Jennifer L. Wright's Blog, page 17

Blurry Contacts and Spit Balls

I have had bad eyes my entire life.

I’ve been in glasses since age 5, contacts since age 16, and a combination of both since my 30’s. But, when COVID hit, I–like many around me–struggled to get an appointment to see my eye doctor. My usual 12 month hiatus between visits stretched into 16, 18, 20…

By that time, I was running out of contact lenses and my two year-old pair of glasses were scratched and foggy. And, in typical “me” fashion, I began to worry seriously about my eye health; no matter what I was wearing–glasses, contacts, or nothing at all–I simply felt as if I couldn’t see properly.

Of course, when I finally was able to get in to see the doctor, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my eyes. My prescription had merely shifted, and I needed to be assessed for a new one. As the doctor flipped back and forth between frames–“Which one is clearer? Number 1 or Number 2? Number 3 or Number 4?”–the clarity in my vision was astounding. I had known that I hadn’t been able to see properly for awhile, but it took the right level of prescription for me to realize just how bad it had gotten.

There are several instances of Jesus healing the blind in the Bible, and I’ve always been overwhelmed with these miracles. As someone who has struggled with vision her entire life, the feeling of slipping on a new pair of glasses or contacts and being able to see is an indescribable feeling. How much more so for these people who hadn’t been able to see at all, sometimes from birth, to have their vision fully restored (by the King of Kings, nonetheless!), a feat otherwise unattainable in the first century before optometrists and eyewear.

There is one story of the blind being healed, however, that stands out apart from all the rest. It is found only in the Book of Mark, and it deals with an episode that occurred in Bethsaida.

“They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, ‘Do you see anything?’ He looked up and said, ‘I see people; they look like trees walking around.’ Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. Jesus sent him home saying, ‘Don’t go into the village.'” –Mark 8: 22-26

There are a couple interesting things about this narrative that make it so unique and unusual compared to other stories of healing. First, Jesus chose to use his spit to heal the man, when in other cases the restoration came through a touch or, even more powerful, a mere word. Secondly, the healing in progressive, rather than instant. At first glance, it seems as if Jesus was unable to heal the man on the first try, something that would contradict our notion of an all-powerful Savior.

So…what gives?

The first thing to notice is that “some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him.” The man did not come of his own volition; he was brought. Perhaps he was unable because of his physical state. Another distinct possibility, however, is because he lacked the faith to believe Jesus could heal him. By this point in His ministry, rumors were flying about Jesus, about the teachings He gave and the miracles He performed, and perhaps this man still didn’t believe either in the stories themselves…or that the powers Jesus possessed held anything for him.

We may balk at the idea, but how many times do you see people walk away from Jesus because they don’t believe the stories they read in the Bible are true? Dismissing the Gospel as fables and fairy tales is the modern-day equivalent of ignoring the rumors around this traveling rabbi. What’s more, how often do people–even Christians–turn away from Jesus because, even though they think His miracles might be valid, they hold no particular sway over us?

Because, after all, why would God care about me?

The reason I believe the man’s faith in Jesus may have been lacking is because I think it offers an explanation for the very calculated methodology Jesus chose to heal him. Remember, Jesus was extremely purposeful in His actions; nothing was by chance, nothing was by mistake.

We can infer from later verses that the man had not been blind from birth; when his sight was partially restored, he mentioned “people” and “trees,” which means he obviously knew what these things looked like and could recognize them–something that could only be accounted for if he’d been able to see them before. Therefore, it is entirely possible that his blindness was caused by disease, injury, or wound, making it even more feasible his condition was a painful one.

Many commentators believe Jesus chose to use spit as a way to soothe the man’s pain. Remember, Jesus didn’t need to use spit. We’ve seen Him perform this exact same miracle in other Gospels without the use of saliva. And yet, in this particular instance, He chose to do this instead. In a time before modern-day pain relievers, the warmth of His saliva would have lessened the intensity of the man’s suffering.

Jesus knew He was going to heal the man. And yet He still had compassion on the man’s pain and chose to offer a relief from that first.

Jesus cares about our pain. He cares about our suffering. And He knows that sometimes, the very gateway to an increase in our faith is through the abatement of that pain even before complete healing has taken place. Much like the supernatural peace or release from discomfort we feel during times in which we, by all intents and purposes, shouldn’t possess, perhaps the physical relief the man felt at the touch of Jesus was the first step toward true belief in His powers.

The account goes on to recount: “When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, ‘Do you see anything?’ He looked up and said, ‘I see people; they look like trees walking around.’“

With a cursory glance, it would appear Jesus had failed. The man’s sight was restored but only partially. Was God not strong enough to heal him?

Once again, we must remember that all of Jesus actions were intentional and had purpose. Jesus is all-powerful and never makes mistakes. As such, we must assume there was a need for Jesus to perform the miracle in this manner.

And that reason, of course, is to grow the man’s faith. While Jesus absolutely cares for our physical well-being, His priority is always first and foremost our spiritual health–our faith in Him. Our physical bodies are subject to decay and death, but our souls have the opportunity to live forever with the one by Whom they were created; all it takes is faith in the Son He sent. It makes sense, then, that our faith–and therefore our pathway to the One who is the Way–would be His ultimate goal.

There is no doubt in my mind that the man was ecstatic over his partial healing. Going from a place of total blindness to a state of being able to see anything–no matter how blurry–was surely a momentous occasion to be celebrated.

And yet Jesus was not content to leave him a partially healed state, both physically and spiritually. No, the God who is the “perfector of our faith” (Hebrews 12:4) is not satisfied with half-grown healing…or half-grown faith. What the man didn’t realize is that he was standing in the presence of the One “who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20), and He wasn’t finished yet.

“Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.“

From Complete restoration. Complete healing. Complete faith.

The God who “created [our] inmost being” (Psalm 139: 13) knows us intimately, and this includes the state of our faith and what needs to be done in order to grow it. He not only know where we are–in our mess, our brokenness, our sin–but He meets us there. We don’t have to fix everything first or climb some mountain before we start our faith journey. No, God Himself came down as man so He could take every dirty, messy step alongside us at the pace He knows is best. He doesn’t push us or force us into a sprint. Rather, He grows our faith gradually, in intentional and purposeful steps, tending our hurts and opening our eyes bit by bit. In doing so, He reveals more of Himself to us until we, like the blind man at Bethsaida, can see “everything clearly.”

