply be present with the pain and horror, instead of making feeble attempts to make it better.

Only after the events of Sunday, can the events of Friday even begin to be considered good. Only after the scene at the tomb, can the scene at the cross give whispers of hope instead of screams of despair. Only after about two thousand years, would we dare to call that day “Good Friday”.

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Childhood is a tricky thing. And innocence is damn near impossible.

If you are lucky, then the transition from childhood is a slow, gradual process. Its like growing taller- you don't really feel it but you see the results of it. Its never painless, but if you are lucky it can't really be described as painful. And if you are really lucky, then you go from childhood to adolescent/adult with your innocence still intact. Some people make it well into adult hood maintaining their untouched, unblemished out look on life. On the world. If you are lucky, you can reach middle age and never really have to look at the ugliness/pain/horror that exists around you. It is possible to live being basically untouched.

However, if you are in the unlucky group (the majority of people it seems these days), then there is a distinct moment when childhood ends. You can mark the end of your child days and innocence as exactly as you mark an appointment on the calendar. There is a specific event that shatters that fragile barrier that separates the innocent from the knowing. There is a catalyst that propels you from child to not so child in no time at all. Sometimes this moment occurs unexpectedly, surprinsing you and shocking you into maturity. And sometimes it creeps slowly toward you and you can mark its approach without a way to keep it at bay.

And as tragic as that sudden shift from childhood is, the greater tragedy is that we stand there watching it happen and do nothing. Our society at large remains terribly unprepared to deal with the population of children who are being handed adulthood much too soon. We see it happening and are scared by it, but few really step in to try and temper some of the affect. Most of us feel so incapable of dealing with our adulthood, we can't fathom trying to help someone else navigate theirs.

So what happens? We have mere children negotiating adult situations on their own. We have adolescents working through emotions and feelings that they haven't yet developed the capacity to understand much less live with. And we have them doing this mostly on their own.

No wonder they shut down. No wonder they paint their nails black and dye their hair odd colors. No wonder they pierce everything known to man or scar themselves with blades. No wonder we have eating disorders, drug addictions, teenage alcoholics, and high school mothers.

We watch the world/life/fate hand mere children some of life's toughest situations and we sit back and observe from a safe distance to see how they will handle it. How they will deal with the emotions. What the will do with the cards dealt to them.

Instead of stepping in and helping absorb all the emotions they feel, we hide from it so we can remained untouched. Rather than owning up to the ugly truth and having honest, authentic communication about what has happened with children, we avoid talking about it and act as if we don't acknowledge it then it hasn't really happened. Instead of modeling mature coping behaviors, we hide in our closets so they don't see us cry. We'd rather run from the questions, than to admit to them that sometimes we honestly don't know the answers.

No wonder they act out. No wonder they turn to drugs, T.V., food, sex, exercise, academics, sports...whatever. They have all this knowledge and emotion that they can't comprehend and are utterly unprepared to deal with, and they have to put it somehwere. Especially since we aren't giving them any better options.

Who among us would sit back and watch a three year old walk towards a blazing fire and do nothing? How many of us would walk past a flooding school and not stop to help get the kids out? Its unheard of to witness a wreck and not dial 911. When tradegy happens, we are trained to act. Its ingrained in us to protect those who can't protect themselves. To help those who are at the moment helpless. We have been told our entire lives how to handle those situations. But when situations occur that there is no handbook for, we shirk back and decide its better not to help. We refuse to take any steps unless we are given them in a clear cut step 1, 2, 3 process.

The things that throw children into the messy ocean of adulthood are just as real and dangerous as fires and flood. Yet we ignore them because we can't actually see the danger, or because we are afraid we won't know precisely what to do. So we leave them out there to learn by the sink or swim method, instead of showing them how to float, paddle, or hold their breath. And we wonder why so many of them seem to be drowning? Suffocating? Being pulled under currents or knocked around by waves?

What will it take for enough to be enough? How many bodies will be piled up before we decide to step in, intervene, absorb some of the shocking blow?

How much more will we allow children, who are sadly no longer children, endure before we step in and beside them to help them along- even when we ourselves aren't sure of the way?

