You Can't Drink Living Water Out of the Old Bucket

The only way we know how to cover up our shame is to sew a see-through garment of fig-leaf lies.  

We are quick to shake our heads and wag our fingers at cowardly actions of others when they are caught – adulterers and thieves, politicians and murderers, especially when it becomes public domain, their dirty laundry aired on Twitter or national TV.

But Jesus is not about public humiliation…. airing our dirty laundry. He brings up the husband topic only because He knows that’s this woman’s particular mode of thirst-quenching. And, more importantly, it’s also the unquenchable source of her shame and need to hide.

We all have our own.  We all are deeply broken people digging for wells to satisfy our thirst… or deeply buried in denial.

He came to call us out of denial and hiding holes of shame into His light… but we must first see for ourselves… recognize that one can’t drink the living water while shackled to the old bucket. One can’t see the Light if his head is deeply buried in denial.

So, instead of condemning the woman for being not only an adulteress but also a big fat liar He actually agrees with her?!!! This is what He says to her in effect:

You are right, darling. You did have five guys who shacked up with you… who used to be your husbands… but if they really had been the husbands they were meant to be, you would not call them ‘used-to-be’s now… And the guy who is sleeping between your pure 1500 TC Egyptian cotton sheets right now…that guy? Nah, he isn’t a real husband either… So, you did speak the truth there, honey. You don’t have a husband. 

The Big Fat Virgin-Snow White Lie

The request,

Go call your husband and come back here,

must have felt to the woman like a big ice-cold bucket of water over her head. 

She’d rather forget. 

She’d rather avoid the topic.

She’d rather stuff her demons down and slam the lid over them. Cover up how filthy, and used, and dirty she felt… how scared and lonely and lost she woke up in the morning and fell asleep at night…some nights hoping she won’t wake up to see the light of the next day…

How could she even begin to explain to the Stranger the mess she is in… even if she wanted to… even if He wanted to hear…?

So, she looks Him in the eye, then looks away into the swirling desert sand, and whispers softly into the wind the biggest, the fattest, virgin-snow-white lie:

I don’t have a husband. 

The woman of course knows that it is impossible to lie to God. Humans may be fooled by appearances. In fact, we humans are fooled by appearances all the time. Ironically, attempting to fool the Man, it is the woman who's been fooled this time... taken in by the appearance of the skin and flesh, bones and muscles, the Galileean accent... She was fooled by the appearance and missed the God standing right next to her... skin-and-bones, cloak and sandals... T-shirt and jeans... 

Skin and bones, jeans and sneakers notwithstanding, God not only sees through our big fat, or what we call 'little white' lies, but He sees beyond them.

He sees our fear, and our brokenness, and desperate efforts to quench the soul-thirst… to satisfy the craving of the heart which morphs into the craving for food, or sex, or power, control, acceptance, diversion, …Until it takes a life of its own, violent and uncontrollable, devouring us… from the inside out.

He knows that the craving is too strong for us, turning us into desperate people. And desperate people tend to do desperate things.

Not So Fast

The woman is ready to close the deal. She is tired of trudging the long dusty road to the well and back, day after day after day.  If there is a way to quench her thirst without ever seeing the well and the bucket again, she is all for it.

One would think that Jesus would jump at this perfect opportunity.  That He would be just as ready (or more!) to close the deal, since He knows the vast implications on the woman’s eternal destiny.

The woman recognizes her need and is ready to receive His free gift. What more could one ask for?

It turns out the way of eternal life is full of sharp curves and unexpected twists.

Instead of closing the deal, He dumps a conversational ice-bucket over the woman’s head, bringing her back to reality she may not be quite as ready to face.

Go call your husband and come back here.

Huh? 

First go, get your husband and bring him here.

The sand is shifting under the woman’s feet.

Husband?? Why is He asking me about my husband?

This conversation is becoming a little too personal for her taste. Too personal for anyone’s taste, especially if one has a history.

And this woman has history worthy of Herodotus. Or Madame Bovary. Or Lady Gaga.

Got Thirst?

Our thirst is meant to take us to a place where we can’t get to on our own.   

I can’t manufacture the wholeness and satisfaction in and by myself.  You can’t manufacture it by yourself.  I can’t do it for you. You can’t do it for me. Much disappointment, anger and resentment in this world would be lessened if not eradicated if only we grasped this and released ourselves and each other from such impossible responsibility.

When we try to quench it on our own, it only intensifies the craving.

Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again and again… but…

Sometimes it takes an entire lifetime to get to this ‘but’.