A good optometrist would never leave a patient with scratchy lenses or an outdated prescription. How much more so will a good, loving, and perfect Father seek to open the eyes of our heart, never being content to settle with blurry, half-healed faith.

Because He is perfect. And “by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy” (Hebrews 10:14).

All it takes is faith.

The Best Worst Photos

Chances are, if you’ve read or seen any sort of history about World War II and, more specifically, the D-Day invasion, you’ve seen the work of Robert Capa, born this day in 1913. Although you may not know his name, his blurred, grainy photos, taken on Omaha beach, are iconic, part of a dwindling collection of stories and eye-witness accounts from that horrific but most important of days.

But did you know that photos almost didn’t survive? And it wasn’t because of some rogue wave or bit of Nazi espionage. No, Capa’s film made it safely back to England, and it was there that the stories the pictures told almost became a casualty to the story of the pictures themselves…

Robert Capa was born André Friedmann in Budapest, Hungary in 1913. In 1930, fleeing political repression in his home country, he arrived in Berlin, where he enrolled in the Deutsche Hochschule für Politik as a student of journalism and political science, served as a darkroom assistant at the Deutsche Photodienst Agency, and began working as a photojournalist under the alias Robert Capa. When the Nazis came to power in 1933, Capa left Germany for Paris where he continued his work, traveling to Spain to cover the Spanish Civil War and rising to fame with his most famous image, Death of a Loyalist Soldier, which caused Picture Post to coin him “the greatest war photographer in the world” in 1938. When World War II began, he moved to America and worked freelance for LIFE, Time, and other publications, working as a war correspondent for LIFE and Collier’s, traveling with the US Army.

When plans for the Allied invasion of Europe began, Capa was one of the select few chosen to go along. But, of perhaps the most important assignment of his career, Capa himself was nonchalant, writing in his memoir Slightly Out Of Focus: “Out of hundreds of war correspondents, only a few dozen were chosen to accompany the first wave of the invasion forces. Among them were four photographers, and I was one.”

He crossed the English Channel aboard the U.S.S. Chase. From there, he was allowed to choose which Company to travel with on shore; he chose Company E. By 4:00 AM on June 6, 1944, Capa and the rest of Company E–as well as thousands of others–were assembled on the deck of the Chase, waiting for barges to be lowered the official start of the assault to begin. He was equipped with a gas mask, an inflatable lifebelt, a shovel, and his camera equipment. “Waiting for the first ray of light,” he writes, “the two thousand men stood in perfect silence; whatever they were thinking, it was some kind of prayer.” Soon, the men began assembling in their barges and making their way to the French coast.

The shore was still miles away when the German soldiers began firing. The seas were rough, and many of the men had gotten sick; nevertheless, when faced with a choice between bullets and barf, Capa and the others in his boat huddled in the vomit-filled water at the bottom of the barge to avoid being shot.

As his boat reached land, Capa pulled his Contax camera from its waterproof oilskin and paused on the gangplank to take his first picture, even while machine guns rattled around him and the men of Company E roared forward. “The boatswain,” Capa remembered, “mistook my picture-taking attitude for explicable hesitation, and helped me make up my mind with a well-aimed kick in the rear.”

Reaching the nearest steel structure, he huddle behind it with a few other soldiers, snapping pictures in the gray, early morning light. Between bursts of gunfire, he managed to make his way from shelter to shelter, eventually making his way to the beach, where he was soon stuck with the other members of Company E between the sea and a mound of barbed wire, waves of German bullets still flying overhead. Capa continued to shoot:

“Shooting from the sardine’s angle, the foreground of my pictures was filled with wet boots and green faces. Above the boots and the faces, my picture frames were filled with shrapnel smoke; burnt tanks and sinking barges formed my background.”

The men remained pinned to the ground until mortar shell fell close by, wounding several. The priest and doctor who had accompanied the soldiers were the first to stand–of which, Capa was able to snap a picture–giving the other men courage to do the same.

“I didn’t dare take my eyes off the finder of my Contax and frantically shot frame after frame. Half a minute later, my camera jammed–my roll was finished. I reached in my bag for a few roll, and my wet, shaking hands ruined the roll before I could insert it in my camera.”

And that was when the reality of the situation truly hit Capa, and fear took hold. Unrelenting gun fire, constant mortar explosions, blinding smoke, and mounds of dead bodies, some of with whom he had played cards just hours before. It was too much.

Capa ran. Although telling himself he was just returning to the boat to dry his hands, he admits in his memoir that “I was running away,” and claims “I tried to turn but couldn’t face the beach.” On the barge, however, he found little respite; mortal shells had killed several on board as well as causing severe damage to the structure. It was in danger of sinking. Thankfully, another barge pulled alongside and rescued the remaining men. Capa put fresh film in his camera and took a shot of the smoke-covered beach as it faded into the distance. Aside from being able to snap a few pictures of medical personnel working giving dockside transfusions, Capa took no more shots for the rest of the journey back to the Chase. He was too busy lifting stretchers of wounded and helping find places for the dead, which he did until he collapsed from exhaustion.

“Then things got confused…” Capa writes. “I woke up in a bunk. My naked body was covered with a rough blanket. On my neck, a piece of paper read: ‘Exhaustion case. No dog tags.’ My camera bag was on the table, and I remembered who I was. In the second bunk was another naked young man, his eyes staring at the ceiling. The tag around his neck said only, ‘Exhaustion case.’ He said: ‘I am a coward.’ He was the only survivor from the ten amphibious tanks that had preceded the first waves of the infantry. All these tanks had sunk in the heavy seas. He said he should have stayed back on the beach. I told him that I should have stayed on the beach myself…During the night the man from the tank and I both beat our breasts, each insisting that the other was blameless, that the only coward was himself.”