Justice: the quality of being just or fair

Just/Fair: free from favoritism or self-interest or bias or deception

I'm obtaining an interesting perspective on justice these days. Not only because I'm spending the majority of my time working in a law office, but many parts of my life seem to be dealing with the issue of justice, right, and fairness. And yesterday in a totally unrelated conversation, somebody posed the question to me:

What would it take for justice to be done?

And this got me thinking.

If there is a situation in which the need for justice is present, then that means on some level wrong or harm has been done. Someone or something has been subject to injustice. Someone has been hurt, harmed, wronged, treated unfairly. There has been some injury.

So obviously when you are harmed or see harm being done, you seek out justice. You want the situation made right. You want consequences for the injustice so that things seem fair again.

Its widely accepted that when harm is done or a unfair action has taken, then enacting or issuing a consequence or responding action would bring justice. Make life fair again. Even the odds. Level the playing field. This is why people go to court. This is why we have a justice system. Because when harm is done, something must be done to make it right.

And I do think our justice system is important. I think that there should be consequences and punishments for actions take that harm. But can we really call this justice? Can we really call this fairness? Because are we really capable of taking damage done and making the situation fair again?

For instance, if a murder occurs and a life is lost- can charging the perpetrator and sending him to jail for the rest of his life really make this situation fair again? Yes this system punishes and forces them to face the consequences of their actions, but can a life spent in jail really make right a life lost? Is this really justice?

I don't think so. I think we can force people to face consequences and inflict proper punishment, but I don't think we are capable of serving justice. Because we can't make the situations right or fair. We can make a tragedy like a murder or assualt or abuse be like it never happened by any sort of sentence the courts can hand out.

In law suits, you will hear people on the injured side say that they can't wait for justice to be served so that they can find closure. However, at the end of the trial they often are puzzled by the lack of closure. The lack of relief. They find that seeing the person suffer the consequences and punishment doesn't make life seem fair or just again. That it doesn't make the situation right.

I think we have skewed expectations of justice. I think we look for fairness in the wrong places. I think we might expect too much. Why?

Because we're human. And as humans, we are flawed and full of biases and self-interest. Its impossible for us to come to a situation without bringing our own backgrounds, beliefs, thoughts, hurts, experiences, and interests to the table. We can't issue true justice- devoid of bias. Actual justice might be impossible to find as long as you are dealing with the human race.

Justice- true justice- comes from God and comes with God. Its been my experience that only God can make a situation right. Only God can redeem something entirely. Isn't that what justice is after all? Redemption? Making a situation or a person whole and new again? Setting something right? To erase a mistake? A transgression? An injury? And in my experience, only God has the power to make something be as if nothing again.

So maybe we need to alter our perspective on justice. Don't stop fighting for it or seeking it, but be careful from where you are seeking it from. Yes if a wrong is done- consequences and punishment are fair and often necessary. But don't expect justice to come from a court, a person, or a law suit.

Expect justice from God alone. And expect it to look alot like redemption.

She was a tricky one. I don't even remember her name, but man, she was a tricky one. My college physics professor. You had to watch her. She liked nothing better than to throw you curve balls. You think she was teaching you about velocity and gravity, but instead you'd find yourself learning something about life. You'd listen to her lectures on physics and science, and find yourself walking away feeling like you'd been to church where a 70 year old Korean scientist was the preacher. I'm telling you- she was clever. She wanted you to know your physics- that was important to her. She truly taught us about science, but also she taught us about life.

I'll never forget her favorite trick. I'll never forget it because I always fell for it.

My biggest problem in college physics was the math. So many complicated formulas and equations and I'm not really a math person. I would get so worked up and stressed about them, that I would make them much more complicated than they should be. I remember she kept telling me, "You got the right answer. But you could gotten there in 5 less steps."

And it never failed that somewhere on every exam, she would disguise a simple addition or subtraction problem that a first grader could solve as a complex physics question. She would disguise it as difficult and intimidating, when really all it required you to do is something you learned at the age of 5. And every time, we all fell for it. We made it so much more complicated than it should be. We tried working calculus problems and algebraic expressions, when all she needed us to do is add the numbers.

