a surrender - 68

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter nine, "God doesn't need our help") 

That seemed like the best decision, from a practical point of view, but it didn’t look good for Heather and Ian and me. The campground was well established and very professional. If we wanted to stay on, we would have to be hired by them. And it didn’t seem at all likely that the camp’s organizational structure would accommodate our unusual lifestyle. It seemed almost certain that we would have to go.

But I had no idea where we could go. In the weeks that followed, while we waited for the final agreement with the campground, many ideas tumbled around in my head. But none of them inspired much hope. Our time was running out.

Then, two days before the paperwork was supposed to be signed, there was an unexpected announcement. The governing board of the campground had voted unanimously to not accept the farm property. Apparently the camp did not have the personnel or resources to take on the new property. It seemed that the camp director, who had made the proposal, had been acting on his own, without the support of the board. So the campground would not be taking over after all.

That set off a two-day scramble in the community. They thought the decision had been made, but now there was no one to take the land. There were frantic discussions. Then another announcement. Now the property would be given to a local church group, who wanted to start an educational farm.

We were stunned. That changed everything for us. Some of the local church leaders were friends of ours. And this wasn’t an established organization, so they might be flexible enough for us to fit in. As a church group, they might even be open to us continuing our retreats on the farm. It took several weeks before we would know for sure, and I sweated quite a bit during those days because we felt so helpless. We were grateful that one of the church leaders, our friend Dennis, often offered us words of support and reassurance. Then finally it was settled. We could stay. It turned out that we were the only family that did stay. The new owners were happy to have our experience with the farm, and all the skills that we had learned in our years working here. And we could keep doing our retreats, as well as helping them develop new retreat ideas. We would be “resident volunteers.” This was basically what we had been previously. We could choose the projects that we worked on and didn’t have to pay for our housing. Later I learned that this arrangement had been chosen, in those early days of planning, primarily for its ease and simplicity. But for us, it was a perfect fit.

Continued...

I recall, as he
calmly teaches the teachers,
his cradle of straw

(previous years' Christmas haikus begin here)

a surrender - 67

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter nine)

 

God doesn't need our help

 

When our son was born, there were several other families with children on the farm. We didn’t think we would have any more children ourselves, but he would have playmates. Then, four years later, they were all gone.

The farm community had been having troubles for several years. Financial troubles and troubles agreeing about important decisions. They were also having a hard time getting younger people to join them. Then, over a period of a few months, several older members died, including a man who had been a trusted and beloved leader in the community for many years. All this seemed to convince most of the people that, after more than forty years, the end had come. A few families that had been pillars in the community announced that they were leaving. And then those who remained decided to disband and, as they had always planned, give their houses and land away to a charitable organization.

This came as a shock to Heather and me. We weren’t involved in the meetings or the decision-making, since we weren’t official members. So we didn’t see how dire the situation was, until the decision was announced. There didn’t seem to be any clear options for us. We didn’t have any stable income or property or family nearby. And we had a three-year-old child. The life that had seemed so stable felt now like it was collapsing under us. And we didn’t have any idea what would come next. 

An important meeting was scheduled, to decide who would receive the farm. Several small charitable groups would be presenting their proposals to the remaining community members. I also frantically put together a proposal. It was to provide low cost housing to the immigrant workers who came every season to help with the picking of the berries, and train them to eventually take over management of the farm. That would allow any of us who wanted to stay on the farm to stay, and would also support poor immigrants, who were having an especially hard time in our country at the time. I made a passionate presentation. But I think it was obvious to everyone but me that the idea didn’t have the support of the remaining community or the necessary connections in the immigrant community. After the presentations, I prayed hard and hoped desperately as they deliberated. But my proposal had no chance. The decision was made to give the farm to a Christian campground a few miles away.

Continued...

a surrender - 66

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter eight, "where is God?") 

No.

No! I was wrong then? Then what was he? Tell me that, what was he? Was he a liar? Him? He was truth itself and no one knows it as I do. Was he a fool? Proud, hopeful, overreaching—weak? Is that what demons of hell screamed and ran from? No. He was the one, he was everything, he was the very son of God and they killed him. And now the world is dark and empty but I’ll tell you one thing—I don’t care if he’s dead, I’m his—they can kill me too if they want but I’m his.

And I will always be.

That’s the sun. I can go now. I can go to him.

I did wonder during that time of confusion and grieving if we were wrong about God’s help. It took us a while before we felt ready to try again, and then when we did, it didn’t work. The first time, she had gotten pregnant so quickly. But now, month after month after month the blood came, dashing our hopes. I could make no sense of it. Never give up, that’s what they say. And we didn’t give up, we kept trying. And kept trying. But each time Heather gave me the sad news, I grew more unsteady. I was feeling less and less sure about this. Did we want to start our family this way, pushing and pushing, like it was something we were going to achieve by relentless, unyielding determination? That’s not how we had made it this far. We had made it this far by the power of God, taking each step as it was set before us, a beautiful, generous gift. So when Heather finally suggested that maybe we should stop trying, it sounded right.

“Never give up” might be good practical advice in life, but it’s not faith. Faith is a surrender. It’s the farthest thing from relentless, unyielding determination. It’s a prayer you say when you’re on your knees. Like Jesus was, that dark, lonely night before he was arrested. “Not my will, but yours be done.”

In the days after the miscarriage, I wrote the words of a song in my journal. It was sung by Lacey Sturm, powerfully, loudly, and I remember crying as I heard her shout:

Here you are 
down on your knees again
Trying to find air to breathe again 
Only surrender will help you now

See
and believe

I think it was important for me then to give up, to stop pushing. It was important for me to stop trying to decide what should or shouldn’t be happening. That wasn’t for me to decide. And it was important for me to stop trying to make sense of the loss and the pain. Because I couldn’t make sense of it, no matter how hard I tried. 

But I could ask. I could ask the only one who had the answer.

God, oh God—
why? 

Where are you?

Mary was overwhelmed with the answer when she arrived at Jesus’ tomb, and he wasn’t in it. And we were overwhelmed the following Easter with the news that Heather was pregnant again. The baby would be born right after the farm season ended. Good timing.

He would be named Ian. It means “God is gracious.”

Continued...

a surrender - 65

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter eight, "where is God?") 

In the days that followed I was miserable and confused. I remember sadly telling our friends that we wouldn’t be having a baby after all. I thought and prayed, but couldn’t make any sense of it in my mind. And it scared me. We had finally felt secure enough to bring a child into our precarious life, because it felt like God was helping us. But now that feeling was shaken. I didn’t understand it. We had had so many surprising experiences of what seemed like God’s care and support, so we had felt that it was safe enough for a child. Then it seemed that a child was given to us, and we had been so happy and hopeful. And grateful. Now that child was dead.

The miscarriage happened just after Easter. A few years earlier, we had led the Easter church service for the community on the farm. Heather had written a dramatic reading based on the Easter story. It was set in the days after Jesus’ execution, when his followers were in hiding, terrified and confused. It began with the thoughts of Mary of Magdala, as she prepared to visit Jesus’ tomb:

My eye is pressed to the crack in the shutters, looking for light. The doors and the windows are locked and barred.

The sky is growing gray in the east, I think it is, I know it is; soon it will be light enough to go. Shabbat is over now, that terrible Shabbat. Sitting in the dark, not moving, not speaking; the shuffle of someone’s foot in the darkness, then silence again. Nothing we could bear to say. I sat with the other women around the spices and the smell of the myrrh made me dizzy, and the shadows would shift and float, and I would come to myself again and again. Almost before I had time to think it’s not real—it’s a nightmare, I was jolted by the knowledge that it’s not. It’s true. It happened. I was there.