When they arrived back in England, Capa learned that the only other photographer assigned to Omaha Beach had never even left the boat. Because he was the only one who’d actually been on the beach, he was treated as a hero and begged for interviews about his experience. “But I still remembered the night enough, and refused. I put my films in the press bag, changed my clothes, and returned to the beachhead a few hours later on the first available boat.”

But while Capa was back in France, trying to salvage his dignity, an excited darkroom assistant in London was wreaking havoc with his photos. While drying the negatives, he had turned on too much heat, causing the emulsions to melt. Of the one hundred and six pictures taken on the beach in Normandy–the only pictures taken during the entire D-Day invasion–only eight were salvaged. Capa maintained that the blurry quality was due to high heat exposure during the development process; the captions released with them, however, said it was because the photographer’s hands were shaking so badly.

Capa went on to capture more images of World War II, for which he earned the Medal of Freedom, as well as pictures of post-war Soviet Union, the 1948 Arab–Israeli War, and the First Indochina War. But his most famous pictures remain those technically flawed but historically monumental photographs taken on Omaha Beach during the D-Day invasion. He changed the face of photojournalism by risking his life to live out his mantra:

“If your photographs aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough.”

****If you’re interested in learning more about the fascinating life of Robert Capa as well as viewing many of his amazing photographs, I highly recommend his memoir, Slightly Out of Focus, published by The Modern Library and available anywhere books are sold.****

Harry Potter and Green Beans

I work really hard to ensure my kids eat healthy foods.

Okay, I try to ensure my kids eat healthy foods. Both of them have inherited their momma’s sweet tooth, but the rule is they cannot have dessert until everything on their plate is eaten. Even their vegetables. No, especially their vegetables.

The other night, my daughter asked me for a cookie. I glanced down, noticed some green on her plate, and responded with the usual “Not until you finish your vegetables.”

“I did,” she insisted.

“Then why do I still see them on your plate?”

“That’s just the skin. I ate the beans.”

It took a moment for my busy, over-tired brain to catch up. “You did what?”

I looked at my daughter’s plate–really looked–and noticed that, indeed: the green I was seeing on her plate was just the “skins” (or shell); she had opened her green beans, eaten the inside, and left the rest.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, amused and bewildered.

“I like the beans,” she emphasized. “But the skin is gross.” Then she trotted off happily to enjoy her hard-won cookie.

Now, I get it. A lot of kids are picky eaters, my children included. But I had never, in all my years of being around kids, seen a child pick the beans out of a green bean shell, eat them, and leave the skin. To most people, all parts of a green bean taste the same, the skin and beans being simply parts of a whole. But to my daughter’s selective taste buds, the beans were tasty and the outer shell was not.

It may sound crazy to our adult minds (and drive a momma like me insane when it comes to the battle of wills), but this little green bean episode actually highlights a very important spiritual discipline that has been on my mind more and more over the past few months: discernment.

The literal meaning of discernment, according to Webster’s dictionary, is “the ability to judge well.” As Christians, often times we take this a bit further and interpret it as “the ability to discern well those things that are bad for me.” And while this is definitely an important aspect of discernment, because of the world in which we live, it can’t be the only part.

Before His Ascension, Jesus called His disciples (and us) to “The Great Commission”: “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28: 19-20a)

We are specifically called to go out into the world and make disciples, to be in the world but not of it (see John 15:19 and John 17: 14-16). So how can we go out into the world…without going out into the world? There is a tendency as Christians to see the world as a bad place and retreat into our bubbles, surrounding ourselves only with “good” people, music, books, and movies. And I absolutely, 100% support faith-based media (I am a Christian author after all!) However, completely closing ourselves off from secular culture not only affects our ability to minister to those outside the “church world,” but also paints a negative picture of Christianity as a “religion of no.”

No, you can’t listen to that song. No, you can’t watch that show. No, you can’t read that book. No, no, no, no.

Who wants to take the time and energy to learn about a God who tells you nothing but no? That is not the God I know. And I certainly don’t want those who don’t know Him to see Him that way either!

While we are absolutely called to reject some aspects of culture, part of a maturing Christian faith is being able to identify both the good AND bad facets of the world around us. We need to learn to embrace the good while rejecting the bad. This is a more complete, and more practical, definition of discernment.

For example, my children are coming to an age where other kids around them are reading and watching Harry Potter. Now, whether you agree or disagree with the criticism and hoopla surrounding this particular series, you can’t deny that it’s a worldwide phenomenon, one which has permeated our culture so fully that even those who haven’t read the books or seen the movies can at least identify the main character when they see him. It would be very easy to take a cursory glance at the books and decide, “No, you aren’t allowed to read that.” But, by doing so, I would be missing an opportunity to develop the discipline of spiritual discernment in my children, helping them distinguish the bad things about Harry Potter (magic, witchcraft, etc) while embracing the good (loyalty, friendship, and the theme of sacrificial love). We can, in essence, take something secular and turn it back to Christ, which may encourage my kids to share this angle of the books and movies with friends who may otherwise never have been able to connect the dots. Rather than having their unbelieving friends see Harry Potter as one more thing my kids’ God won’t let them do, they are instead able to receive a message of Christ within this series they already enjoy.

In the world but not of it.

But please don’t discount the role of the Holy Spirit in all of this. While Harry Potter may not be a stumbling block to me or my children (we liken the magical aspects to Tolkien or C.S. Lewis), they may perhaps be stumbling blocks for you, facets to which your spirit feels particularly sensitive. Pray about any aspect of secular culture in which you are attempting to practice discernment, and abstain completely if the Holy Spirit convicts you to do so. Romans 14 is an excellent resource for when it comes to making decisions about partaking or restraining from taking part in certain activities.

But this practice of discernment isn’t limited to secular culture. We also need to practice it when it comes to so-called “Christian” media and messages as well. There are many false doctrines and misleading teachers out there parading their messages as Christian. That is why simply labeling things as “good” or “bad” is so dangerous. If we see someone who calls himself a Christian preaching a message or writing a book or singing a song, this black and white view of the world is tempted to slap an “its all good” sticker upon it and consume it without thought.