She would scold us, "Start with the basics. Go back to what you know you know. Try the simplest solution first. Start from your foundation."

I think that's pretty good life advice disguised as fairly good physics advice.

These days I find myself going back to my foundations. Going back and relearning what I learned so long ago. Re-familiarizing myself with the most elementary of lessons.

After 4 years of complex theological thinking and putting efforts and energy into teaching others about God, I find myself needing to relearn the most basic parts of my faith.

I find myself having to relearn the fact that faith is not circumstantial. Belief should exist and faith should prevail, despite what the landscape looks like.

Grace is not dependant upon what I do. Grace is dependant upon who God is. I don't receive grace because of anything I do, I receive grace because God is gracious.

And most of all, I find myself being retaught that I am loved- not for what I do, think, produce, look, act, feel. But I am loved simply for existing. I am loved on my good days, my bad days, my crazy days, and my level headed days. That love is not dependent on my mood, my character, my obedience, on anything. That I am simply loved for being me.

And I think these are lessons that I needed to learn. And probably could only learn by coming home again for awhile.

And I guess that even after all those physics exams, I still sometimes miss the simplest lessons. And that sometimes the answers are the most obvious and the easiest.

I am loved- despite everything. My faith will last- in the face of everything. And grace is there- no matter what and no matter who.

Sometimes I really think we are all just kindergartners in the school of life.

I am both a perfectionist and a people-pleaser. Because of these two aspects of my personality, on my best days I am cooperative and driven. On my best days I pursue excellence and make a great mediator. The good days find me knocking my to-do list out left and right and trying to make the lives I'm around a little bit easier. On my best days, these personality traits enhance who I am- making me a hard worker and a good person to be around. On my good days, I keep all the doubts and demons trapped within the truth I am assured of- that I am ok.

But on my worst days, these two aspects of my personality make my life a living hell. They make me insecure, self conscious of all the flaws I see, frustrated because I can't seem to please every. On the bad day, I drive myself mad trying to figure out how to make choices that will satisfy all the people I feel I have to be perfect for. On the really bad day, the perfectionist in me will constantly beat up the flawed human I really am. On my worst days, this makes me overly OCD and worrisome, plus just plain unhappy with myself. On bad days, all my doubts and demons fly freely around my head and I can make myself pretty sick.

Most days however, I go back and forth between the two spectrum's.

How come most of the stuff in life can be both good and bad? A joy and a curse? A gift and a nuisance? Must everything contain polar ends of the spectrum?

I guess that's why we all try to live on the plateaus. In the middle. Finding a happy medium. Because its easier. Because if you stay on the plateau, you may miss the mountain top, but at least you're assured you won't end up in a valley.

But is that really how we should live? Isn't the mountaintop worth the risk of the valley? If we don't experience the depth of the valley, how can we truly appreciate the levelness of the plateau or the height of the mountain top?

I'm not really sure what I'm striving for or saying here. I guess I just wanted to remind myself that the bad days are as essential as the good days. The valleys mean as much as the mountaintops. And if you spend too much time on the plateau, you mind just find yourself getting stuck there.

I had to take a break from blogging.

I had to take a break from life.

I just needed time to breathe.

Because there for a few days, even breathing hurt.

I feel like my life has been taken apart, and the pieces have been put back together all wrong.

I'm homesick for people and places that aren't home.

I am mourning the loss of a job and life I choose to leave.

And I'm missing people who I never even knew mattered.

And logically, I know that in a few days, weeks, months, year...whenever- I will look back on it and see the beauty and the wonder that the abstract art of my life is. But at the moment, its just weird and disjointed and unsettling and somewhat uncomfortable. Its something that I expected to look one way and looks an entirely different way. And even knowing that eventually, it will all work out and seem right- doesn't necessarily ease the pain of the present.

But abstract art is beautiful. And part of its beauty is the tension it creates. The problems it stirs up. The discomfort it offers.

So I'm trying to embrace it. I'm trying to find the beauty in it. I'm trying to have faith that with some time and perspective, I'll see why my life is supposed to look like it does right now and what beauty might be found in t .