He’s dead.

He’s dead and the world is not what I thought it was. He’s dead, and it wasn’t true. Oh, oh I know nightmares if anybody does, they walked beside me in the living day, in the time of my demons…. I saw water turn to blood under my hands, I believed my touch would kill children; I ran from them. There were voices, they were with me when I lay down and when I got up—whispering God hates you… until he came.

He told me they were lies. He said to trust him. He asked me if I wanted them gone. They were flailing and screaming but I shouted over their voices, I shouted yes with all my strength—and he whipped them. Oh, if those men could have seen him then, those soldiers, those priests, if they could have seen the power in his hand, the light. His eyes were like the sun—terrible as an army with banners… And they really thought they could kill—Him?

And they did. They did.

There is no doubt. I watched him die. I watched his body broken on the tree. His breaths grew shorter; farther apart; desperate, fast, inhuman gasps, with silence in between. One last one, and then—no more. There is no doubt.

He’s dead. And the world is empty now. And everything he said—

I’m like them now—I never thought I’d be like them. Like my uncle Matthew and the others, when Judas the Galilean was killed and his army scattered, and they came home exhausted and with bitter eyes. They thought Judas was the Messiah. And they were wrong. You believe in a man, you put all your faith in him, the very life in your body is his—who’s to say he didn’t shine in their eyes, as my Lord shone when he drove my demons away, who’s to say he didn’t pull them out of the depths and back into life? You believe in a man, you believe. And then they kill him. And you have to face the truth.

You were wrong.

Continued... 

a surrender - 64

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter eight)

 

where is God?

 

Waiting for the doctor in the brightly lit examination room, we were nervous with anticipation. This was the day we would get to see our baby. The doctor finally came in, explained how the ultrasound worked, and then started the procedure. Our eyes eagerly searched the video image. It was hard to decipher what we were seeing.

The doctor seemed puzzled also. Then she said she was sorry. It seemed that there wasn’t anything there. Sometimes, the doctor told us, early in a pregnancy, the baby stops developing for some reason. It was fairly common, she said.

But it wasn’t common for us. We were stunned. I couldn’t believe it. We walked mechanically out of the doctor’s office and drove home, not knowing what to say to each other, except I love you.

In the days that followed, I kept hoping that the doctor was somehow mistaken. She had said we should expect a miscarriage in the coming days. But I prayed for some kind of miracle. Heather’s pregnancy had seemed like such a gift that I couldn’t believe it was for nothing. I felt like I had to keep believing, that I shouldn’t let go.

But then the pain came. Heather woke up very early one morning with abdominal cramps and some sharper pains, and she couldn’t go back to sleep. She got out of bed and tried to watch a movie to take her mind off it. But after an hour the pain was much worse, so she woke me and said we should go to the hospital. We didn’t have a car. I quickly went to another family’s house, and had to go in and knock on their bedroom door to wake them and ask to borrow their car. By the time I got back, Heather’s pain was worse. Then, when I tried to get her to move, she passed out.

I didn’t know what to do.

Should I try to carry her to the car? Could I make it? Was it even safe? My mind was whirling frantically. How long had she been unconscious?

Then slowly her eyes opened.

And she said the pain was less now. We decided to wait a little while, and gradually she felt better. Relieved, I returned the car to our neighbor; but walking back home, I was angry and crying. Losing the baby wasn’t enough, we had to go through this agony too? Why?

Where was God?

Continued... 

a surrender - 63

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

Throughout these years on the farm, in our retreats and also in our other work, we remembered what Jesus had told his followers: “Freely have you received, freely give.” Jesus had helped people in many ways, and had always offered his help for free. This meant he could do the work he felt was best, for the people who needed it most, without worrying whether he would get paid for it. He could be single-minded in his work, focusing only on the needs of the people he was serving. He didn’t need to think about what he would get out of it, because God would take care of his needs. “Do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, nor be worried,” Jesus told his followers, “for everyone seeks after these things, and your Father knows that you need them.” And God did provide all that Jesus needed, in a variety of ways. Many people welcomed him into their homes, and fed him at their tables. People sometimes gave him money, though he didn’t ask for it. Jesus cared for others, and others cared for him—not because they had to, but because they loved him. So everything he received was a gift, an act of love. And he stayed poor and humble, always dependent on that love, as God inspired it. How wondrously different this was from the way work and business are usually done! I had to find out if this was possible for me. And Heather agreed. So we didn’t ask for any payment for our work on the farm, and we tried to live on what the community, and others, offered to give us.

We knew living this way seemed unlikely to work for long. And the added needs of a family made it seem even less likely. We lived simply and kept our needs low. But we knew it would be impossible to “freely give” and still get everything we needed unless God was supporting us. People warned us that it wouldn’t work. That was scary to contemplate, especially now that Heather was dependent on this with me. But we believed God could make it work. We were also encouraged and inspired by the generosity of friends and family. And by the people who came for our retreats. If they could trust the power of God to drive away their demons, we could trust our lives to that power as well.

And, somehow, it did work. The community didn’t charge us for our housing, or for the retreat space. People shared rides in their cars. Good, fresh food came from the farm and from Heather’s own garden. A dentist friend offered his services at a generous discount. Medical care was free because our income was so low. And many different people donated money, for our use and for our retreats.

After four years on the farm, we began feeling that our life was stable enough to try to have a child. And a few weeks later, we found out that Heather was pregnant. It was good timing. The child should come soon after the farming season ended. We looked forward to that day with joy and eagerness.

 

Continued...

a surrender - 62

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

The men on that first retreat had very hard lives. Most of them were homeless. They had to fend for themselves every day on the streets of the city. One of the men said he identified with the man in Heather’s story, who clung to his demons because they made him strong and they made people fear him. Being feared felt better than being despised.

We were very encouraged after that first retreat. The men had been interested, and eager to talk about their lives and listen to the others. They were grateful for the good food, the rest, and the quiet. And we parted as friends. The experience was inspiring and energizing for us as well, even more than we had hoped. It felt like proclaiming good news to the poor, like Jesus did.

We made lots of new friends during the many retreats at the farm, over the next eleven years. And several of them came back again and again. It was good to see how their lives had changed, and how God was helping them.

Most of our time on the farm, though, was spent helping the community there in various ways. We planted long rows of strawberries, weeded them, picked the berries when they were ripe and sweet, and then covered them with straw for the winter. We weeded and mulched row after row of blueberry bushes, and filled buckets with the berries, plump and delicious. Heather helped tend the huge vegetable garden. And I would drive a truck to the city once a week, to take the vegetables and berries to our friends in the community there. In the winter, we would help cut and split fallen trees, so the wood could season for a year before it was needed to heat houses the following winter. And several days a week I helped make bread and cookies in the community bakery. Most of the bread and produce from the farm was sold at markets, but we also got to enjoy many of those good things ourselves.

As needs arose in the community, we learned new skills to help in other ways. When one of the older men was no longer able to get into his wheelchair by himself, I started visiting him each day to move him, and help with meals and washing and simple medical care. When another member started having trouble with memory, I learned some basic bookkeeping. I also learned to do some of the routine maintenance needed for the homes on the farm. Heather eventually took over managing the large vegetable garden, and learned how to prune the fruit trees and the vineyard. Another man’s back pain was worsening, so I started doing all the mowing. And I learned how to maintain all the shared network equipment; a complicated system was required to provide internet access to our many homes out in the country. It felt good to be able to help, and we were learning useful skills.