…but

 anyone

who drinks of the water that

I will give him

shall never thirst;

but the water that

I will give him

will become

 in him

 a well of water

springing up to eternal life.  John 4:13-14

If there ever was a paradigm shift, it’s right here.

These kinds of statements got Jesus in trouble. And it’s these kinds of statements represent a door of hope for all the thirsty souls who have tried everything and feel like they are at the end of the rope, hanging by the last loose thread.

I can't imagine any person, living or dead, making such claim and being taken seriously.

Anyone?

Never thirsty?

Become IN him (or her!) a well…

Bursting forth

Into life…

And more life..?

Yeah, right!

But, something about Jesus, something about the person who spoke these words and the way He said them made Svetlana take Him seriously. And if taken seriously, only a fool would turn down such an offer.

Svetlana may be all kinds of things, but she certainly is not a fool.

Sir, give me this water so I won’t ever get thirsty, won’t ever have to come back to this well again!

Fear Of Missing Out

Recently I was on a plane sitting next to a woman who was describing the dizzying array of her globe trotting adventures. She had a long list of must-see places that she was in the process of checking off.  I caught her on her way from Machu Picchu to her home in Georgia, with the next day flight to a resort in Mexico. 

And she was already talking about the great pyramids of Giza and Sydney Opera House.

It was truly impressive. I marveled at her energy, because I was getting exhausted by simply listening to her. 

Then, without even knowing where it came from, I blurted before I could stop myself…

I think I might have been trying to find a connection in my own life to her quite un-relatable experiences…

Or, I might have just been bragging about the newly acquired addition to my urban dictionary.

Have you heard of FOMO? I said and immediately wanted to kick myself in the teeth.  But, I stuck my foot in my mouth and it was too late to take it out. What was I going to say, Never mind?, and switch the topic to weather?

No,  the young woman replied, not quite sure where this conversation is going.

Well...   I proceeded slowly, it’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet.  I always  feel like I have to try every dish set out, fearing I may miss an opportunity to experience an exquisite combination of flavors and textures… even after I am not even hungry anymore… even if  I am already quite full…I just have to try it…even if it makes me miserable later… It’s FOMO… Fear Of Missing Out.

At that point, I stomp on my own foot,

You idiot! Just shut up!

I look up, knowing for certain that I have offended the young woman and her quiet husband sitting across the isle from us, listening in on our conversation.

But her big brown eyes are wide open, ablaze with recognition.

I know EXACTLY what you are talking about!

I glance at her husband and he is nodding gratefully.

The woman adds sheepishly,

It’s kind of what I am doing with all this travelling… I am afraid I will miss out on something incredible, and important, and I feel like I have to see all, and nothing is ever quite enough…her voice trails off. Then she looks at me,

What about you? What's your FOMO? What are you afraid that you would miss out on?

Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again…

FOMO

Jesus knows something a lot of us have a really hard time grasping.

The kingdom of God is not about comparison and competition.  It’s not about who’s bigger and who’s greater, it’s not about polls and ratings, score-keeping and one-up-men-ship. As if the universe is the giant see-saw and the only way I can go up is if I put you down.

For it appears that God has a knack  for the so-called losers, for the overlooked and insignificant, a special soft spot towards all the trampled upon and useless.

Jesus doesn’t bite the woman’s bait. He ignores her question and answers the unspoken one, echoing from her heart.

Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again… John 4:13

Everyone…

That’s all of us,. We all alike, sooner or later, get thirsty… again… and again…

Every. One. Of us.

No exceptions.

Men and women. The strong and the weak.  The smart and the stupid.  The beautiful and the plain. The rich and the poor. The fat and the skinny. Jews and Palestinians. Christians and Muslims. Religious and atheists. Athletes and actors. Politicians and constituents. 

The pulpit and the pew. 

Stick any label you wish on any person who ever lived and you’ll discover a thirsty soul underneath.

Even the person whose life appears so amazingly wonderful on their Facebook page or on the cover of a magazine.

Temporarily we may quench our thirst. For a short while, we are looking good. We are managing just fine on our own, thank you very much.

But then it hits us.

GOD! I am thirsty… and nothing, nothing that this world has to offer quite satisfies…

Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again…

But, we feel like we have to try, to taste every well there is in order to make sure we didn’t miss out on something. 

There is actually an acronym describing this condition plaguing our race not just from the dawn of social media but from the dawn of humanity. 

Have you heard of...

FOMO?

