There is only one memory logged in my mind of Mr. Lute. From it I know two things about him: he is tall and his name makes me think of a flute.
This memory takes form on a playground. I am found on my favorite playground apparatus: the swings. My skinny 5-year old legs dangle in front of me. They have long since given up the arduous task of launching me into flight. The failure to launch has cast me into a spell of despair until my hero enters the scene. Mr. Lute, with his effortless stride, crosses the length of the playground, towers behind me and woosh... in one powerful movement he pushes the swing, runs under me, and I am airborne. It is the highest altitude that I have experienced thus far in my life - made possible by a maneuver which I affectionately term "the underdoggy".
Let me make a couple things clear. I was 5 and I was skinny. The lift that I experienced would have been impossible without the effort of this very tall man.
And I think that this is why God is a fan of using underdogs...the underdog would be ridiculous to claim any credit. Think of how absurd it would be if, after Mr. Lute pushed me, I started pumping my little legs and shouting at the top of my lungs "look what I did...look how high I pumped myself!" Ridiculous, right?
How beautiful is our God: breathing life into death - bringing hope into despair - trading beauty for my ugliness. I know that he is a fan of the underdog, because he's a fan of me.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I'm Moody...the Ring Told Me So
When I took the DISC personality test in College, it told me that my predominant characteristic was "Steady". I think it lied to me.
I was eating lunch with some 4th and 5th grade boys the other day. One of the boys had recently acquired a mood ring which became the object of focus for the duration of lunch. At one point I looked over to witness one boy's experience with the ring. He proceeded to make a series of facial expressions while pausing to see if the color of the ring would change. It didn't. So one of the other boys told him what was wrong.
"No, you have to really be mad or really be sad for it to work."
Without hesitation, the boy with the ring retorted, "Okay, then make me mad."
I laughed at his thought process but it got me thinking about emotions in my own life. They seem to change from one to the next so quickly and easily. What does it mean to have a steadfast heart? A love that is unfading? Only by the grace of a steadfast God can I operate in truth.
I was eating lunch with some 4th and 5th grade boys the other day. One of the boys had recently acquired a mood ring which became the object of focus for the duration of lunch. At one point I looked over to witness one boy's experience with the ring. He proceeded to make a series of facial expressions while pausing to see if the color of the ring would change. It didn't. So one of the other boys told him what was wrong.
"No, you have to really be mad or really be sad for it to work."
Without hesitation, the boy with the ring retorted, "Okay, then make me mad."
I laughed at his thought process but it got me thinking about emotions in my own life. They seem to change from one to the next so quickly and easily. What does it mean to have a steadfast heart? A love that is unfading? Only by the grace of a steadfast God can I operate in truth.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
A Rip in the Membrane
There is a thin membrane that holds intact the naivety of childhood. As adults, we wield a device that punctures this membrane: knowledge. And though the ripping of the membrane is a necessary part of growing up, it does seem rather unkind.
For instance, this morning I was reading the story of Jacob stealing Esau's blessing with one of my students. I've been using a children's illustrated Bible so that she can read the stories herself. One of the illustrations for this story was of Isaac as an old man, with a long gray beard. After staring at the picture, she turned to me.
"That's Isaac?" she asked, completely puzzled.
"Yes, that's Isaac." I replied, not realizing why it took her off guard.
She then flipped back a couple of pages and pointed to Isaac as a baby.
Her look was one of complete bafflement as she continued, "The Isaac with the beard is the same Isaac as this baby?"
"Yes, the Isaac that was the promised baby to Abraham and Sarah grew up and got married to Rebekah and had twins of his own. In this picture he is much older and about to die."
"But we won't get like him?" She asked with eyes that searched for my reassurance.
I went on to explain to her that just as she had grown since she was a baby, she would continue to grow as the years kept coming. She just looked at me amazed. The thought of growing old had never crossed her mind until that moment. I turned my head as I heard a faint tearing sound echoeing through the room.
For instance, this morning I was reading the story of Jacob stealing Esau's blessing with one of my students. I've been using a children's illustrated Bible so that she can read the stories herself. One of the illustrations for this story was of Isaac as an old man, with a long gray beard. After staring at the picture, she turned to me.
"That's Isaac?" she asked, completely puzzled.
"Yes, that's Isaac." I replied, not realizing why it took her off guard.
She then flipped back a couple of pages and pointed to Isaac as a baby.
Her look was one of complete bafflement as she continued, "The Isaac with the beard is the same Isaac as this baby?"
"Yes, the Isaac that was the promised baby to Abraham and Sarah grew up and got married to Rebekah and had twins of his own. In this picture he is much older and about to die."
"But we won't get like him?" She asked with eyes that searched for my reassurance.
I went on to explain to her that just as she had grown since she was a baby, she would continue to grow as the years kept coming. She just looked at me amazed. The thought of growing old had never crossed her mind until that moment. I turned my head as I heard a faint tearing sound echoeing through the room.
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