Continued... 

a surrender - 61

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

On the strangely clear horizon there is a sail, coming closer, riding before the wind. I rise to my feet and stare. Someone’s made it through the storm!

They won’t come here, though they seem to be headed for it. No boat makes landfall here. They know what sort of place it is. The boat does not turn, the sail stays steady, grows bigger by the moment. Fear starts to rise in me. Who are these men? They come here—to this cursed place—they’re headed straight for me—through the middle of the worst storm of the year, and with them comes the sun and calm; something’s not right. They are pulling into shore, reefing in the sail, it’s dripping; their boat gleams wet in the sun, the water still sloshes in the bottom of it; they’re still bailing! They were right in the middle of that—and now they’re here.

And one of them has seen me.

I stand tall. I am Legion. They will remember this day.

One of them points, shouts, jumps back in the boat; but the first one acts as if he has not heard. He is coming. As he comes he is looking at me, straight at me, he sees nothing but me.

Legion rises screaming, shrieking, thousands of voices strong; they see him, they see that he sees me—that he sees them. Who is this man? A wild fear and a wild hope rise in me like the wind and another voice drowns out the voice of Legion in my mind, a voice that cracks like a whip: Come OUT of him!

Legion yelps like a kicked dog, then screams again and charges, takes me running, running at him as fast as I can with my tangled hair whipping, a rock still in my hand. I can feel their thousands, thousands of feet trampling me, but I look up and before I am lost to myself I see his face, his eyes, and I see the thing that I will never forget.

He is not afraid.

 

Continued... 

a surrender - 60

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

I squat here in the rain, not moving, looking up into the angry sky. The rain comes down in fury, battering my face. Any sane man would be crouching under a rock ledge, even inside one of the caves where they bury the rich dead, to be out of this.

I am not a sane man.

I am Legion.

My demons are a legion, an army in my head, marching in step one-two one-two. Too many of them to count. One-two one-two one-two and then suddenly they scream, they shriek their battle-cry and charge, and I am trampled under their feet and I know nothing; those times are my rages, the times I’ve torn chunks out of any man that dared set foot among my tombs. Then I feel no pain. I take the rocks that lie on this hillside and run their sharp edges down my chest and bleed, and I feel no pain. Nothing at all. Just the trickling on my skin as warm as tears.

They thought at first they could bind me, they thought I was a joke, a raving screaming lunatic joke—and they found out how wrong they were. They tried to tame me, tie me like a goat to a post—I tore their ropes to shreds. They tried to chain me up and I pulled their chains in two, I chased them through the tombs whipping the broken chain around my head, big men screamed and ran from me.

No one can look me in the face and not be afraid.

No one can bind me.

I stand and shout it to the storm as the thunder booms around me: I am Legion! No one can bind me! And the rain runs down my scarred body and the wind whips my tangled hair around my face and the lightning rips the sky and the thunder cracks again—

And within the space of a breath the storm is gone.

I saw it happen, saw the clouds pull back, draw themselves in and up into blue sky. Sunlight shooting down as sudden as lightning. The waves on the lake flattening out into calm, like the raised hackles of a dog suddenly lying down again at the sound of his master’s voice—there is something out there.

Continued... 

a surrender - 59

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

Later that summer we had our first retreat guests come for a weekend. Friends had given us a dining room table and chairs just the day before. And only a few days before that we had finished painting the third guest room. We were still short two mattresses, two bedsprings, and a nightstand. Two families at the farm loaned us mattresses for the weekend, so we decided to just put the mattresses on the floor, and set up a temporary nightstand. The two staff people with the group slept in that room. There were fresh blueberries, green beans, potatoes, and lettuce from our garden, and several kinds of fresh bread from the farm bakery. I made pizza. Heather roasted two chickens. And everyone had as much as they wanted.

We listened a lot that weekend. And we all discussed the story of Jesus confronting a man’s demons. Heather read to us her own version of the story, to help us get a deeper understanding of what happened that day:

Bad storm today. The sky is as black as my mind, and the wind is whipping the lake till it heaves and groans with the pain, humps itself up into waves that are taller than me. Lightning rips down the sky onto the water, close—very close—the thunder cracks as soon as the light is gone, a sound of huge stone smashing against stone, almost drowning out the voices in my head.

I look up to the cliff where the pigs are pastured; I can hear them when the thunder fades, grunting and screaming in fear. The pig-herders are having a bad day of it. Everyone is; except me. 

Anyone out on that lake is a goner, but here on my hillside of rocks and caves and graves I listen to the thunder and it wraps me in sound, and the voices are stilled to a low angry mutter and I can hear myself think 

I like storms.

Continued... 

a surrender - 58

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

Over the weeks that followed, we slowly made our way south to my parents’ house. But we didn’t stay with them long. As soon as we arrived, we found out that one of the families at the farm had moved away, so there was an apartment available for us. And it was in a large community building that had a small library and several unused rooms next to the apartment, which could be made into guest bedrooms. So we took a bus back to the farm.

That winter, we started preparing our retreat house. We stripped wallpaper and painted all the rooms. We asked for donations of beds and blankets. We searched resale shops for sheets and towels and decorations, and found a pretty set of china dishes that could serve twelve. We wanted to treat the people who came for retreats as honored guests in our home, serving our best food, on our finest dishes. We wanted to show our respect for them, as Jesus did.

We were inspired by Jesus’ words, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.” So our retreats would be free. And we would invite people who normally couldn’t afford retreats, from ministries and transitional programs, often from the city, and we’d offer transportation too. We already had some money from our wedding, and family and friends on the farm offered money for the retreats as well.

In the spring we started working on the farm again. I remember riding out to the fields on our bikes, in the chilly air of dawn, to pick sweet corn before market. We had to wear raincoats because the leaves were so wet with dew. Every day at lunchtime we ate quickly and fell into bed, so we could get some sleep before we had to start work again in the afternoon. Those days were long and exhausting.

Continued... 

a surrender - 57

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

A few weeks later we visited a similar community. It had been started in the 1940s following the model of Jesus’ early followers, and was known as a place where black and white people could live and work together peacefully, as equals. Clarence Jordan wrote about their experience starting the place:

I remember quite well that we were supposed to pay the fellow $2500 down. Martin England, who was a missionary under the American Foreign Mission Society to Burma, and I started it together. We agreed on [pooling our finances] and I had the idea that Martin was loaded. I don’t know why I should think that, he being an American Baptist missionary, but he talked about, “Let’s do this and let’s do that,” and I said, “Yeah, let’s do” and I thought he had the money. And so I said, “Let’s do this and let’s do that” and he said, “Yeah, let’s do” and when we finally pooled our common assets, we had $57.13. We were three weeks from the time we had agreed to pay $2500 down! To make a long story short, we put down that $2500. A fellow brought it to us and said God had sent him with it. I didn’t question him—we took it right quick before God changed his mind.

Years later, a newspaper reporter came out there and asked, “Who finances this project?”

Well, all along, folks who had helped us said that God had sent them, so I said to this newspaper reporter, “God does.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I know. But who supports it?”

I said, “God.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, “but who, who, who, uh, who—you know what I’m talking about. Who’s back of it?”

I said, “God.”

He said, “But what I mean is, how do you pay your bills?”

I said, “By check.”

“But,” he said, “I mean—hell, don’t you know what I mean?”

I said, “Yeah, friend, I know what you mean. The trouble is you don’t know what I mean!”

