Of Deadly Australia

A few nights ago, after our own terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, we decided to read about Alexander as we tucked into bedtime, because we all know, it doesn't get worse than that for a white, middle class American child (I mean, waking up with gum in your hair? Tragic.). As I read the last line, my daughter surprised me with her response:

Me: "Mom says some days are like that. Even in Australia."
Micaiah: [confused, like someone just said the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard] "But how can there be days like that in Australia? There are no people in Australia, or they'd die!"

I giggled to myself. My indoctrination was working.

A number of years ago, while I was in the throes of lonely middle school years, my family tossed around the idea of a move to the land down under. My dad had been given a rare career opportunity that would take us all to Australia to live for two full years.

Already a traveller at heart, I was elated! Two years in Australia?! We'd get a koala for a pet and go snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef on weekends (hey, let a sixth-grader dream, ok?). And the only thing standing in the way was our answer - yes or no?

Uh, yes! Duh, yes. (said the sixth-grader in me)

But then there was my sister - who was not in the lonely middle school years, but in the thriving high school years - the ones with friends, with prom, with basketball games and graduation. She would be giving up the two final years of those moments for this adventure. And she was not having it. To be fair, I don't actually recall her declaring this in any sort of diva-like tantrum. It was more of an understanding my parents had of where she was in life and what she needed.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

All I heard were my dreams for our pet koala being flushed down the high school toilet. High school was lame, friends were over-rated and being stuck in land-locked Missouri was not worth any of it.

But, now, as I look back with fresh eyes, I am grateful. And I'm not going into some sappy, "if we'd gone my life would have been different" direction - but rather, "if we'd gone, I might not have survived." Because in the years since, I have discovered something:

Everything in Australia wants to kill you.

It's true. In fact, after much research (or sitting on the couch as facts swarm at us from internet and television), my husband and I have come to this very real conclusion. Because every time you find a list of the "top deadliest," "most poisonous," and "scariest" it's Australian native creatures and plant-life that top the list.

Like spiders who don't just attack because they're scared - but will HUNT YOU DOWN*. Plants that induce such pain that those who touch it opt for suicide rather than endure the torturous agony. Snakes (and not the innocent, cute kind - because I don't mind those) that slither right into homes.

I mean, seriously, death around every corner.

Thus, as a responsible parent, I have passed this information along to our children. We've watched YouTube videos of deadly plants, and I was sure to point out where the majority of those came from. My kids know it well: Australia = Death. And I had no idea how well I had passed along this message until that night, as we read about poor Alexander and his hated railroad train pajamas.

And, suddenly, through my daughter's brain-washed eyes, that innocent children's book took on a much darker turn. I mean, just how bad is it when your marble washes down the drain, that you would turn to Australia as your hope and dream. And thus, it has become clear to my children, poor Alexander has turned suicidal in the face of his dessert-less lunch and white shoes with white stripes. He clearly has nothing left for which to live.

Imagine there shock, therefore, when I re-assured them, "There are actually people who live in Australia . . ."

Maybe I need to re-consider my educational strategies . . .


*Please note: these facts about Australia are true. I did not look them up or bother with cross-references. Because I've heard them. On the internet, no less. So, absolutely true. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. . . . But don't quote me on that.

**I've also heard there are pretty things and neat people. But I'm sure that's just a conspiracy contrived from the Australia Board of Tourism, who realizes it might otherwise be difficult to lure people to a former penal colony. See - once upon a time, they understood and they sent people, DANGEROUS people, there to DIE. Pure fact.

Of Our Redemption

I hate people.

Or, at least, that's what I told my husband, numerous times, as we traipsed across Europe, people everywhere (apparently August is the height of tourist season in Paris, which maybe extends to all of Europe? - which clearly makes it the ideal time for crowd-despising individuals like ourselves to make a visit). People shoving, people looking out for their own interests, even if it clearly interferes with what someone else is trying to do, people just being people.

As an introvert, there is definitely a large part of me that hates people, particularly en masse. But as a believer in Christ, there is a large part of me that loves people, or wants to love them.

Yet, there has been an overwhelming reminder lately, in our lives, in the lives of dear friends, in the lives of those in our church, and even now, reminders in the media, that people fail. They fail in big ways. In hurtful, devastating ways. People we would have regarded as examples or pillars of faith, as family, friends, or even someone in the distance to admire. They have failed. They have failed in ways we would never have imagined or believed if we'd been told (and in some ways we didn't want to believe, even after we were told).

And part of me just wants to declare it once again: I hate people.

But the truth of the matter is, when I hear about these people and the choices they have made that bring shame to themselves, their families and, most importantly, to the name of God, I don't hate the people. I hate Satan.

I hate the lies he has whispered in their ears. I hate the victory dance I imagine is happening even now as yet another warrior and champion for the cause of Christ has been tried and found guilty. He is delighting in the downfall of those who have brought others to the Lord, who have discipled and encouraged godly living. The downfalls that will, undoubtedly, cause some to question all they know about God when the person they learned it from has let them down. He is celebrating stolen innocence, broken homes, fallen tears, and shattered hearts.

He is having the time of His life.

And I burn with hatred.

Yet, in this moment, this moment when it feels like there are no good people left in the world, we have to remember:

We're right.

