Avoiding Eye Contact

A few weeks back, Pastor Mark was talking about suffering people. Actually, he's been teaching on it for a few weeks, because he's been in 1 Peter, and there's a lot of suffering in there.

So, as he's talking about people being real, and allowing others into their pain, he said something about how when we know someone is in pain, we don't like to ask, because we don't like to see others cry and because we might feel like we have to do something for them.

This thought's been in my brain hanging around ever since.

Today, two things happened that brought it to the surface: I spoke with a young woman at church - let's call her, Sarah, who was with a little bit older woman in a wheelchair (let's call her, Anna). Now, Anna was probably mid-twenties, and she has CP (cerebral palsy) I think, and is kind of bent up. She had a tray on her chair with two things: a hand towel (which tells me she probably drools a bit), and a pink iPod docked in a speaker set attached to the wheelchair tray.

I saw these two at church last Sunday on Easter, sitting in the foyer together watching the service on the flat screen. They caught my eye for a few reasons, one of the biggies is that I completely identify with sitting out in the foyer with a person with special needs. Over the last fifteen years, I've spent many Sundays watching services from Nursing Mother's rooms (I have no nursing babies), foyers (even when there was room inside), and, most memorable, sitting on the sidewalk outside the church listening through the overhead speaker holding one of my special kids who was a bit challenging (to say the least). During those years, I honestly don't remember too many folks joining me so I'd have some company.

So I have a considerable amount of empathy here.

Today, Sarah and Anna were back. This time, just inside the doors of the sanctuary. I smiled as I went past the first time, having things to do - like picking up my kids from the nice people in children's ministry. When I came back up, they were out in the lobby, alone. Now, I don't know if anyone else talked to them, but I do know that a lot of conversation was happening around them. I went up. We talked for a minute. I asked her if she was a caregiver, and she said she only helped on Sundays. She is a friend of Anna's family and Anna loves to go to church - she loves the music and being around the people. Sarah is a young, attractive girl. I'm pretty certain she had other things she could be doing with her Sunday.

She chose to help Anna and Anna's family.

Last week, I saw her loading Anna into a van by herself, today she was standing by herself. Our church has hundreds of people milling around after services. They were alone. Two weeks in a row that I know about. I am not condemning our fellowship. Like I said, I don't know that no one spoke to them. All I can speak to is my personal experience in a variety of churches over the past fifteen years. Very lonely years. It's almost like having a person with intense needs puts a bubble around you. Like no one knows what to say, so they avoid eye contact, and move away. Or, they give you a quick smile, and move away.

This is how I feel when I see guys standing at freeway exits with cardboard signs. I avoid eye contact. I know that I really can't help them. I don't even know if they actually need my help. But, because I feel guilty that I am in my car, and they are standing out there with a sign, I avoid them. Avoid any chance of interaction.

Now, one time, Kameron was with me in the car and we were heading to Physical Therapy. I was stopped at the light, and there was a guy. Kam starting yelling, "Hi! Hi!" to him, being a friendly sort of nine year old. So, I rolled down the back window so he could say hi better. The man, turns out his name is Scott, was shaking Kam's hand and genuinely happy to talk to him for a second. In fact, he kept saying, "God bless you" to Kameron. This all makes me think.

Why do we assume that the less fortunate are wanting something from us? Yes, often they are, but sometimes, maybe all they want is for someone to stop and see them, talk to them, give them a second of human interaction in a kind way, not like they're freaks or something.

Doesn't that apply to all of us at some point in our lives? Haven't you ever had a time when you desperately needed someone to just see you? To ask you how you were and mean it?

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I guess I just want all of us to take a few minutes out of our lives and make that eye contact. Take a risk, say "hi" to the street person, go introduce yourself to that mom alone with all the kids or that person in the wheelchair.

I doubt that it will change the world, but I can almost guarantee it will brighten up theirs for a moment. And maybe yours, too.

Who's My Daddy?

Man church Sunday really rocked my world. We've been going to Mars Hill in Seattle for few months. Pastor Mark Driscoll is working through 1 and 2nd Peter: http://www.8witnesses.com/ Sunday was just on 1 Peter 3:7. The full text reads:

1 Peter 3:7 ESV: Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life, so that your prayers may not be hindered.

From this, Pastor Mark spoke to the men (my 22 year old engaged son, too) about being husbands, about understanding their wives (and daughters), what showing honor toward us looks like, and how women are weaker vessels, needing gentle handling - he said women are goblets and men are thermoses. Cute illustration.

And he spoke (pretty heatedly) about what God thinks of men who fail to do these things. About wimpy men and overly MANLY men. He spoke of how frustrated he gets when men neglect their responsibilities as men. He spoke of it passionately. And loudly. I've never heard him that intense before. It was great, actually.

The funny thing is, this sermon - written for the men - had a profoundly moving and unexpected affect on me. I felt protected, important. For the first time...ever?

I am the divorced single mother of two biological, four adopted, and two foster children. I am also adopted myself, and my adoptive parents divorced when I was eleven. Dad experimented with other women over the years of their marriage, and finally found a family he liked better.

Along the way I've experienced what seems to be the standard amount of abuse from an older brother, strangers, men who weren't strangers, and my husband. In short, I don't think I've ever felt safe or cherished. Never very important. No one gave me away at my disastrous wedding, no daddy checked into who I was dating in my equally disastrous teens. He doesn't really keep track of me now. My mom was too busy trying to support us to pay attention either. You can imagine the type of guys I ended up with. Briefly.

Long involved story short, Christ got my attention in my late twenties and my life changed considerably. But despite all the healing He's brought (and there's been much), there are still some pretty deep pains that I've never allowed Him to have. Maybe I didn't know they were there. Thus Lisa, the Therapist (see earlier posts). Everyone knows that these injuries fester if not dealt with - even I am not strong enough or "spiritual" enough to avoid the consequences forever. But I've sure spent a lot of energy and time trying to.

Back to Sunday. As Pastor Mark spoke about what men should be, about what God created dads and brothers and husbands to be, my spirit responded immediately and I lost it. I didn't turn into a blubbering idiot, but I sure needed a tissue box.

The message uncovered - gently - the gaping wounds in my heart that were there from the lack of a daddy. The boo-boos he never kissed away. The tucking ins that never happened. The "I love you"s and being daddy's little princess. Maybe it would have been easier if I never knew dad. Having him around but never noticing me...ouch. Then he left and married a woman with three beautiful daughters, my step-sisters. I kid you not. Straight out of a fairy tale or something.

Anyway, the point is that Pastor Mark's message about how God expects men to be lifted a weight I've carried unconsciously all my life. It isn't my fault that stuff happened. It's very very sad, but not my fault. My father was supposed to be my daddy and he wasn't. My dad, my brother, my ex-husband - all these guys will have to stand before God one day (if they don't repent) and answer to Him because they hurt His little girl.

Of course, I bear responsibility for choices I made out of that pain, and there is bitter unforgiveness I need to address. But Jesus spoke to me Sunday at a real level. He told me that I am His baby girl, His little princess, and I deserve to be treated that way.

Powerful stuff, God's Word in the right hands.

BTW, here is the link to the message. I highly recommend it.

http://www.marshillchurch.org/media/trial/marriage-and-men