While we were there, I got an e-mail from the pastor of the church where we found the baby shower. Someone had showed him that I had briefly (and without naming the church) mentioned the incident online, and he had then read about our walk and our preparations to offer free retreats. He said he was sorry that they had not invited us to stay at his church that night. The next Sunday he had preached about the experience. “I would like to ask,” he wrote, “if you are ever coming through this area again, I would love for you and your wife to share with our church. If I can ever be of assistance feel free to call.”

Continued...

a surrender - 56

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

Sara, a friend I had met online, picked us up from the library and we enjoyed being with her family for almost a week. The day after we left them, she wrote to tell us that her four-year-old daughter had seemed worried about us. “I want dem to stay all night, ‘cuz I yuv dem,” she told Sara. “If dey det a baby boy or dirl dey will need a house.” But when Sara told her that God would provide a house for us when we needed one, she seemed satisfied. “Dod a’ways helps us,” she said. 

Two days later we were in a library and a man struck up a conversation with Heather. He introduced himself as a pastor, an African, from Cameroon. When Heather told him that her great-grandparents were missionaries there years ago, he got excited and began asking more about our walk. Soon we were at his house, sharing cassava dipped in a soup made from chicken and spices and greens. Quite good. And he was very impressed that Heather knew how to eat it and dug right in with her fingers. The pastor offered to drive us down the road a ways. But then, as we described our next planned visit to a rural community known for their work with international refugees, he decided he wanted to take us all the way and see the place for himself.

We were warmly welcomed and ate with the community and their summer volunteers. They were also welcoming some new refugees arriving from Burma that day. In the evening, we visited the houses of some other families staying there, from Chad and Burundi. I thought they wouldn’t appreciate a crowd appearing at their door, but they seemed quite pleased and welcomed everyone in. Then the singing started, traditional African songs in their native language, with everyone clapping along and sing-ing and ululation for applause.

Just before we left, the pastor stood up to say a few words and pray. He spoke in French so someone could translate to the African dialect, while Heather translated into English. He was very impressed by his experience here. I remember him saying before he drove away, “This is how it should be.”

Continued... 

a surrender - 55

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

But stepping out onto the road again, after being in a warm, safe place, always brought back a cold shiver of vulnerability. Even more so this year. I sometimes tried to imagine how I would react if Heather and I were threatened, way out in some isolated place. The thought of her being attacked scared me badly. But God had protected me out on the road for years, and we both trusted God to protect us now.

I also tried to plan our path carefully. We could stop in libraries along the way and check maps online, and even see where there were places we could buy food and possibly find shelter for the night. But there were occasional surprises. The day after we left Tom’s house, a church that I thought we could stop at just wasn’t where the map said it would be.

So we had to keep walking. It was late, already dark. Really dark. We happened to be walking through a national forest and there was nothing around but trees and night noises and the occasional rush of a passing car. Then I heard a vehicle coming up behind us, and it sounded like it was slowing down. My heart started beating faster. It was definitely slowing down. I felt extremely isolated. The vehicle was pulling up next to us. I turned to look.

“Y’all need a ride?” The man smiled and gestured to the bed of his pickup truck. 

I was so relieved I couldn’t say anything, but Heather said yes, and we climbed into the back. After a blustery ten mile ride, we were dropped off close to the next town. And right there was a church porch we could sleep on.

A couple days later we came to a church in the evening, and hoped we could stop there for the night. But there were people there, a group just leaving a baby shower. We introduced ourselves. Sometimes we told people we were on “a pilgrimage,” sometimes “a faith walk.” These women seemed like they would understand “a faith walk” better. They invited us in, and promptly put some leftover fried chicken in front of us, potato salad, and sweet tea. Heather tasted it and grinned. “Now I know I’m in the South,” she said. One of the women called someone, to ask if we could stay at the church that night, but couldn’t get permission. Undeterred, she tried again, calling her own pastor at another church. Then she took us there. The pastor showed up to make sure we were comfortable. The next morning he took us to breakfast, and drove us to a library down the road. We talked all the way. I remember smiling at Heather when his cell phone started ringing. “When The Saints Go Marching In,” Dixieland style. 

Continued... 

a surrender - 54

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

A couple weeks later we arrived at a church Wednesday night, just as people were going in. So we joined them. After worship, since it was already dark, I asked the pastor if we could sleep outside the church. He seemed reluctant. “There’s been some problems,” he said, “and the police come around here….” When I asked if he thought we should just move on down the road, though, he grew more uncomfortable, then consulted with one of the other men. They offered us the man’s shed for the night. But then another man, who had overheard our conversation, stepped in. “I’ll take care of them tonight,” he said. We stopped by his house where his wife made us sandwiches, then he took us looking for a motel. As it turned out, a motel wasn’t easy to find. He ended up driving us all the way to the town where my friend Tom lives, where we had planned to stop for a few days.

Tom is a potter who I first visited on a walk five years earlier. He lived with his young son, Slate, who has cerebral palsy, but whose eagerness and energy make it easy to not notice the crutches. Tom’s home, his little gallery, and his workshop and kiln shed were tucked back into the woods, a comfortable place to rest for a while. And he had become quite the pizza chef since I had seen him last. The first night he served us pizza with gorgonzola and pear on handmade plates, each one beautiful and unique. And the day after that, he showed Heather how he was making some small platters, and she got her hands in the clay and shaped fifteen of them. I was happy to see her enjoying that new experience. Later, admiring the pottery, we noticed a lovely chalice and plate set that was meant for celebrating communion. When we asked about purchasing it, Tom gave it to us. He mailed it back to the farm, where we would use it to serve communion to the guests that came for retreats with us. Our bellies and our hearts were very full when we said goodbye to Tom and Slate.

Continued... 

a surrender - 53

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

About a month later, after a hard and lonely week and a half, when we talked with almost no one and slept outside every night, we were offered a ride by a couple of young guys in a red sports car, blaring music by Rage Against The Machine. Not your stereotypical good Samaritans. But Heather thought they seemed okay, so we accepted. They proceeded to drive us up and down the shores of the beautiful river there, showing us the sights. Then zipped us across a wide dam. As we rode across, I was surprised to see a sign that said pedestrians weren’t allowed on the dam—our only way across the river. They took us right to the church we were hoping to visit the next morning. There we found a cluster of tall Boxwood shrubs that formed a leafy little cave next to the very old cemetery, and we settled in for the night. 

It was a Quaker meetinghouse. In the morning we first met a woman who had accidentally arrived early, and talked with her for an hour before the meeting. She then suggested to the small group that had gathered that Heather and I give a short talk before their silent prayer time, which makes up most of the worship. So we talked about our walk and answered questions. When someone asked us to lead them in a prayer, I offered the words of Charles de Foucauld: “Father, I abandon myself into your hands, do with me what you will… For I love you Lord, and so need to give myself—to surrender myself into your hands, without reserve, and with boundless confidence, for you are my father.” Then we all prayed in silence together.

The rest of the day it rained, but we were incredibly well cared for. Many people came up to us after the meeting, offering encouragement, praise, and gifts. The woman we had met first took us to her home for a lunch of fresh rainbow trout, and a warm shower. Then two other people from the meeting invited us all for dinner. We had a feast of rotisserie rosemary chicken and fresh sweet corn, wine, raspberry ice cream from a local dairy, and lots of lively conversation and encouragement. We were overwhelmed by the gift.

I was especially relieved, because I sometimes worried about Heather’s needs being met. I guess I felt responsible. It was one thing to suffer cold or hunger myself because I had taken this wild risk, but now I had led her into this risk with me. Or maybe it had been her idea, but I had encouraged it. So I was especially grateful when God provided for her needs generously. Not just good food and rest, but also friends and happy gatherings.