As much as we don’t want to admit it, even the wisest of teachers are capable of bad teaching. Our favorite author, most-trusted preacher, or preferred worship band–all of them are still only human. Fallen, sinful humans who sometimes make mistakes. There was only one perfect person who ever lived: Jesus. This is why reading Scripture is so important (even Paul encouraged this about his own teaching–see Acts 17:11) but also why discernment among Christians is vital. If we trust any message simply because it comes from a “good” source, we are ripe to be led astray. And lies are most easily believed when they are wrapped in half-truths.

We all need the wisdom to embrace the good and reject the bad, no matter what the origin.

Just like my daughter did with her green beans. We may not always agree on what’s “good” and “bad”–like how the parts of the green bean could possibly taste any different from one another–but through prayer and communion with the Holy Spirit, we can grow in our faith and learn the discipline of discernment. And with this, we can overcome our fear of the world enough to love its people and fulfill the commission we all have been given.

“Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing, and perfect will.” (Romans 12:2)

A Cow and A Lantern…or a Comet and some Craps

One hundred and fifty years ago today, on October 8, 1871, the Great Chicago Fire ignited. Burning over a period of two days, the blaze destroyed thousands of buildings over an area of three square miles; killed an estimated 300 people and left over 100,000 more homeless: and caused an estimated $200 million in damages, not to include the looting and general lawlessness that occurred in the immediate aftermath. Even now, all these years later, the exact cause of the inferno is unknown. But it hasn’t stopped a rotating number of ideas and culprits from taking the blame:  

The most famous theory, of course, is the kicking of the lantern by Mrs. O’Leary’s cow. The story says that Mrs. O’Leary was in the barn behind her southwest side cottage at 137 DeKoven Street milking her cow at 9 PM when something startled the animal; it responded by kicking over the lantern and sparking an inferno that spread rapidly. Although the tale was widely accepted, Mrs. O’Leary herself steadfastly denied it, claiming she never milked after dark and was instead merely a convenient scapegoat. It’s interesting to note that, although many maintain the fire started here, it did not destroy O’Leary’s cottage, mere yards from the accepted flashpoint.

Another related theory involved the same barn but a different culprit: the O’Leary’s neighbor, Daniel Sullivan, known around town as “Peg Leg” due to his missing limb. Rumor had it that Sullivan snuck into the barn to enjoy a smoke and a nightcap when a stray spark from his pipe ignited a mound of hay. The flames spread so quickly, he barely escaped with his life.

There is still a third theory connected to the O’Leary property, one that involves underage gamblers and a bit of boyhood mischief gone south. The will of one Louis Cohn, who died in 1942, contained a confession he’d been too ashamed to share beforehand: he maintained that on the night of the fire, he and Mrs. O’Leary’s son, along with a few other boys, had been shooting craps in the hayloft by lantern light that night, when one of the boys—not the cow—knocked the lantern over. As the fire spread, the boys fled–though not without first grabbing their money.

There was enough evidence to support these alternate explanations that Mrs. O’Leary and her cow were posthumously exonerated by Chicago’s Committee on Police and Fire in 1997, though neither Sullivan nor Cohn have been officially blamed in their stead.

There were, however, other conjectures about the cause of the blaze. Citing the bluish flames reported by several fireman, some believed that pieces of Biela’s Comet—a periodic comet that apparently disintegrated around the time of the fire—might have fallen to Earth and started the fire. They cited another destructive fire, started that same day, as evidence: the wildfire in Peshtigo, Wisconsin, which ultimately ended up claiming over 1,000 lives. Most discount this as a tragic coincidence, though, as the Peshtigo fire is believed to have been caused by careless railroad workers.

Perhaps the most unsettling rumor, though, was that the fire was intentionally set. According to the Chicago Tribune, businessman Joel Bigalow gave voice to these reports in a letter to his brothers: “…there are some that assert that it is a preconcerted plan by a lot of villains to meet here and burn the city–for plunder.” An even broader view was that the blaze was set, not by local ruffians, but by a group of international criminals, intent on causing chaos in the world’s large cities. Proponents of this idea point to a similar blaze that rocked Paris earlier that year after the end of the Franco-Prussian War.

And indeed, looting, riots, and general lawlessness ran rampant after the blaze, though whether this was the cause or effect of the disaster in unknown. Fueled by conspiracy theories and a general sense of anxiety and fear among citizens, Mayor Roswell Mason declared martial law in the city and authorized General Philip Sheridan–the General Sheridan of Civil War fame–to gather a group of military men and armed civilians to patrol the streets until order could be restored. This ended when prosecuting attorney (and prominent citizen) Thomas Grosvenor was accidentally shot by an untrained volunteer.

Whatever the cause, the devastation caused by the blaze was swift and extensive. The city’s rebuilding, surprisingly, was even faster. Much of Chicago’s physical infrastructure, including its transportation systems, remained intact, and reconstruction efforts began almost immediately. Planners were able to rebuild the city in a way that incorporated modern considerations, which spurred great economic development and population growth. Less than fifteen years later, the city was home to more than one million people (second only to New York City in terms of population) and hosted the World’s Fair, an economic and tourist attraction boasting an attendance of some 27.5 million.

Today, the Chicago Fire Department training academy is located on the site of the O’Leary property, a wink and a nod to the cow and the lantern that may (or may not) have started it all.

The Sinful Exhaustion of My Heart

My ten year-old fights sleep.

As an infant, he went down without so much as a peep. I rarely had to rock him, he never needed a pacifier, and, if he did cry, it was only because he needed a diaper change. Babysitters and friends would constantly gush, “You’re so lucky! He sleeps so well!”

Pat on the back, Momma. (Or, really, pat on the back, God, for giving this first-time mom such an easy baby).

But all that changed when he hit three years old. Suddenly, he started dreading nighttime. He would scream and cry when it was time for lights out (or even ‘lights on,’ as he started requiring so many nightlights, his room was brighter than the sun) and, without fail, nightly he would end up in our bed.

Part of the reason was he started having nightmares around that age. An active imagination is a blessing during the day, but not so much fun at night. Another reason is, and I will quote him here:

“I just don’t want to rest.”

