We're staying in a house surrounded by dirt. My kids have been bathing almost every day because when they walk through the door they're a few shades darker than when they walked out the door...and it's not from the sun. You can see their eye holes in the original color.
It seems, no matter what they, or we, do we come back dirty and itching, too. The first day we arrived, we woke up eager to explore the mountainside. We boldly headed down the trail in our shorts and flip flops and ended (30 minutes later?) with two crying kids. One had stepped in poop and couldn't bear to continue the explorations and the other had discovered that all the leaves are spiky and that there are many, many burrs here. Neither of them wanted to explore again. Ever! The other two were still game to leave the house in future days, but they were not thrilled about everything having spikes and burrs on it.
I'm proud to report, however, that just a few days later, we have all continued to walk out the door and the one who had given up all exploring for ALL time is the one who discovered the tarantula on our walk tonight and was excited about it. The difference is we know what we're facing and are better prepared for it.
Also, a couple days ago, the kids made an important discovery. There's a hill, actually, the whole thing is hill-so the part of the hill right next to the house turns out to be the perfect place to geronimo down on the two year old's tiny pink tricycle. The two year old hasn't done it, but the 4, 6 and 8 year old have been wild about it (we did let the 2 year old give it a small go on the barely-bottom part of a hill and she rapidly let go of the handlebars and crashed...not a problem keeping her off the behemoth now...). Only one kid has crashed and cried, but only minor injuries incurred. Anyway, the proper way down this hill is to drag your feet along the whole dusty way (and we're talking 250 meters here?) so you can maintain control and not careen into the tall brown, burry grass on the sides of the pathway. They haven't all managed it every time. Little pink tricycle is most definitely seeing more action then ever in her short life. At any rate, they come back dirty. But it's AWESOME!
My kids are urbanites. Have I mentioned that? They are. When we started driving in the hills and there were no more houses in sight, the two year old started fearfully wimpering in her carseat. She calmed a little when I held her hand. When we walk through the woods, it's scary for one or the other of them at some point in the walk. When they see more than their accustomed 5 stars, they are in awe. They are surprised at dirt roads and hills without guardrails. They are used to seeing dogs on leashes or behind fences. Any sort of loose animal spotted anywhere is scream-worthy. Muddy hands must be immediately washed because they're...muddy. I never dreamed I would be raising urbanites, but here we are.
At home, we have dirt, but it's boxed in and manicured for the most part. The kids can't mess with the plants and bushes too much or the neighbors become upset (HOA...ugh). If there is a loose cat, it will discreetly disappear one day to the animal shelter lest it leave a mess in our allotted dirt. We can't be too loud or fast or leave a mess so we don't disturb our neighbors. It's just the way it has to be in close communities like ours. Mostly, people don't want mess. They want peace and quiet and beauty. I get it. But is that the way to peace of heart and mind?
I notice this in more than my little community, however. It's all the rage to look and be perfect. If you have problems, go to the proper place and deal with it. If you have mess, shut it behind your doors and don't talk about it. If your face or body doesn't look right, fix it. The last thing you should do is engage with people! Don't smile at them on the street or dump your emotional dirt if you don't know them well enough or they don't want to hear it. Keep it clean. Act your role. Do your part.
But what if? What if we walked out our doors prepared for the dirt and the spikes? What if we stopped worrying about what we want and don't want, what we can and can't do, and started looking at and listening more to the people around us and what they need? What if we stopped paying so much attention to our screens and diverted our eyes and hearts and ears to people right next to us? What if we didn't cry when we stepped in life's poop and came home with spikes and splinters and burrs? Or, if the tears came, what if they were for the pain of others rather then our own? What if we expected the dirt and rashes? What if we looked for them instead of walked right by and around?
What I'm asking is this: Why do we try so hard to cover up our mess? Why do we pretend? Why are we too busy to listen? Why do we never have time? Are our hours so well spent that we don't have time to stop and be real with ourselves and each other? Why can't we live with the dirt? It's not going away.
How about this? How about we all jump on our little pink tricycles and careen down the dirty, scary way? We might get hurt. It might make us cry. Our shoes will definitely not last as long. But, I promise you, it will be AWESOME!