Continued... 

a surrender - 52

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

We worked on the farm for a few months, then we did something that Heather had once dreamed of. We took a long walk. It started with a bus ride to the east coast, where there was a church for homeless people, that met out on the streets. We joined them for an inspiring worship time, and tried to learn from their experience and approach. It seemed similar in many ways to what we hoped for our retreat house. I was especially impressed by their respect for the spiritual lives of the people who gathered there for worship. It wasn’t about preaching at them, but being their church community. That was very unusual, in my experience. I remember a suburban church I visited once on an earlier walk, that had bussed many homeless people in for a service, preached to them about hell’s eternal flames, and then sent them back to their shelter in the city. Ironically, the preacher had used Jesus’ story about a rich man and Lazarus, but he failed to notice that in that story it was the poor, suffering Lazarus who ended up comforted in heaven, and the rich man who ended up in the flames. Jesus very much respected the spiritual lives of those who were ignored and cast out of society, and they were the ones who heard him gladly.

As we started walking south from there, Heather quickly took to life on the road. When we couldn’t find shelter one rainy night, she figured out a way to rainproof a big playground structure using our rain ponchos. And the next day when she wanted a break, she found a quiet spot in the woods, hidden from the road. There was a small clearing next to a shallow, rocky stream. We napped for while, and I woke to bird songs and the sunlight winking through the leaves overhead. With Heather beside me.

Our first big challenge came about two weeks later. Heather had developed a very sore ankle, but it was difficult to rest it when we had no place to stay for an extended time. I thought we might have to end our walk. And then the next morning, after a breakfast of bread and milk, we ran out of food. I was impressed that Heather seemed so calm about it. I didn’t feel so calm. It rained as we walked through the city that day, so we were looking for shelter, and hungry, as we approached a church that night. There were two men in the parking lot. We briefly explained our walk and asked to sleep outside the church. Then one of them, the pastor, asked for a personal reference. So we gave him the phone number of one of the leaders of the church at the farm community. We watched as the pastor called and talked with her. Then he talked with his wife. Then he invited us into their home, and his wife put supper in front of us. For dessert, she brought out a warm, homemade blueberry pie.

We had a good talk with them the next morning, over breakfast. And then they surprised us by offering a generous gift of money, too. We were so relieved and grateful. I left a thank you note behind, with Jesus’ words: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me… as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.” 

The next day we used some of the money to get arch supports for Heather’s sandals. And her ankle pain went away.

Continued... 

a surrender - 51

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven, "freely have you received, freely give") 

We were amazed by the response to our presentation. Though some hard questions were asked, what we heard from them was almost completely positive. There was a surprising feeling of energy from the community, and the sense that we all wanted to work together to figure out a way through the difficulties. Our personal visits with a number of people in the following days confirmed that impression. We were thrilled.

“I will give you rest,” the wind had whispered in the pines. After working so hard, for months without a pause to catch our breath, and searching and struggling for two years until we were about to give up, the answer had been on a cluttered desk, in a newsletter about a retreat house for poor people. And a memory of a farm once visited. It felt like a miraculous gift.

The next morning I woke up even earlier and couldn’t sleep any more. But this time it felt like I was a kid on Christmas morning. I didn’t want to miss anything.

Three months later, we were married. A beautiful, grassy clearing in the woods was offered for the ceremony, and a simple cabin for our honeymoon. The cake was amazing, decorated with wild Sweet William blossoms, a gift made by a woman who lived on the farm. Heather’s aunt offered to arrange the flowers. Her uncle, the pastor, performed the marriage and her aunt, the music director at their church, arranged and performed the songs we had chosen, along with other musician friends. A friend gave me a beautiful Guatemalan shirt to wear. And Heather made her lovely white wedding dress. Many other people at the farm volunteered to help set up and decorate, and clean up afterwards, and also offered hospitality to many of our friends and family from out of town. And to us as well. An older couple had shared their home with us when we moved to the farm, and continued to do so through the first few months of our marriage.

During the wedding, under a towering oak, tinged with the new green of spring, Heather and I read to everyone from the psalms:

This poor man cried, 
and the Lord heard him, 
and saved him 
out of all his troubles. 
O taste and see 
that the Lord is good; 
happy are those 
who take refuge in God. 

The sparrow 
has found a home,
and the swallow 
a nest for herself, 
where she may lay 
her young.
O magnify the Lord 
with me,
let us exalt God’s name 
together.
I sought the Lord, 
and he answered me, 
and delivered me 
from all my fears.

Look to God, 
and be radiant; 
so your faces will never 
be ashamed.  

Continued...

a surrender - 50

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter seven)

 

freely have you received,

freely give

 

I woke up very early on the morning we were meeting with the farm community. Hours before dawn. This was the day that we would ask them if we could start a retreat house here and invite poor people. Their answer would determine if this was finally the place where Heather and I could live and work together. And maybe start a family. After years of looking and trying, it felt like we were running out of time. If we couldn’t live here either, it seemed maybe we should stop trying, maybe we weren’t meant to have a life together. It hurt to think about that. But more than once in the previous months, people from the farm had cautioned us not to get our hopes up. The timing didn’t seem right. There just wasn’t the space right now. These thoughts and feelings crowded around me in the cold darkness.  

I got out of bed and wrapped a coat around my shoulders. Sat on the floor and closed my eyes. And tried not to think about the news of the night before, that a tornado had hit the town where my parents live (and that I got only out-of-service signals when I tried to call). I tried not to think about what Heather and I would do if our idea was rejected that morning. I tried to focus on the psalm that had pressed itself into my mind the day before. “This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.” I tried to feel God’s presence, reassurance, support. It was so dark out. I felt so helpless.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I think the sound of the whispering crept into my consciousness before I looked out the window and saw it. The wind in the pines. It was bright enough by then to see the movement, the gentle swaying. I watched the trees dancing and remembered the church courtyard.

Then I rose in the peace of that moment and ate and walked with Heather through the snow to find out what God had for us.

Continued...

a surrender - 49

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

I had come to be a hero, and in less than a year I had been reduced to nothing. It felt like utter failure. But I don’t think it actually was, any more than that dark moment in the monastery garden had been a failure. The power of God comes through surrender, the surrender of the broken. And at that moment I was much closer to surrender again than when I had arrived at that house. It was true that I had miserably little to give. But God had much to give. I was starting to realize that if I was really going to help anyone, it wouldn’t be by my heroic efforts. It would be by telling and showing them the truth. So they could be helped in the same way I was being helped. It would be by pointing them to the power of God, like Jesus did. There’s nothing heroic about that. There are no heroes in the kingdom of God.

A month later, Heather and I were preparing to leave. After a long correspondence, we were going to the retreat house I had read about. Then there was a knock at the front door, and someone asked for me. And there was Richard and Cassie on the porch again. They were smiling. They had jobs now, and a place to live. They had heard we were leaving and wanted to stop by and say thank you. I was happy for them. I didn’t know if they would really make it this time, but I hoped they would. It didn’t feel to me like there was much to thank me for. But I was grateful to them for coming to tell me their good news.

Heather and I liked the retreat house. After more than two years together, we thought we might finally have found a place where we could live and start a family. One night we danced round and round under the bright moon, we were so hopeful. But after two weeks there, the couple that ran the place sat us down. They told us, in astonishingly harsh and accusing terms, all the things we had done wrong. And there would be no chance for us to try to understand and improve. We had to go. We were so shocked that both of us started crying right there, while they were still talking.