You see, around three years old, his brain and his body were finally coming into sync. There was so much to do, so much to learn, so much to explore. In his mind, there simply wasn’t enough time in the day to waste on rest.

We have tried everything over these past seven years. We’ve tried coaxing. We’ve tried commanding. We’ve tried rewards and punishments. Nothing helped the nightly battle. However, finally he’s reached an age and a maturity level where reasoning is starting to work, though only in bits in pieces. He reads nearly every night before bed and, before I leave the room, I always say, “Listen to your body. If it starts telling you it’s tired, close the book and let yourself rest. Don’t fight it.”

Sound advice. But last night, those words hit me in a whole new way.

As I spoke them to my son and then trudged back down the stairs, I was overcome by weariness. I’d been up since 5 AM. I’d put in four miles on the treadmill, dropped the kids off at school, gone to the grocery store, done the laundry and scrubbed the toilets, attempted edits on two different manuscripts, driven back to school, assisted with homework, prepared dinner, done the dishes, packed the next day’s lunches, read two stories, rescued a extremely important stuffed dragon from the backseat of my car, read two different devotionals, prayed two sets of prayers, and still needed to take the dog out and clean the kitchen.

Pretty much the same exact thing I’d done the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that.

My body was screaming with exhaustion. I had a headache. My feet hurt. My eyes felt itchy and irritated. And yet I continued on. No time to sit and rest for a moment because, if I did, I probably would have fallen asleep. And I had too much to do to sleep.

I was telling my son to listen to his body, but I sure wasn’t listening to my own.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we cram each day so full of activities and responsibilities that we end each and every day more exhausted than when we started?

I can’t answer that question for you, but I can answer it for me. It’s because I’m trying to prove that I can do it all. I can be a full-time mom, a full-time writer, and full-time spouse without help. I live for the applause of others’–wow, I just don’t know how you do it all–while hiding my exhausted tears behind a plastered-on smile. And, if I’m being completely honest, it’s not just about other people. It’s about God. I want to work to be the perfect Christian, showing God just how much I can do for Him, trying to make Him proud.

“Did you see how I prayed with my kids today, God? How about when I served my family by picking up dirty socks off the floor again? And what about that blog post I wrote on Abraham? That’s gonna get me some brownie points for sure, right God? Right?”

And therein lies the truth about the true sinfulness of my soul. Because, folks, my mouth can preach the good news of “Christ alone” all day long…but my body is living for works-based salvation.

When we deny ourselves the gift of rest–for that’s what rest truly is, a gift from God created for us and modeled on the seventh day of creation by a God who never wearies but knew we needed an example to follow–we may think we are doing all of these things for our job, for our kids, for our spouses, for our church. We may even take it a step further and admit we’re doing these things for ourselves. But, if you look deep inside our hearts, you may find yourself more like me than you care to admit: you may find yourself working yourself to the bone in order to please God.

But here’s the thing–God is already pleased with us. Going all the way back to the book of Genesis, God made man and called His creation “very good” (Genesis 1:31) Even when we mucked it all up with sin, when we knew what was right and chose wrong, still God loved us. In fact, Romans 5:8 reminds us that “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” And His was a life He willingly gave! “No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again. This command I received from my Father.” (John 10:18)

And why would He do this? Because despite our sin, He loved us. We didn’t have to do anything or prove anything. Simply who we were in God–His children–was enough for Jesus to die on the cross for our salvation.

We couldn’t earn it. We don’t deserve it. And yet He gave it to us anyway. Ephesians 2: 8-9 says, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.”

A gift of God already received. So why do we keep working to try and attain it?

You see, when I work for God, not out of love or obedience but rather out of a sense of sycophantic servitude, I am effectively telling Him that what He accomplished on the cross wasn’t enough. That it wasn’t His work that made me worthy but my own. And that kind of work leaves me feeling exhausted, overwhelmed, and demoralized.

But when my work comes from a place of love, I find myself renewed. When I’m not striving to impress God, I’m free to admit when I need help and listen to my body when it tells me enough, without the guilt or pride urging me towards one more task, one more goal. I can take up the yoke of Jesus, whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light (Matthew 11:30) and allow Him to guide my day, moving forward when He moves forward, pausing when He pauses. Resting when He rests.

For me, exhaustion is a heart check. Am I tired because I’ve run a good race today, keeping in step with God’s pace for my life? Or, in my pride, have I run too far ahead, trying to impress God with just how much I can do on my own?

Let us listen to our bodies. Let us listen to our souls. Let us listen to our God…and find rest.

“Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
my hope comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;
he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, O people;
pour our your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge.”
–-Psalm 62: 5-8

The Green Light on the Battlefields of France

Love it or hate it, The Great Gatsby is considered by many, including yours truly, to be the greatest novel of all time. As widely misunderstood and panned as it is praised, both the novel and its author owe its fame to a couple of World Wars–even though, interestingly, neither directly touched the conflicts that defined them.

To explain, let me go back to the beginning…

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald was born in St. Paul Minnesota on September 24, 1896. Yes, you read that right. F. Scott Fitzgerald was named after Francis Scott Key, the lawyer and writer who penned the lyrics to “The Star Spangled Banner” and the future author’s second cousin three times removed (whatever that means). Despite an early obvious talent for writing, Fitzgerald was a terrible speller and may have suffered from dyslexia, which may partly explain his poor grades in both grade school and college. He also, however, had a laissez faire attitude about attendance, often skipping classes at Princeton University. His record was so poor, in fact, that he was in danger of flunking out before abandoning his studies to join the military when the United States entered World War I in 1917.

It was during his time in the army that Fitzgerald began to write seriously. Worried he might die in battle, he fretted that his dreams of achieving literary glory would go unrealized. This fear, however, was unfounded, as he never saw battle–the November 1918 armistice was signed before he was shipped overseas. Nevertheless, his military career helped produce his first commercially successful book, This Side of Paradise, and introduced him to Zelda Sayre, the woman who would later go on to become his wife and his muse, his passion and his pain.

His life with Zelda and rise to fame inspired his most famous work, The Great Gatsby, a literary classic and staple of high school English curriculums everywhere. It is now widely known as the quintessential Great American Novel and the subject of unabashed bias on my part, as I readily admit it to my favorite book of all time. Even those who haven’t read it can usually identify a character or two, as well as the iconic eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg gracing the cover.