Fear

Of

Missing

Out

Appointment with God-in-Disguise

In that very moment, the woman is entering the stage of human history, front and center, by engaging in a seemingly random conversation with the thirsty Stranger, and she doesn’t even know it!

She is dropping Jacob’s name in the face of the Eternal Son of God standing in front of her in the beat-up body of a tired Galileean... as a value-added to her thirst-ridden existence... as a one-up-menship trump card meant to put this preposterous Stranger in His place.

Who do You think You are, Mister? You don’t think You are greater than our highest and the best, flawed and imperfect as he may be, do you?

Good question. Just minutes before Jesus asked the same, with a slightly different inflection:

If you knew the gift of God and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink’…

It’s this who that matters most of all.  

One can only imagine what goes on through Jesus’ mind as He humors the woman.

Aaaah, Jake! Love that guy! So passionate! So intense! Wouldn’t let go… so eager, but couldn’t wait… just couldn’t wait… he had to get it in his way… on his timetable…… Until… of course… I remember that night we wrestled and I had to do what I had to do… it hurt… both of us… I wish there was a different way…but he finally adjusted his pace after that… not rushing ahead of Me all the time…finally stopped scheming and manipulating, as if I need his help to bless him…

He looks at woman, His love reaching deeper than her thirst…

His love reaching deeper than her need for validation… valuable to Him as she is, no name dropping, no list of accomplishments, without any achievements and awards.  Beyond ruined reputation, beyond hurt, beyond disappointments, beyond the emptiness left behind after each futile attempt to quench her thirst with the leaky bucket…

 For, in His eternal divine planner...

... in the Son of God’s everlasting schedule...

...there was an entry in His own handwriting... 

...a high-importance appointment flagged in His Stephen Covey’s Day-Timer,

Samaria, Jake’s Well

Noon till (couple of extra days?)

Facetime with Svetlana

Render bucket useless…

Lame Claim to Fame

When we are at the end of our resources, when all our human buckets have been exhausted and the soul remains empty…

…it is hard to imagine that somebody, somewhere… anybody, anywhere could have access to a thirst-quenching well… that there even exists on a map a well of water that satisfies this soul-craving…

Where do you get that living water?

Where?

Paris? Chicago? Timbuktu? New York City?

Where?

Where?

Isn’t that the question we all ask when our self-sufficiency is neatly stripped down? When all our gifts and competencies turn out to be quite inadequate for the immense task of life?

When we feel we wasted our opportunities and failed miserably? When we become weak and powerless? When we are seen as just useless used-to-be-s?

Of course, some of us are too terrified to admit weakness and powerlessness.

Some of us can’t accept that we could be quite useless… so we feel compelled to engage in a little name-dropping.

To a little one-up-men-ship...

A little added value to my hopeless predicament… ... my lame claim to fame…

The woman rakes her brain looking for the greatest man she could think of in that moment… the man who knew the thirst and who dug this very well…

The patriarch Jacob... whom Angel of the Lord named Israel after they wrestled all night long, the match that left Jacob with a dislocated hip .

Jacob the father of the nation.

Jacob the liar and the cheater.

Jacob the supplanter.

Jacob the cripple.

Jacob the well-digger. 

This is the man she chooses as the highest and the best in her universe.

She drops his name like a trump card, looking square in the eyes of Jesus:

You are not greater than our father Jacob, are You?

The Well is Deep

The woman eyes the man.

Oh, you are one of THOSE… she thinks, scraping the garbage heap of her memories… Overpromise, underdeliver.  I know your type, the smooth-talkers good with cheap words that flow freely...

Words are cheap. The truth, however, has a price tag, she discovered. A price tag, that few… so very few seem willing to pay.

Sir, she looks at Jesus…. The tired, the thirsty, the empty-handed Jesus who just minutes ago asked her for a cup of cold water. There is something different about this man, but she can't quite put her finger on it. 

Sir, she wants to say, You are out of Your mind. You have no idea what You are talking about. For, this soul thirst… this unquenchable dehydration of the heart is… she scrambles for words to capture the impossible predicament of the human heart, and decides it’s hopeless. So, she addresses Him like she would a mentally disabled child. It may sound condescending, but clearly He needs to be reminded of the simple facts of the present grim reality.

Sir, You have nothing to draw with…

You are empty-handed. You don’t even have a beat-up, dinged bucket in Your hand.

… and the well is deep.