The next day, I remembered another community we had visited, like the one where Heather and I met, only it was way out in the country, on a farm. I suddenly thought that would be a good place to start a retreat house.

 

Continued...

a surrender - 48

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

Soon after, I took a few weeks away. Some friends at the community where Heather and I met had asked if I’d be willing to teach some computer skills to the man I used to care for. It seemed like a good time to take a break, so I was glad to do it.

When I came back, I happened to see a newsletter on a cluttered desk. It was about a retreat house for poor people. A married couple had worked in a house like ours for many years, then moved out to the country and started a retreat house. They invited people from shelters and other ministries to come for weekend spiritual retreats. For free. They even paid their transportation costs. It sounded very interesting to me, so I contacted them. They were looking for volunteers, and suggested we get more familiar with the spiritual approach of 12-step programs (like Al-Anon), and keep in touch with them.

That made me feel hopeful. But then I also happened to hear that Richard was in jail. And the woman that Heather had taken to the motel was homeless again, and was showing up at our house sometimes, loudly demanding things. James had been asked to stop camping out in the back yard. His frequent drinking and drug use was attracting other users. It felt overwhelming.

Then, about a week later, Richard showed up after dark and asked for me. He said he was depressed again, needing to talk to someone. He showed me his left wrist. It was mostly healed, but there were jagged gouges in the flesh, and metal staples that had been used to close the wound. I sat with him for a few minutes, heard that this had been his thirteenth suicide attempt, and suddenly felt that I was in way over my head. I listened to him a bit more. I mentioned my Al-Anon experience and asked him if he’d considered a group like that. Then I helped him call a local pastor he knew (who wasn’t home) and the local suicide-prevention crisis line. That call didn’t seem to go very well. After talking a while he grew frustrated and hung up, storming off. I couldn’t stop him.

I prayed for him that night. I wished I had done better. I wished I had more to offer him. But I felt like I had nothing left. Whatever I had to give had always been too little, and now even that was gone.

Continued... 

a surrender - 47

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

I was also starting to realize how tired I was. Heather, too. We tried to take more breaks, and found a good Irish pub nearby, with musicians on the weekends. We found an Al-Anon group nearby, too. It was for relatives and friends of alcoholics and addicts, to support one another as they struggled to cope with their unique, overwhelming challenges. That was good. We respected how humble the people there were, beaten down by the pain and terrible choices they grappled with day after day. And I also focused on Jesus’ words:

Come to me, 
all you who labor 
and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest. 

Take my yoke upon you, 
and learn from me, 
for I am gentle 
and lowly in heart, 
and you will find rest 
for your souls. 

For my yoke is easy 
and my burden is light.

I thought I had followed Jesus in coming here, but now I didn’t think he was the one who had been pushing me so hard. Other people, maybe. Or maybe it was me? I’m the one who came here wanting to be a hero.

I also started visiting a church in town. It was about a mile away, and the walking felt good. I didn’t go into the church, though. There was a big cross in the courtyard, with several tall pines framing it and a huge, old maple tree that offered a shady spot in the grass. And it was quiet. I would sit there and pray. Often the wind could be heard in the pine trees, gently swaying them. It felt like the presence of God to me. It seemed to be softly whispering, “I will give you rest.”

A few weeks later, we told another guest she had to leave. Her behavior had been growing more and more erratic, and she was becoming noticeably paranoid. We suspected she hadn’t been taking her psychiatric medication. She never left her room, except for meals. The other guests were getting nervous. We tried and tried, but she refused to accept the fact that she needed medication. I didn’t know her very well, but I went to her room, to try to convince her that this wasn’t a good place for her any more. I told her I wasn’t sure it was a good place for me either. I cried saying it. Maybe it was good for me to admit that, but it didn’t seem to help her much. The volunteers offered to pay for a motel room for her for a few nights and we helped her pack. The next day, she left. She was hostile and sullen. But when Heather dropped her off at the motel, the woman gave her a hug.

Continued... 

a surrender - 46

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

It was around that time that our housemates decided that Cassie and Richard had to go. He sometimes slept on our porch, when he couldn’t get a bed at a men’s shelter. But they both had been drinking more often. One night, Cassie got into a loud, drunken argument and launched into a shocking racist rant against her roommate. Another time, when Cassie was refusing to talk to Richard, he pushed past me and charged up the stairs to the women’s private rooms, yelling her name. It took a long time to convince him to leave. It might have been during that time they were not talking that Richard showed up late one evening, drunk and very distressed. He told me he was worried he would harm himself. I let him sleep in my room that night, so he wouldn’t be alone. They eventually reconciled, but soon after, Cassie was caught letting Richard in the back door one night. That was the last straw. I had tried so hard to be patient and help them. Now, because I had been involved with them the most, I was the one chosen to tell them they had to leave.

That’s when I began having doubts. It really felt bad to put them back out on the street. I understood that letting them stay would be bad for the other guests in the house. I could see that it was probably necessary to kick people out sometimes, to keep a house like this safe and available for those in need. But it still felt bad. What did Jesus say? “From one who takes away your goods do not demand them back.” That felt a lot better to me. But how could we do that and keep a house like this running? I didn’t know that we could. And I realized that Jesus didn’t have to face the question of kicking someone out, since he was homeless himself. He helped people, but not with money or property. Not with anything people could steal from him, or take advantage of. And he didn’t have anything that made him the master, that put in him in control of other people’s lives. What Jesus had to give was very different. It didn’t come from people, it came from God. I began wondering, how could I give like he did?

Continued...

a surrender - 45

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

But people kept coming. One night, after we had closed the house, there were two emergency calls. A woman was stranded at the bus station and the security guard was calling to find her a place for the night. The other call was from a nurse at the hospital with a woman fleeing domestic abuse, who couldn’t find room at the local domestic abuse shelter. It was after midnight then. I managed to let them in and provide a place on our couches. And the next morning Heather helped me sort out their stories and find bus fare to get them on their way. Heather was very good with the woman who was fleeing. She was extremely nervous and needed comforting, and Heather invited her into her room and helped her prepare for a bus ride to a safer place. We felt happy after helping those two women.

But they kept on coming. The very next night a woman showed up on the porch late, drunk, but she was shaking, crying uncontrollably. I let her in, and asked if she wanted something to eat. She was ravenous for meat, since she had been living on noodles for quite a while, so I found her some sliced turkey. And sat with her, and listened.

She had been saving money to pay a fine, she told me. If she didn’t pay she would go to jail. Her court date was tomorrow and she’d had the money ready; she had given it to her boyfriend to keep safe. But he had spent it on drugs.

“He smoked my freedom,” she cried.

When she demanded the money, shouting, and wouldn't leave him alone, he’d called the police and had her taken away. But she had been living with him; she had nowhere else to go. So the police left her at our door.

I had to sit with her a long time. She couldn’t calm down enough to sleep; she raged and paced and wailed. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to shoot, him or herself. She said she believed there was a God. And she believed God hated her. She said she now understood how some women turned to prostitution, how others became criminals. And then, sagging in the chair, she cried, “And no one cares… no one cares.”

She said that over and over, and I suddenly realized that her anguish was spiritual. Right in the middle of her loss of housing and possible loss of freedom, she was most troubled because no one seemed to care. Not even God. I didn’t know how to respond to her deep pain, except by listening and trying to be a friend to her.