But Fitzgerald owes nearly all of these accolades to the military as well, the Second World War defining his life and career as much as the first, even though the United States didn’t even enter the war until after his death.

When The Great Gatsby was released in 1925, it was an undeniable flop. Despite winning rave reviews from the likes of T.S. Eliot and Edith Wharton, the novel performed poorly compared to Fitzgerald’s first two novels, This Side of Paradise and The Beautiful and the Damned, selling just over 20,000 copies, far fewer than Fitzgerald’s anticipated 75,000. It was also panned by critics. The New York Evening World called the book “a valiant effort to be ironical,” but “his style is painfully forced.” The daytime version of the paper ran a headline that called the book “a dud.” The Chicago Tribune pronounced it “no more than a glorified anecdote, and not too probable at that…. Certainly not to be put on the same shelf with, say, This Side of Paradise.”

But the criticisms didn’t stop with the book. They also attacked Fitzgerald himself. Ralph Coghlan of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch called the book “a minor performance” and wrote “at the moment, its author seems a bit bored and tired and cynical.” The Dallas Morning News went one step further; Harvey Eagleton said the novel signaled the end of Fitzgerald’s success: “One finishes Great Gatsby with a feeling of regret, not for the fate of the people in the book, but for Mr. Fitzgerald.”

Ouch.

It’s no wonder that when Fitzgerald died in December of 1940, he was depressed, in debt, and struggling with alcoholism. In his estimation, he died without ever achieving the true literary success about which he’d dreamed.

But in the spring of 1942, an association of booksellers, publishers, librarians, authors, and others created the Council on Books in Wartime, a non-profit organization whose goal was to “channel the use of books as weapons in the war of ideas.” In short, it wanted to use books to influence the thinking of the American public, especially in regards to its involvement in the war, by buoying the notion of the American spirit and way of life. In addition to becoming an intermediary between book industry and the government by handling the distribution of reading lists, pamphlets, lectures, radio programs, and newsreels, the Council also created a “War Book Panel,” which chose titles officially recommended by the Council.

The Council’s most successful program, however, was the Armed Services Edition, a collection of small paperback books of fiction and nonfiction that were distributed in the American military in order to provide entertainment to soldiers serving overseas, while also educating them about political, historical, and military issues. Titles included classics, contemporary bestsellers, biographies, drama, poetry, and genre fiction (mysteries, sports, fantasy, action/adventure, westerns), and included works from authors such as William Faulkner, Jack London, Edgar Allan Poe, John Steinbeck, Bram Stoker, Mark Twain, H. G. Wells…

…and F. Scott Fitzgerald.

That’s right. Starting in 1943, over 155,000 copies of The Great Gatsby were distributed to U.S. soldiers overseas, and the book proved to be surprisingly popular among war-weary troops–and those same troops brought that love with them when they returned home. By the late 1940’s, a full-scale Fitzgerald revival had occurred. Posthumous editions of his novels, including Gatsby, were released to great public acclaim, and his works became the subject of both critical and scholarly study. By 1960–a full 35 years after its original publication–Gatsby was selling a steady 50,000 copies per year, outpacing even Fitzgerald’s wildest goal during its debut year.

And it all started with a couple thousand tired and bored soldiers picking up a free book, even one they may have possibly heard was terrible. As the iconic Nick Carraway states in chapter one: “Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.” Gatsby brought hope to troops, and they, in turn, brought posthumous hope back to his creator and to the millions of readers now enthralled with Fitzgerald’s writing.

Including me.

Peace in the Valley of Facebook

I have a love/hate relationship with social media.

As a military spouse, I live far from my family, and most of my friends are scattered across the country. I love how social media allows me to still connect with them, stay engaged in their lives, and–let’s be honest–share funny memes. As a writer, I love how social media allows me to interact with readers and fans, sharing bits of the writing process with them as well as offering glimpses into my life and getting to see snippets of theirs. In short, I love the connectivity social media offers, even when physical closeness is impossible.

On the other hand, I hate false narratives social media allows people to propagate, whether it be “fake news” or “the highlight reel” of others’ lives that can cause you to feel down about the reality of your own. I hate the false courage it gives some people to be bullies and trolls, allowing them to say horrible, nasty things they’d never have the audacity to say in real life. I hate the mob mentality of “cancel culture,” which grows rampart there. Most of all, I hate the battleground nature of the comment section, which turns every single post into a debate, breeds divisiveness, and encourages an “I’m right/you’re wrong” mentality over anything from pizza toppings to politics.

Because, let’s face: “agree to disagree” is not an acceptable way to win a Facebook debate. As Americans, we love our free speech, and we will preach our rights until we’re blue in the face. It seems we all have a right, not only to disagree with you, but also to berate and belittle you until you see how stupid you are and how smart I am.

Don’t get me wrong: free speech is a wonderful thing, and it’s a blessing to live in a country in which I don’t have to live in fear (unless it’s from the cancel culture mob) for opening my mouth. But can free speech go too far?

Just because you have a right to say something…should you?

As Christians, I think this is an especially important question to consider. We live in a fallen, broken world where sin and divisiveness are all around. We live, work, and play with non-believers in a society that is increasingly hostile to our beliefs. There are no shortages of incidences in which we may feel compelled to challenge culture or defend our religion. After all, it’s our right as Americans.

But should we?

David wrote in Psalm 34: 12-14: “Whoever of you loves life and desires to see many good days . . . turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.” Likewise, Paul writes in Romans 12:18: “If it is possible, as far as it depends on your, live at peace with everyone.”

We may have every right to comment on that anti-Christian Facebook post or leave a snarky reply to an offensive Tweet, but our Father commands us to seek peace–and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen an argument on social media lead to peace within either arguing party.

You see, when someone comes up against your beliefs on social media, you don’t need to comment or wage a debate to prove you’re right–because, though Jesus Christ, you’ve already been proven righteousness.