But that's because the one good person in this world died two thousand years ago. The rest of us have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). We have been tried and found guilty. We are unworthy to carry His cause or His name. Even those of us in the church, who have embraced our redemption found in the old rugged cross, but who have found it difficult to put to death what is earthly in us (Colossians 3:5).

Some of us have our flaws publicly declared, our names dragged into the Colisseum of public mockery and scorn. The rest of us are secretly glad no one can see what is happening behind our closed doors.

And if we are not. If we have become so puffed up as to believe that we have nothing to hide, or nothing in our lives that could bring us shame, let us be aware that this is exactly where Satan wants us. Because when we have decided we are above it all and "would never do that," that's when he knows he has us. When we are not on our guard, constantly aware of what is broken in us, constantly clinging to Christ and begging he would cleanse our putrid hearts. Daily asking, because this process of sanctification, being renewed in knowledge after the image of our Creator (Colossians 3:10), is just that - a process, a daily, sometimes tedious, sometimes heart-wrenching, process, which will not be completed until the day of Christ. When we are not in this place recognizing, but for the grace of God, there go I. When we are not whispering in the ear of God, when we have become weak in our own strength, leaving the smallest opening for the whispers of the enemy, that is when we fail to notice where our path is going - where those whispers are taking us.

And when I see that this is me. This person who has taken one more step, and then another and then another toward that one feeble calling I have heard before and been tempted to follow. In that moment of recognition, I find myself unworthy.

And I find Him worthy. The One who stepped down from His throne to walk the earth among these people. These throngs of crowding, mocking people. To subject Himself to humiliation and scorn on behalf of all of us who have brought shame to His name, so that He can bring us out of this pit and He can embrace in love those of us who would so easily be consumed by hate. He was pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities, and by his wounds we are healed (Isaiah 53:5).

Because we all, like sheep have gone astray. We have turned - every one - to his own way. And the Lord has laid on Him (on Him, the only perfect one, undeserving of wrath) the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:6). Yet, out of the anguish of His soul he shall see and be satisfied; for He has made many to be accounted as righteous (Isaiah 53:11).

Our boast is not in the strength of flesh and bone, but in the costly wounds of love. We all are weak, yet He is strong. And He welcomes all of us, failures that we are, into the righteousness that is only found in Him. Into the redemption provided for all of us. At the cross.

Of Living Life

I have heard from numerous friends over the past few days that photos of our recent escapades in Europe left them feeling a twinge of jealousy. And I get that, because, as a wanderer at heart, I've felt it. And because social media does an amazing job of coloring everything pretty and hiding the ugly. And because photos don't come with a soundtrack.

Because if they did, what you'd hear, as we're finally getting within spitting distance of the Eiffel Tower - the one thing my daughter has dreamed of seeing for half of her short life span - would be the beautiful sounds of a near-seven-year-old expressing everything she is feeling in that moment:

"It's hot! I'm hungry. I'm tiiiiired."

And you might hear the uber-empathetic Mommy voice saying, "You are at the Eiffel Tower! So many people want to be here, and you can't stop whining!" And then, maybe, me saying, "I'm done with her." And walking away, as she cries, holding the hand of her Daddy, at the base of one of the most iconic structures of our day.

And sometimes the Eiffel Tower is just this, a giant tower with lots of people, who are just in the way - all. the. time.

So, maybe the Eiffel Tower wasn't our best day. But this is me keeping it real.

In reality, our recent trip to visit friends working in Germany and then taking a short train ride to visit family working in Paris, was, as my mom put it, "the trip of a lifetime." Full of so many things that were beautiful to see in person. But one thing that really struck me while we were there is this:

Life is life.

And it happens everywhere.

It's not any more magical because there is beauitful architecture out the window, monuments to see or trains to ride.

We had the privilege of watching life happen for the friends and family we visited, and, can I tell you a secret? It may be happening in Europe, but life looks pretty much the same. They go to the grocery store (with the added adventure of hoping they can understand what the cashier says or trying to keep the true value of a Euro in mind), they cook dinner, which is sometimes exotic and is sometimes frozen chicken nuggets. They struggle to keep their homes in order while displaying beautiful hospitality. They have bathrooms to clean and dishes to wash. Their kids still throw a fit here and there and also give sweet kisses to Mommy and Daddy before bedtime.

There are differences, to be sure, but in the end, they are living real lives while trying to be a Light.

And isn't that what we all should be doing?

We could walk the streets of Paris until our feet fall off (which they just might), speed along the autobahn on our way to Amsterdam, or shop at IKEA whenever we get the whim (ok, so people do that in the States, but, trust me, this is a big deal to some people), but none of these things bring any more meaning to our lives.

We have no more significance because of where our feet have fallen or what our eyes have seen. This isn't what our living is for. It's for the people we do this life with. Those in our home, those in our community and even those we run into along the journey. This is where the true magic lies.

Old buildings are beautiful, but old friendships are priceless.

And we don't find the glory of God in museums and ancient architecture, though we can certainly see displayed the beautiful gifts and talents which He has given, but where we truly feel Him is when we truly love. When we sink ourselves in His Word, His love and His embrace, and when we turn to show that love to those with whom we come into contact.

And that can happen anywhere in the world. Including right down the street, or right down the hall.

And if you're living in the land of first world problems, you have it easy. Because you get to focus on showing this love without a language barrier, culture shock or major family uhpeaval.

Wake up where you are. Look around, and be grateful that you are here, where others would love to be, truly. And focus on being a Light. Wherever you are.