This well, sir, is deep. Deeper than…

… the loneliness of a foreigner far away from home…

…. the dejection of an unloved woman while her husband is in another's arms…

… the fear of a child lost in the dark of the splintered lives of adults…

… the powerlessness of a man to make good on his promise…

... the despair of the beloved comedian who couldn't find a drop of water anywhere to quench his thirst in all his success, in all his friends, and family, and fans, in all his accomplishments, in all his wealth... in all the gifts that this world can offer... including his own gift of bringing happiness... and laughter...to the world?
, 

Do You have a bucket for THAT well Sir?

Who do You think You are Sir? 

From Beggar to Giver

Jesus doesn’t bite the bait. He doesn’t go into politics.  He doesn’t go into the us-vs.-them debate that proves to nobody in particular who’s-right-and-who’s wrong.  He doesn’t get entangled in the centuries-old battles that feed the mucky pool of today’s fears and prejudices and hatred.

Because He knows - He understands - that there is deeper hunger, deeper thirst that no well of this earth can satisfy.

So, He answers that question, the real question. The unspoken cry-question of the unquenchable thirst of the woman’s heart made evident by her empty life-bucket:

If you knew the gift of God…

If you knew who it is who says to you,

‘Give Me a drink’,

You would have asked Him,

And He would have given you

…Living water. John 4:10

Suddenly, the One asking becomes the One offering. 

The beggar becomes the Giver.

If only we knew… the gift… of God…

If only we knew WHO it is who says to us…

‘Give me a drink…’

…

If only we knew that it’s O.K. to come…

That our thirst is meant to draw us to come…

Empty-handed and brokenhearted…

With our useless buckets upturned…

 

To come…

…To Him..

And ask…

I am thirsty.

I am hungry for love.

I am desperate to be known and loved…

I am at the end of the rope…

All my wells are dried up…

And my heart is parched and unquenchably thirsty…

I am at the end of this fraying rope of my fraying life…

It's Complicated

Clearly the man was real and not a figment of her imagination or the trick of the blistering sun.  As real as the well was real and as real as her thirst. And His thirst.

But, the moment she heard Him speak – Would you give Me a drink - she forgot all about the well, and the empty bucket in her hand and her thirst as well as His.

The man spoke with an unmistakable accent.  He was a Jew!

This instantly complicated the matter. As borders and nationalities tend to complicate matters in general.

The Israelis and the Palestinians.

Russians and Ukrainians.

Serbs and Albanians.

You can pick just about any border and suddenly things get complicated. And it’s much better to keep the safe distance because it can get really really messy and really really complicated really really fast.

And, in this case, it was as messy and complicated as it gets.

But the Man didn't stay away.

He didn't keep a safe distance. He intentionally, deliberately took this detour

How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans. John 4:9

A Jew. A Samaritan.

A man. A woman.

This Man, however, didn’t seem to care. 

He didn’t appear to be concerned about the appearances.

He didn’t seem to be afraid to get close – as close as His lips on her bucket.  

This man is criss-crossing every line there is back and forth.  He is pushing the envelope beyond anything this woman ever experienced around any other man, Jew or Samaritan.

The woman shifts her weight from one leg to another.

What's his deal? She wonders, not realizing it's only going to get even more interesting. 

Unquenchable

How did it all get so complicated? She kicks the dirt under her feet, creating a trail of little puffs which quietly settle as she moves on. Where did that sense of winning the cosmic lottery disappear?

All she could see now is this vast desert… All she could feel was being held captive by this wretched no-man-land.

Neither here.

Nor there.

One foot here.

One foot there.

Both arms outstretched, grasping here and grasping there. Left empty-handed. 

Belonging nowhere. A stranger. An outcast. Her thirst growing stronger…moving her… pushing her deeper and deeper…

Despair has no bottom.

And to think that she used to believe that God cared.  That He cared for her… That the Almighty Creator of the Universe would bother Himself…with somebody…like… her…

So thirsty.

So lost.

So… insignificant and… worthless.

A garbage heap of useless.

The tears welling up from deep down and the scorching heat of the mid-day are playing with her vision.  She is almost there... and she sees... what looks like a man… sitting at the well.  

I am seeing things that don’t exist! I am going insane! There can be no man at the well at this hour!

The ground under her feet is shifting as she feels like she is losing the grip on her mind.

But then the chimera opens His mouth – His lips cracked and parched just like hers. He is talking! He is talking to her. A simple, obvious request using ordinary, commonplace words.

Give Me a drink. 

Just Another Ordinary Day?

She assumed it was going to be just another ordinary Wednesday… or was it Thursday?

Here we go again. Same old, same old, she thought as she rolled out of the creaky bed into the predictable drudgery which blurred one day into another. Swirling the same yesterday’s dirt with her broom like she did the day before and the day before that.