Through the cross, your identity and your salvation are already set. You are a child of God, and your name is written in the Book of Life. God knows it. You know it. An anti-Christian Facebook post is not going to change that. A snide Tweet cannot change the cross or negate God’s promise.

So why do we still fret about it?

A wonderful example of peace-seeking can be found in the Old Testament. In Genesis 26, we find Isaac adjusting to his role as patriarch, his father Abraham having recently passed away. At the beginning of the chapter, God reaffirms His promise to Isaac, saying “…I will be with you and will bless you. For to you and your descendants I will give all these lands and will confirm the oath I swore to your father Abraham” (vs.3).

Isaac and his family lived in peace with those already in the land for many years. He planted crops and prospered; prospered so much in fact, that Abimelech, king of the Philistines, asked him to move because he had become too wealthy and powerful.

Isaac could have said no. He could have raised a stink, throwing the promise of God in the king’s face. God had promised him this land, after all. Why should he move?

But, instead, “Isaac moved away from there and encamped in the Valley of Gerar and settled there” (vs. 17).

Not only that, he dug wells to provide water for his people and his animals, only to have the neighboring herdsmen argue over it, not once but twice. And yet again, rather than argue, Isaac gave up the wells, stopping only when he’d dug one no one disputed.

“…Now the Lord has given us room and we will flourish in the land” (vs. 22b).

Isaac had a right to all the land. He had been promised it by God. He could have very easily staked his claim and refused to move or to give up the precious fresh water he’d found. But he didn’t. He chose peace.

He willingly gave up some of his rights in order to maintain peace with his neighbors. He knew God’s promises. More importantly, he knew God and who he was IN God. He didn’t need to argue or fight with his neighbors about it. He was secure enough in his identity and his faith to choose God’s peace over his own rights.

And what happened? “Meanwhile, Abimelech has come to him from Gerar…Isaac asked them, ‘Why have you come to me, since you were hostile to me and sent me away?’ They answered, ‘We saw clearly that the Lord was with you; so we said, ‘There ought to be a sworn agreement between us”–between us and you. Let us make a treaty with you that you will do us no harm, just as we did not moles you but always treated you well and sent you away in peace. An now you are blessed by the Lord'” (vs. 26-29).

Through Isaac’s obedience and commitment to peace, non-believers were inspired to seek peace as well. Through Isaac’s meekness, they saw God.

Isaac could have stood up for himself. He could have demanded his rights, thinking he was defending God and His promises. But he chose peace. And he was blessed through it–and became a blessing to others. Most importantly, however, God was glorified.

Now, a caveat here:

I am not against theological debates. A calm, sensible discussion about God, especially your testimony and reasons for your faith, can be a powerful witness and begin opening doors to a reawakened spirit. However, these are very rarely the type of deep, meaningful conversations you are going to have in the comment section of a Facebook post. Your goal as a Christian is to be aware of opportunities in which to share your faith and the goodness of God–not argue with non-believers about why they are wrong about everything and are going to hell. The peace of God is what will win over non-believers, the gentle nudging of the Holy Spirit on a soul that’s ready to listen; not snarky, mocking comments or name-calling.

While I do believe we should be ready to defend our faith should the need arise, I do not believe every derogatory social media post requires us to take up our sword and shield. Our goal should be to “seek peace and pursue it,” as Isaac did when he ceded land and rights to his neighbors. For us, I believe this means that 99% of the time, we should just keep on scrolling.

We don’t need to be right on Facebook or Twitter because we are already righteous.

“My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is a mighty rock, my refuge” (Psalm 62:7).

Like A Chicken Without A Head?

On September 10, 1945, Lloyd Olsen went outside to kill a chicken for his wife, Clara, who was preparing the evening meal. This was a normal routine for the couple, who had a farm filled with chickens just outside Fruita, Colorado, and survived the slim times off the sustenance their animals provided.

Today, however, was going to be anything but routine.

Clara’s mother was visiting and Lloyd, knowing she favored the neck, positioned his axe above a five and a half month old Wyandotte chicken named Mike to leave a generous portion of the neck intact. Well-practiced in the art, he swung the axe, slicing the chicken’s head off in one clean swoop.

But, Mike, it seemed, wasn’t quite ready to die.

Although it’s not unusual for headless chickens to take a few staggering steps after decapitation, Mike was not content with a few strides. He staggered once, twice, three times…and then kept right on walking. And walking. And walking. Seemingly unaware of his missing appendage, the bird tottered around the barn yard, pecking at the ground and preening his feathers–all without a beak.

Amused, Lloyd placed the chicken in an old apple box on the family’s screened in front porch, sure the bird would be dead by morning.

It was not. In fact, when Lloyd checked on it later that evening, Mike was fast asleep, his head-that-wasn’t-a-head tucked under his wing.

Lloyd decided to take Mike with him when he went into town to sell his other, much dead-er chickens at market. Word of his headless bird spread quickly, and his own fascination was matched only by the public’s. Buoyed by the public interest, Lloyd took Mike to the University of Utah in Salt Lake City in an effort to determine just HOW the chicken was still alive. Scientists there determined the ax blade had just missed the jugular vein and a clot had prevented Mike from bleeding to death. In addition, a majority of Mike’s brain stem, which controls most of a chicken’s reflex actions including most of its basic life functions such as breathing and heart rate, had also remained intact.

So despite the fact that he was missing his head, Mike was, for all intents and purposes, a completely healthy chicken. He could still walk, balance on a perch, and even crow, though his “crowing” was more of a gurgle that came from deep within his throat.

His unique appearance did come with some special needs, however. Lloyd took to feeding Mike with an eyedropper, dropping liquid food and water directly into his esophagus. He also had to clear mucus from the bird’s throat with a syringe.

Less than two weeks after Mike’s botched execution, a sideshow promoter named Hope Wade approached Lloyd with a proposition. He wanted Mike to travel with his show. The 1940’s being tough economically for the Olsens and so many others, Lloyd agreed and soon, “Miracle Mike” began his tour of the United States.

In cities like New York , Atlantic City , Los Angeles , and San Diego, people paid 25 cents to see “The Headless Wonder Chicken.” As his popularity grew, so did the Olsens’ pockets. At his heyday, Mike’s owners were pocketing over $4500 a month (which is equivalent to over $50,000 today). The chicken was even featured in both “Time” and “Life” magazines.