I mean, dirt. It's where we came from, isn't it? We can dress it up, and ourselves, all we want, but it's still there. We can manicure our parks and plant trees perfectly aligned, but underneath it's still dirt. I get lost in the pavement of the city. I miss the simplicity and brown bareness of the earth. And so, here, away, I am excited when it's just God's beautifully landscaped world around me. Just the dirty dirt. And it's okay that it's not perfect looking. It just is.
P.S. (In case you didn't gather it on your own, your little pink tricycle is the Bible, God's word.)
Here's the thing.
There's this guy.
He grew up in my little home place and now he's known everywhere. And I see other people from my city posting pictures on facebook of posters of him in their towns where they live now, or somewhere far away that they're visiting. And we're all super proud of him and we're all cheering him on. And that's really good! I am too. Most definitely.
We get all excited because we feel the touch of greatness. In some little way we saw it happen and claim a little of it for ourselves. We have the boast of knowing before other people knew and the seeing and hearing before the rest of the world. And now we want them to know that we knew him before! He's our news!!! More than that, he's our friend. Maybe he really was. Or maybe we just talked to him once or passed him in the hall or sat near him in history class. Some of us never met him because he was older or younger than us and we walked in different circles, but we're just as proud because he's one of us. From our place!
We can hold our heads up a little higher, our faces shine and we feel a little bit famous ourselves because we know, or knew, or talked to, or saw, or came from the same place as this guy. We start to identify ourselves more with him. We start to follow his movies and interviews and look at his pictures. We "like" everything that has to do with him, and in our hearts, maybe we love those things too.
Now you may not know that particular guy. Your person could be a gal. Or a different guy. Maybe a whole group. Or no one...that's okay. But maybe there's someone from your place who makes you feel important. Someone you've latched onto and identified with. Someone about whom you can say, "I knew him. I was there."
And it's special. It really is. But it's a bit of a danger zone. It's a fine line to walk. Where do I place my value? My importance? My identity? Is some of it in that guy and his success and the boast I have in him? Even a little bit? Has his fame crept into an idolatrous crevice of my heart?
What if I boasted just as much, or even more, about this Jesus guy that I know? Because I met him way before I met the other guy! He's the one who proved himself as God when I was just a little girl praying for a frog. He's the one who, when I picked up my Bible as a young teen, responded by loving me. And I felt it and knew it. He's the one who provided for the payment of my car in Romania at the very last minute from some beautiful Germans who also knew him. He's the one who guided my hands when the semi-truck was headed straight for me and told me he had other plans for me than to die that day. He's the one who lead me to my husband. He's the one I could come to with any emotion when my baby was so sick. He's the one who has pulled me out of my own drowning thoughts and sadnesses. He's the one I lean on each and every day.
I didn't exactly go to school with him. I mean, I didn't see him with my eyes anyway. Not in the same way I saw the guy. Because, the guy is just a guy. A human guy. But, this Jesus guy...he's God. Really God. But he became a guy so I could know and understand him better. It's in the history books and in the Bible.
And he's famous. Really famous! I've seen churches built and people meeting so that they can know him better. I've seen people pray, sing, and dance to Jesus in a multitude of languages. And they're doing it because they know him. More than that-He knows them and they know it!
I don't see pictures plastered everywhere of him, but I see this created place, this world. Blades of grass, spider webs, the human body. So intricately planned. They speak of him.
And so I shout it out! I know him!! I know Jesus! I've known him for as long as I can remember! I haven't always done a good job of it, but I really want to be just like him! He's the one I want to know more! He's the one I want to be known for! He came to my place so I could know him. He's from my place...and every place! He is my news!!! More than that, he's my friend. I am following him! I am "liking" him! I am loving him! And he has my whole heart.
Skeptical? Pick up a Bible. Read about Jesus in Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. He's famous. Bibles are everywhere. It isn't called the "Good News" for nothing. It really is Good News.
I might have rubbed shoulders with a famous guy in high school-a fact which makes me sometimes giddy-but this Jesus....this Jesus...Because of knowing this Jesus I am changed. I can hold my head high and smile with the shine of joy, even in the midst of sadness. I can remember when, and know now, and think of the future and it gives me strength when I should be weak. He is really with me every day, not just his picture, because he is God, not merely a guy. I identify with him, and he with me, and I feel the freedom of not carrying around guilt like I used to. I've known him, and he knows me...and I feel important. Because of Jesus, I know God. I have the confidence that my sins are forgiven and the knowledge of a promised eternity in heaven. And that is truly Great.