Waiting for hours to pass, until the scorching heat settles the dusty streets from all its swirly noises and all the juicy gossip eagerly exchanged at the hearsay market. Sheltered by the bristling sun from the bristling tongues, she would finally step outside and leave the rickety protection of her house to get the water she needs…

…to quench her thirst… ah so thirsty…

…to wash her dirt… feel so dirty…

It hadn't always been like this though.

She had dreams. She truly did. Now she calls them illusions.

She had hopes.  She honestly did. Now she calls them hallucinations.

 

She had… faith? Now all that was left was bitter cynicism.

She used to feel like she was actually the lucky one. 

The mixture in her blood made her… how shall I say? Different? Perhaps, uniquely equipped to enjoy the best of both worlds. Back then, she felt like she won some cosmic lottery and her jagged heritage lines have fallen to her in beautiful places. That she could appreciate, that she could savor like no other the goodness of the Almighty God poured out generously beyond limits and beyond borders.

The mixture in her blood carved her features that made her look elusive and exotic. No other woman quite like her. This gave her an irresistible appeal, a magnetic attraction among men but it also awakened deeply buried insecurities and thinly veiled jealousy among women.

Somehow, for quite a while, she managed to remain oblivious to both.

Energize Me

It doesn’t say that Jesus was grumpy but it does say that He was worn out. He got worn out by the journey just like the rest of us.

So, being tired that He was, He pushed Himself just a little more… a bit further…He spread out the remnants of His energy like I scrape the sides of the butter dish to use up the last bit and stretch it out over a piece of French bread, barely reaching the ends?

Or did He reached out for a quick-fix…?

…Grabbed an energy drink? Got a double-shot of espresso?  (Not that there is anything wrong with coffee, especially not squared!)

Actually, He did none of that.

He did something so old-fashioned and ordinary. Something borderline boring and old-people-ish.

He sat down. He… rested. He leaned back against the wall, stretched out His tired legs and closed His eyes for a moment.

I need to remember this.

Tired = take a break.

Sit down.

Relax. 

Take a nap. 

It may feel like such a terrible waste of time. With so much to do.  So much to accomplish.

Gifts to utilize.

Opportunities to cease.

But, you may find that you actually need it, ‘cause you never know what adventure could be waiting for you around the next corner. 

Are We There Yet?

Nobody knows when and how the bustling epicenter of busy religious activity turned into a breeding ground of score-keeping, comparison and competition.

Perhaps at some point the show became more important than the substance.  The PR more important than prayer.  The reputation more important than the relationship. 

But, Jesus wouldn't engage in the game.  He would have none of it. He let the religious professionals to their own little charts and score boards, He gathered up His crew and headed north, out of Judea and... straight for the Middle-of-Nowhere. The Wasteland of In-Between.

I find this so incredibly counter-cultural, so counter-intuitive - leaving behind thriving, successful ministry on the upswing and ...? - but I won’t go there. 

We see Him on the road for several hours already and by now He is worn out by the journey.

Worn out by the journey…

Journeys are tiring. We just returned from a long international trip and it was exhausting.

The act of leaving.  All the decisions: What do I take? What do I leave behind?  Who are my travelling companions? Counting the baggage we all carry on - theirs? Mine?

The upheaval of change. 

The loss of familiarity.

The hope waiting at the destination.

The art and the science of travelling light.

Then, we are in transit.

Neither here nor there. Firmly planted in mid-air for what feels like f-o-r-e-v-e-r. The destination not in sight.

ARE we THERE YET???

Everyone is exhausted and a little grumpy. 

The Detour Ahead

I’ve been reading through the Book of John for a while now. Few months ago, I even wrote several blog entries that captured what spoke to me at the time.

Like, running out of wine ... at the most importune time! And restocking the emotional and spiritual wine cellar when all your supplies have gone empty and dry.  When I feel like I am scraping the bottom of the barrel and coming out with… nothing. 

Its life giving message continues to blow a gentle wind into my sagging sail, reminding me that Jesus, indeed, is the wild card of hope in this hopelessness-and-death-filled world of ours.

The world in which passenger planes are shot down over an embattled Ukrainian sky.

The world of violence of every stripe and color, nation and language. Where blood is shed of the same color and cries of loved ones echo the Esperanto of grief.

The world where Ebola virus doesn’t spare the innocent, including the messengers of good will and hope.