Continued...

a surrender - 44

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

And the challenges continued. We had sent that couple off to their new apartment with many things that they would need, but they had also borrowed an expensive ventilation fan and had not returned it. I’d been trying to keep in mind Jesus’ words, “Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back.” But others in the house were starting to insist that I do something to get it back. The next day, there was a loud disagreement in our front yard among the lunch crowd and the neighbor called the police. We explained to them that we tried to solve disputes through listening, patience, and our personal relationships with the guests here, rather than resorting to physical force or the police. But they said if we weren’t going to start calling the police, they would file an official complaint against us. And Sammy was still threatening to sue and demanding money. He was getting harder to deal with and wouldn’t listen when we tried to explain that his own drunkenness and belligerence led to his injury. So we just listened and gave him food when he was hungry, blankets, bus tokens, whatever we could offer.

It wasn’t long, though, before the lunchtime volunteers had had enough. Sammy got into a fight and they called the police to remove him, and banned him from the house. He showed up that night, though, when the lunch volunteers were gone. He just barged right in, spit on someone, and grabbed some food, upsetting the women who lived with us. Then he arrived again the next morning. I went out to him and listened to him yell. Then I asked him if he wanted something to eat. When I brought out two sandwiches and some orange juice, and said he could sit on the porch and eat them, he apologized for yelling. I went back inside to finish my prayers and coffee. When I checked later, he was gone.

But Sammy was worrying me. Despite our patience and kindness, he had gotten nasty with Heather and me, attacking us personally. He called us “freeloaders” here. He said any self-respecting man would provide his own place for his woman. And in his angry demands for money he had threatened to damage the house.

Then that night, after dark, Sammy showed up on the porch again. And asked for me. I went out and led him down the block, away from the house. He had been drinking. But he wasn’t aggressive this time. He said he was sorry for causing so much trouble, he didn’t want to hurt anyone and he would stay off the premises. He shook my hand and thanked me and Heather for “trying to see him as a better person.” He was lonely and “just trying to get attention.” He thought he might like to volunteer at the house some time. We shook hands again and I asked if he needed anything. He said he’d be all right. Then we said goodbye and he left.

I could hardly believe it. As I walked back to the house, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was like a weight had been lifted from me. And it was encouraging to see that kindness and patience could have such a good effect, even with someone as hardened as Sammy. 

Continued...

a surrender - 43

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

But in the days that followed, there were a series of disappointments. We heard that a couple that had just moved out of the house (the husband had been sleeping on the porch), who we congratulated and rejoiced with, were now doing drugs in their new apartment. We talked with a woman with two children and found out her sister had pushed them out of the grandmother’s home onto the street, and seemed to be trying to get custody of the kids. While gathering some food and blankets for a friend with a dog, we listened while he explained how his van (his only home, with all his belongings) had been towed in a random sweep to discourage football fans from parking in a restaurant parking lot during the games. And we saw Sammy again, now in a neck brace with ugly red scrapes on his face, sitting in our kitchen after receiving food and blankets—and calmly saying he might try to sue us.

Then we found out that Cassie, who was still staying in the house, had alcohol problems. One night she got some bad news about custody of her kids (who lived with a relative) and, after a month of sobriety, she started drinking again. A lot. Heather and I ended up driving her to her sister’s place. She wanted to get out of the house and it was raining and dark, and we were worried she would go out walking alone, stumbling drunk. During the hour-long drive she started singing softly. A favorite of hers, I think, by Kid Rock. These words caught my ear:

People don’t know about
the things I say and do
They don’t understand about
the shit I’ve been through

It’s been so long 
since I’ve been home
I’ve been gone 
I’ve been gone way too long
Maybe I’ve forgotten 
all the things I miss
Oh, somehow I know 
there is more to life than this

So I think I’ll keep a’ walkin’ 
with my head held high
I’ll keep moving on 
and only God knows why

Only God, only God
Only God knows why

Continued...

a surrender - 42

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

But it wasn’t long before things took a darker turn. One night, two men that we had sometimes seen at lunch showed up late, very drunk, asking for blankets and pillows so they could sleep on the porch. As I went to get those things, one of the guys, Sammy, opened the door and came into the house and I had a hard time getting him to leave. He was ungrateful and angry and aggressive. But I finally left the two of them outside with bedding and locked the door again. Just as I was getting into bed, though, one of the women started yelling that there was a fight. I hurried to dress again and went out. There I found Sammy lying in the driveway, unconscious and bleeding from the head. He had apparently been thrown over the side of the porch by the other guy and fallen ten feet to the pavement. Someone called 911. Paramedics arrived quickly, and also the police. There were sirens and flashlights in our faces and many questions; the police were suspicious of everyone, including me. Then Sammy was taken to the hospital and the other man was taken by the police. Everyone was badly shaken by the experience.

The next morning, Heather and I went for a walk together, trying to work out some of the tension of the previous day. We climbed a tree in the park and sat together. Heather cried. I said I thought our love was especially important here. I said it was like a flower that grows up between the cracks in the sidewalk in a rundown neighborhood. That flower is precious. It is a sign of hope. Heather said she loved seeing flowers growing in the cracks.

Later that week a woman called, trying to find a room for a woman with two young kids. I said I was sorry, we didn’t have a room available. She immediately got agitated. She had called several places and they all said they were full. What was this woman supposed to do, she demanded. Why wouldn’t anyone help her? I said we had couches available, but that wasn’t a good place for children long-term, with all the people that came here every day for lunch. The woman became impatient and angry, she even threatened to “write the editor.” 

That’s when I started to get agitated. “Your indignation won’t get you anywhere,” I said. 

“I just can’t believe that no one will help,” she persisted. 

“Why don’t you take her in?” I asked. 

She paused. Then said, quietly, “I don't know her.”

The woman’s anger drained away then and we began to talk calmly about a way to help them. We finally agreed that the mom and kids could sleep on our pull-out couch that night and then we’d try to find another place for them the next day. The woman seemed relieved and grateful. And, after a pancake breakfast the next morning, we did find another place for them. Those kids were beautiful, with bright smiles and curly hair. And they warmed up to us quickly. When we dropped them off, the little boy asked Heather, “Can you come with us?”

Continued... 

a surrender - 41

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

The weeks that followed were hectic and fun. I remember enjoying coffee and breakfast sandwiches, egg and Canadian bacon on fresh-baked biscuits, with our guests out on the front porch, warmed by the sun after a cold night. I remember not being able to hear while I was talking on the phone, because all the people at supper were laughing so loudly. I remember Heather playing a board game one evening with four boys in the dining room—and trying to keep the two-year-old from stealing the pieces—while the other guests ate popcorn and watched a movie in the living room. I remember a lunch guest happily firing up the grill out back to cook some steaks he had found somewhere. And I remember hearing a young woman crying with relief when she heard she could stay on our couch. She was trying to move away from an alcoholic husband, and four other places had turned her away. I remember watching Heather carefully sew a torn down-filled jacket so we could give it to one of the guests. I remember surprising a homeless couple by inviting them in to eat the pizza I had just made, when they knocked on the door as we were sitting down to supper. I remember hearing a guest offer to come back and volunteer when he and his wife move into their new apartment. He had already cooked for us, washed dishes, and scrubbed our porch, where he had been sleeping.

And I remember James. He sometimes slept in our back yard, and we would find his power wheelchair on the porch, plugged in. His legs were missing, just below the knees. We heard James had lost them after passing out on the train tracks one night. He had prosthetic legs that he could walk on, but they seemed uncomfortable to him as he lurched around. I saw him here often, helping out at the lunch meal, cleaning up and mopping. I remember him clearing the table while I ate. But he didn’t have his prosthetic legs on then. He was moving around the big table on his knees, taking people’s plates when they were done and wiping the place clean for the next person. Quietly, on his knees. 