But, in the spring of 1947–eighteen months after his attempted beheading–Mike was on tour in the southwestern United States when the Olsens decided to stop at a motel in Phoenix for the night. Exhausted, they fell into a deep sleep, only to be awoken hours later to the sound of Mike choking. They searched frantically for the syringe used to clear his throat, only to realize it had been left behind at the last show. Unable to find an alternative, Mike tragically passed away.

But, even then, Mike the Miracle Chicken refused to die.

To this day, the city of Fruita, Colorado celebrates their most famous bird with a “Mike the Headless Chicken” festival held the first weekend of June. Events include a 5k “Run Like A Headless Chicken” race, an egg toss, games such as “Pin the Head on the Chicken,” and various craft and food vendors. Year-round, there’s even a statue of Mike downtown.

So, if you’re ever in Colorado in early June, swing on by Fruita and bask in the legend of the town’s most famous headless bird.

But leave the chicken executions to the professionals.

Summer Hiatus!

#historyfriday and #wellnesswednesday are on summer hiatus until September, but stayed tuned for news and exciting updates as the release for my debut novel, “If It Rains,” approaches!

Enjoy your summer, friends, and happy reading!

Waiting for Wizards

“A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

This sentence, uttered by Gandalf the Grey in Peter Jackson’s film adaptation of The Fellowship of the Ring, comes as the famous wizard arrives in the Shire for Bilbo Baggins birthday party. Bilbo’s nephew Frodo has seemingly been waiting hours for his arrival and is none too pleased at the pace in which Gandalf has made his entrance. After he offers up this rebuttal, the two characters stare at each other for a few tense moments before breaking into smiles and embracing. Though not found in Tolkien’s original novel, the scene is sweet, sentimental, and conveys the genuine affection and admiration Frodo feels for this legendary and awe-inspiring character.

I love the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy. I love Gandalf. And, despite its “off-novel” addition, I love this scene.

I don’t, however, love it when people are late. I love it even less when I think God is late.

I’ve discussed in earlier blog posts about how it took almost 10 years between writing my first novel to ultimately getting published. I was frustrated and irritated. In my mind, God was late.

I have a friend who tried for years and years to become pregnant. Month after month, the stick wouldn’t turn blue, and her heartache grew. I was devastated and disappointed for her. In my mind, God was late.

For the past year, the pandemic has dragged on and more and more people have gotten sick, died, lost their businesses, or suffered other hardships. I am exhausted and discouraged. In my mind, God has been late there, too.

In our limited, human view of things, it’s so easy to get impatient with God when He doesn’t work on our time table. Things we think should happen simply…don’t. We know God is good. We know He is victorious. We know He will provide according to His promises. So we pray and we pray and we pray, but all we hear is silence; all we see is inactivity; all we feel is disheartened. There is a need–for us, for our family and friends, for the world–and yet God does nothing.

In our minds, He is late.

And we are not alone in this. The Israelites felt this way too.

The time between when the Old Testament ends and the New Testament begins is called the “Intertestamental Period.” It was a 400 year time span in which God seemed absent. Before the Bible, God spoke to his people through the prophets and yet, between Malachi and John the Baptist, no prophets spoke–God was silent. These earlier prophets had spoken of a Savior, of a coming salvation for God’s people, and yet no Messiah came–God was inactive.

Keep in mind, the people of Israel knew God’s words. They knew His promises, His prophecy, and His character. And yet, during this seemingly 400 year period of nothingness, many began to lose faith.

In their minds, God was late.

But, during this lapse in our Bibles, the world hadn’t stopped. At the end of the Old Testament, the Israelites had returned from Babylonian captivity. The temple had been rebuilt, the Law and the priesthood restored. In terms of empires, the Persians conquered the Babylonians, then the Greeks conquered the Persians, sweeping Israel into Hellenistic culture. Soon, many Jews were speaking Greek, practicing Greek customs, and worshipping Greek gods. At one point, a statue of the Greek god Zeus was even placed in the temple in the holy of holies.

The Israelites were tired of waiting. Despite their rich history with God, despite all He had done, all He had promised, in their minds, He wasn’t moving fast enough. To them, any god–even a false god–that was present and active, was better than one who took too long to accomplish what He’d said He was going to accomplish.

What the Jews failed to understand is the same thing we in our impatience also can’t seem to grasp: God’s timing is not our own. His heart values maturation over materialization.

During times in our lives when God seems silent or inactive, He’s working in ways we can’t see or understand in order to prepare us for what He has in store next. The experiences inside our waiting serve to make ready our hearts and our spirits for the time to come.

The 400 year “silence” between the Old and New Testaments was a time of tremendous change and upheaval for the Israelites. Cultures merged. Infrastructure improved and travel exploded. Jewish texts were translated into different languages. Religion reached a low point, not only for the Jews, but for the Greeks and Romans as well. Apathy, indifference, and disillusionment were the prevailing attitudes of the day. By the time the Romans took over in 63 BC, the outlook seemed grim and life became unbearable. For the Jews, their only hope of salvation was in God and His promised Messiah, if He ever came.

And it was then that He did.

“But when the time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive the full rights of sons.” (Galatians 4:4-5)

God, in His perfect wisdom, knew the exact right time for the Messiah’s arrival. He wasn’t early. He wasn’t late. In the words of Gandalf, “he arrive[d] precisely when he [meant] to.” Our Creator spent those 400 years of Jewish impatience priming the world for His Son, preparing His people to receive their King.

“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” (2 Peter 3:9)

When we view God’s timing in terms of human sensibilities, we forget that “[His] thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways [His] ways” (Isaiah 55:8) Though our prayers and petitions may not be answered on our schedule, we can rest assured knowing the timing of their resolution will always be perfect and will always be for the good of God’s kingdom. His desire to grow us in our faith is much larger than His wish to provide us with an immediate answer to our every longing.

Maturity over materialization.

Faith over frustration.

Trust over timelines.

“The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.” (Lamentations 3: 25-26)