The world suffering from the epidemic of divorce, suicide and brokenness of every kind. Where storms and fires rage, where the budding branches of life are senselessly snapped in two in its prime, full of promise and hope….

But, I am not going there. I would be a fool to think that I am equipped to pontificate on large global issues or deep personal grief and believe that my words can shed light into this darkness and bring order into such confusion and chaos.

What I am going to do is take a detour. Or at least it may seem like a detour. First, I’ll skip a bit.  Not because what I am skipping is unimportant or without meaning and significance. On the contrary! I want to leave some for you to chew on your own. 

But, I will do is take this detour and sit down for a bit and eavesdrop on a very private conversation. And you are welcome to join me.

Home At Last

Change is inevitable part of life.  Just as we finally start feeling ‘at home’ – comfortable and at ease - in a place, or a situation, or in a relationship, something changes and we are thrown out of balance. Our nest is upset!

We grieve the loss.

We experience the stress that saps our energies.

We realize the limits of our capacities – for not just hardships but even for enjoying the good.

When this happens, some of us redouble our effort to stay in charge.  To keep control. To ensure with every power of our being that some things MUST NEVER CHANGE.  We become the micromanagers of our little universe, insistent on our own way of doing things.  We become unbending and dogmatic. With so much out of my control, I feel like I must, at all cost, maintain reigns on at least SOMETHING, no matter how insignificant in the large scheme of things it might be.

But, as the time goes on, ever so slowly, even the worst control-freaks of us begin to change, grow and adapt to the new situation. We slowly begin to release the clutch of our tiny fists on that elusive sense of being ‘at home’… 

We let go of what we couldn't have held onto... and despite the pain, despite the loss, surprisingly enough we find… it’s O.K.

 

The world hasn’t ended. At least not yet.

The earth is still spinning on its axis.

But we see it with a different set of eyes. The boundaries of our back yard slightly expanded, our heart a bit enlarged to receive more of God’s diverse goodness and grace that often comes from the most unexpected places.

The surprising gifts of joy - fleeting as they may be -  whispering to us that there is a greater, more permanent Home being prepared for us and we are not quite there yet. 

Do not let your heart be troubled; you believe in God? Believe also in Me. In My Father’s home are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you; I am going now to prepare a place for you. If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also.  John 14:1-3

Homesick

That’s NOT true, protests my Internal Editor.  I feel right at home wherever I am.

But the words, even though they have some ring of truth, sound hollow even to the Critic.

The truth is, on an average day I don’t experience the raw uncensored misery of my child on her maiden voyage far away from home.  But, without overreaching my boundaries, I dare say that all of us are plagued by this sickness in one degree or another. I am not an exception. 

You don’t have to live a million miles away from your place of origin.  You don’t have to be in a different country or on a different continent. People around you may all speak the same language but one can still feel homesick. One can still experience the loneliness of feeling out-of-place.

 If I am honest with myself, I would admit that it took being immersed in my child’s anguish to connect with my own being-out-of-place grief.

Being at home means some of the same, and a little different things for each of us.  It spans diverse landscape of locations and relationships, habits and routines, vocational calling and skills.

Most of us learn about this ‘being at home’ feeling in a certain location, specific address, with precise GPS coordinates.  We know the layout of the rooms, how the furniture is arranged, so we can safely navigate it even in complete darkness.  It’s the familiarity that provides sense of safety and stability we all need, but some of us feel that need more than others.

Take us out of that place, and the ground under our feet starts to shift.  The familiarity is gone.  The stability is gone, along with the sense of safety.  Even the simplest daily tasks require effort and create seemingly unnecessary stress.  Everything is different – the door knobs, the toilets, the faucets, the electric outlets, the food that we eat, the seating arrangements around the table…

But, it goes beyond, way beyond all of that. What used to be effortless now demands – and drains - all my mental and emotional powers.

We shut down to everything except for one five-word statement:

I want to go HOME...

Home Sweet Home

Our little family took a huge leap this year and went on an international trip that took us away from home for over three weeks. 

This is the first time our preteens left the US soil in a very long time.  Last opportunity we had to travel as a family overseas they were not even four and two.

A lot has changed in meanwhile.

Young children are blissfully oblivious.  As they grow, they become more aware of the complexities of the situation they are placed in and each of us deals with change and stress differently.

The sheer privilege of the international travel was quickly lost under a mountain of real and imagined fears. 

The fact that we, as parents, were well acquainted with wide range and nuances of cultural stress didn’t help our children as they faced their own.

For three long weeks, we kept hearing,

I want to go home.  I want to go home.  I want to go home.

And there was nothing – absolutely nothing – we could do to alleviate this pain.

No words.

No coaxing, no yelling, no screaming.

 

No bribery.

No bending over backwards.

No distractions, no threats, no promise could ease the raw discomfort of being away from home.

It was excruciating to watch our child suffer such anguish, such unmitigated misery while surrounded by love, surrounded by affection, attention, great food, absolutely no lack of anything.

In this home-sick state her capacity to receive any of it was diminished, really reduced to nothing. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t receive any of it.

One night, utterly desperate, I cried out:

Now you know how I feel all the time!  I couldn’t believe my own words!

The Real Thing

It’s just like the movies!, exclaimed our movie buff.

It’s just like the books!, exclaimed our book worm.

We just boarded the long anticipated Hogwarts Express at King’s Cross Station near Diagon Alley on the way to Hogsmead. We are squeezed in our little compartment with a family from Taiwan who are taking every-angle-selfies with their smart phone. 

I stare at my children, suddenly stunned by the realization that all they know about the trains is what they learned and saw in movies and books.

They have no first-hand knowledge, no first-hand experience of an ordinary train!! At least not the one that they can remember. I know that they were on trains in Europe as babies. But that was long time ago.

Trains were such an integral part of my life in Europe - the cheapest and most convenient mode of transportation. I feel like I spent more than half of my life listening to the steady rhythm of wheels on tracks cris-crossing the old continent. One can say that my blood runs along the train tracks rather than through the blood vessels.  

But I can’t recall any recent instance where we as a family or ether of our kids were on the train except for the airport shuttles. And airport shuttles certainly don’t count.

I shake my head in disbelief and mutter to no one in particular,

It’s… it’s just like the real thing.

What was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the Word of Life— and the life was manifested, and we have seen and testify and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was manifested to us— what we have seen and heard we proclaim to you also, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father, and with His Son Jesus Christ. These things we write, so that our joy may be made complete. I John 1:1-4

The Swaying Power of Love

I wish there was an easier way.  I wish there was a quick and easy sixty second download that would allow me to learn these lessons on my feet rather than laying prostrate, like Neymar, out of the game, helpless and powerless on a stretcher.

A way to life that carries me uninjured, healthy and strong, from victory to victory without tasting the bitter humiliation and regrets of defeat. 

A steady ascent of successes without fumbles and failures and the cruel replays of their could-haves and should-haves.

I want to insure not just my own life, but the lives of those I love against calamities that leave me … that leave us …empty-handed and broken-hearted.

But, for some reason I don’t fully understand, it’s only when I am limp on a stretcher, with the game continuing on without me… when all my usefulness is put aside and all my contribution stripped down and shriveled to a niltch… it’s only there that I begin to grasp… there really is more to me… than all those ecstatic victories and epic defeats.  

I am more valuable to God than scoring the winning goal in some cosmic World Cup?!!? 

YOU are more valuable to God than scoring the winning goal in the World Cup!

I am more to Him than the sum total of my feats and failures… and in His light, you become more to me than the sum total of your victories and defeats.  

Our accomplishments add no value to us; our fiascos take away nothing from His love... 

This may taste bitter in my mouth, but when I finally swallow, when I finally digest it's sweeter than honey.

And so, in His presence - perfectly loved, prostrate on a stretcher - these victories, these defeats both lose their swaying power over our hearts… and we are finally free to receive them as they come and let go of them as they go... free to begin to love as we've been loved...

 In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. I  John 4:10-11

Kicking the Cup

Of course, we all lose sight of it.

In the heat of the game, in the fever of the competition, we - ah so easily - forget that there could possibly be more important things in life than winning that Cup.

Than reaching that goal. 

Than accomplishing that mission. 

We are so God-damn focused on the prize we lose sight of the people - soft, vulnerable, injurable people around us.

For a while it all makes sense to our logic-driven, winning-driven, training-driven, rational and competitive, glory-seeking world.  The world that without batting an eye would sacrifice one life for the perceived good of the higher goal. Loftier mission.

Until life serves us a surprise. 

A ruthlessness so gentle that it reminds us how hopelessly lost we’ve become, how utterly blind to what truly matters… what’s really important… .

A mercy so severe it permanently re-configures our emotional landscape. A grace that takes us out of the game, makes us impervious to the allure of its prestige because something precious got lost between the plays… the upheaval so great we would gladly give up the Cup and all its benefits in exchange for this one injured brother… one crippled child of God laying limp on the stretcher…

More Important than Winning the World Cup?!!!

Even those who couldn’t care less about soccer and didn't catch the Mundial fever, couldn’t help but be astounded by the unprecedented 7:1 score in Germany-Brazil World Cup semi-final match.  The historic defeat has spawned reactions that have been resonating throughout the globe.

Amidst all the hubbub, the controversy, the mourning and the wailing, something stuck with me. And it kept haunting me because it seemed not to have received much weight or attention (at least not that I noticed) in global rehashing of the dismal humiliation.

For, just days prior to the fateful debacle, the host team of the World Cup watched in stunned shock as their star player, forward Neymar was carried off the field in a stretcher after serious vertebrae injury in the quarter-final duel with Columbia. To add insult to injury, there were no disciplinary actions against Columbian player Zuniga – not even a yellow card, who shrugged the incident with little more than an “Oh well such are the rules of the game…”

In addition to this, Brazil’s captain and top defender, Thiago Silva, received a yellow card – his second during the World Cup - which banned him from playing in the match against Germany.

With not one but two key players out of commission, the Brazilians entered the semi-finals shattered beyond what any self-help pep talk, any training, any experience on the soccer field could remedy.

And with their devastating loss that shook the foundations of the prestigious competition they might have taught us that sometimes in life there are more important things than winning the World Cup. Something that is so easily lost in the heat of the game and the cut-throat competition... so easily forgotten when our eyes are focused on the prize...

Who's Picking Up Your Tab?

Seriously???UROS CASTI?!?!!, I chuckle in disbelief.

What does it mean? Our twelve-year-old asks absorbed in scrolling down the Clash of Clans notifications as he utilizes this newly acquired access to his life-line.

It… it...  means ‘It’s all on Uros. Namely, Uros pays everything, we all get to enjoy it. Free to us... to anyone... at Uros’s expense.’

The tab’s on Uros.

I scratch my head over this crazy Serb who opened his Internet door wide – no password no key, to friends and strangers, even foreigners alike.

This Uros doesn’t ask for your gender, or nationality, or political or sexual orientation or your creed before he lets you in.  He doesn’t interrogate you about what you have done or failed to do nor does he require special initiation rite.  

Truly it's up to you.

The door is open. Just come.

Uros doesn’t seem to concern himself with how you may use or abuse his wild, surprising generosity.  He doesn’t worry about how he might be empowering and enabling the behaviors and attitudes he may disagree with or disapprove. I agonize over this, because my 'generosity' is balanced and calculated. 

Uros also fails to leverage his generosity to further his impact. He gets absolutely no bang for his buck. He doesn’t tell you to go to this site and like this page nor does he block that site or that page. He doesn't use his generosity to further a cause of his choosing nor hinder his enemies. 

Free access. At his expense. Open to all.

The tab’s on Uros.

…

Who’s this Uros? Our son asks finally peeling his eyes off the screen.

I don’t know, but I have to find out.  Because I want to meet this Uros and learn how I can become more like him...

For of His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace. For the Law was given through Moses; grace and truth were realized through Jesus Christ.  John 1:16-17

After these things I looked, and behold, a door standing open in heaven, and the first voice ... said, “Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after these things.” Revelation 4:1

Jesus said to them again, “Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep. All who came before Me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not hear them. I am the door; if anyone enters through Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly. John 10:7-10

Uros Casti

There is no free WIFI in Serbia! I bark at our techno-addict, who whipped out his phone searching for available networks before we were even able to get our luggage. We’ve just landed in Belgrade after a very long miserable day of travel. The silver lining for at least some of us was the USB ports on the intercontinental flight to Turkey that allowed us to top off our mobile devices before we dived in the shuko 220V limited Internet access zone.

But what good is a fully charged phone if you can’t connect to the wireless?

I could visualize three weeks of pure torture as our wired family suffers not only through the language barrier and the cultural shock but also through going-cold-turkey-on-Internet withdrawal.

We arrived at my parents’ miniature one bedroom condo, overwhelming the space with our extra-large bags and quadrupling the number of residents per square meter.

Here we go, I think, I hope we survive this..., but my dismal train of thoughts is suddenly interrupted by joyful screams coming from the bedroom.

I’m in, I’m in!!

 

In what?!!!

I am in. I am connected!! I am connected to the wireless!

That’s impossible! My parents don’t have internet.

Well, somebody here does – and now I am connected. See?

I peer into his phone screen, and sure enough, he is right.

How’s this possible?

Well, there is an unsecured network, he points to his settings. See - the name is UROS CASTI.