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a surrender - 40

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six)

 

there are no heroes

in the kingdom of God  

Our new home was a homeless shelter. It was a big, old house, with the upstairs rooms available to women and children who needed a place to stay. Downstairs there was a big kitchen, where meals were prepared by volunteers, some who lived there, like us, and many others who came for a few hours each week. Lunch each day was served to whoever showed up at the house, usually a pretty big crowd. Breakfast and supper were just for the people living there, the women and children, and us resident volunteers. The idea was that people who came for help were welcomed into our home. We lived with the people we served.

When Heather and I arrived, the volunteers were still preparing to reopen the house after a month-long break. So we had a little time to settle in. Before we were ready, though, while we were still cleaning and making plans, there was a knock on the door. 

I opened the door, and met Richard and Cassie. They said they had nowhere to stay; a pastor had paid for a motel room for two nights but they had to leave this morning, and there was no room in the other shelters. I wasn’t sure what to say. Our house reopening was four days away, and even then we only accepted women and children. But then I had an idea. I discussed it with the other volunteers. Could Richard and Cassie both stay, just until the house opened, if I took responsibility for their needs? The others agreed, and I felt flushed with excitement. I was really helping someone. And so I started down a long, bumpy road with Richard and Cassie.

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a surrender - 39

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

I didn’t think I would ever have a family of my own. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was just that I didn’t think anyone would want to marry me. I had nothing, and thought I would probably always have nothing. And my life seemed so unstable and uncertain, I just couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to start a family in those circumstances. So I just accepted that. And I enjoyed my relationships with people in the community, including my new friendship with Heather. I felt like we were in God’s family together.

In the weeks that followed, there were more long talks with Heather. One evening, we came back to the house after a walk together, just in time for supper. But as we climbed the steps to the big porch, we were so deeply engaged that we just kept talking. I noticed through the window that the meal was starting, but still we talked. Occasionally someone from the table peered questioningly at us. By the time I finally said goodbye to her and came into the house, supper was over. 

Heather wasn’t put off by my life choices, not even the walking. She had actually imagined doing something similar herself once, but had reluctantly decided against it because of the dangers for a woman traveling that way alone. She had a strong sense of the corrupting influence of wealth. She liked what Jesus said about money and power, like I did. And our long conversations about how Jesus lived didn’t leave her feeling scared or guilty, like they seemed to with most other people. They left her feeling refreshed and excited. They left me feeling the same way.

I remember the day she told me to keep her teacups. She liked to serve tea to friends, and had a simple but elegant tea set, hand-painted with blue dragonflies. One day, after sharing tea in my tiny room, the only single room in the house, she left two of her tea cups behind. The next day, when I asked her if I should bring them to her, she said no, I could hold onto them. “I’m sure we’ll be having tea again soon,” she said.

And I remember kissing her, on a wooden bench in the corner of a small city park in the spring. With a tree for our canopy, filled with tender blossoms, occasionally casting their soft, pink petals into our laps.

Soon we were wondering if there was a way we could have a life together, and a family. We didn’t know if it was possible, but we wanted to try to find a way.

And we wanted to try to make a difference in the world. We were young and eager to confront the wrongs we saw around us in society. Wasn’t that what Jesus did? We thought his followers should do the same. I remember during that time copying down a quote by Leon Bloy: “Any Christian who is not a hero is a pig.”

So we left the community and set out to be heroes.

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a surrender - 38

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

I had thought a lot about family over the past year. I had had a good family experience while I was growing up. And this community offered a good experience of family also, a family that was a chosen one, based on a person’s own beliefs and convictions. Both of those seemed good to me. But I had also experienced something more unusual, an experience of family that had surprised me, because it was among people I had not chosen and had not been born to. People that I had never met, yet who had welcomed me into their homes and had treated me like a brother. People who seemed to know my needs before I asked. People I recognized as family by their spirit and their actions. It made me think of Jesus’ words, when he heard that his mother and brothers were looking for him. “Who are my mother and my brothers?” he replied. And gesturing at the people gathered around him, listening to him, Jesus said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and my sister and my mother.”  

This family that Jesus was talking about seemed to be God’s family. All those who did what God wanted were included in God’s family. It wasn’t their birth that determined it, or becoming part of some organization, or their common interests or convictions. It was God who determined it. Only God could decide who was in and who wasn’t. And the purpose and the nature of this family was determined only by God. “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and my sister and my mother.” Only those who are doing what God wants are God’s family. And everywhere that people are doing what God wants, God’s family is there, which is what I had experienced again and again. 

I remember one of the older members of the community once describing the “life cycle” of human communities. He said a community is like a living thing. It is born, then grows bigger and stronger, then eventually it weakens and dies. I thought about that. It reminded me of my thoughts about organizations, that they all eventually collapse and disappear. But when I thought about the family that Jesus described, it seemed different. It was God’s family. It existed because of God. Its life depended on God, not people. So did it die, like every human organization or community? I didn’t think so. 

These differences of the family that Jesus talked about inspired me and stirred hope in me. Maybe there was a family that would never end, that would always be there for me. A family that I could always depend on, no matter where I was. A family that was open to all. A family led only and always by God. If this could be true, I didn’t think I could be satisfied with anything less.

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a surrender - 37

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

The days that followed were a blur of nurses and tests and no new information. She felt stronger and grew impatient with nothing to do but sleep and watch TV. Her muscles itched to be used. And the hospital had no answers for her. No one had come for her. Maria was faithful, even bringing her daughter a few times, and she liked them both. Missed them when they weren’t there. But she felt an increasingly urgent need to know more, to find her connection, her real life. 

Then, the day after Maria brought her some clothes, she just got up and walked out of the hospital. The sunshine felt good. But she didn’t know where she was going; she just followed the main street, hoping something would look familiar.

She hadn’t walked five blocks when someone approached her. “Ange… Hey, Ange!” She didn’t recognize the rough-looking woman, who was definitely talking to her. “Angel! Girl, where you been?” She didn’t know how to respond. “And what you doin’ out here? You gotta lay low, I thought thas what you was doin’. They’s lookin’ for you.”

She finally found her voice. “Who?” The young woman stared at her, unbelieving. “Whatchoo mean who? You knifed their girl. She dead now. So now they want you dead.” The woman looked around, then pulled her off the street into an alley. “But don’ worry, we got you covered. There’s a place you can go, jus’ let me get holda K and we’ll get you there. They won’ be able to touch you.”

She stepped back from the woman. “I don’t know… I don’t remember….” The woman had her phone out, making a call. “I got her. Yeah. Yeah, I know where it is. Okay.” She took another step back, looking to see if anyone was nearby, and said again, “I don’t know….” “Angel, trust me. You gotta do this. We ever let you down before? C’mon.” But when the woman took her arm, she pulled away. “Wait… hold on… who… I don’t know you.” That stopped the woman, her face darkening. “Angel, quit that. You known me since forever. I know you scared, but you gotta trust me.” When she showed no sign of moving, the woman took a step closer, lowering her voice. “The gang took care a you when your momma flipped and killed your brother an’ herself, and we’ll take care a you now. We the only family you got. So c’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

Her brother. Crying. Something stirred in the dark place inside her head. Slight at first, then rushing over her, pulling her in, gathering intensity until she thought she might throw up. She staggered a little, and the woman grabbed her. The grip was firm and sure. She felt power in the hands that held her, a fierce power in the gaze that urged her to follow. The only family you got. Momma flipped. You knifed their girl. She dead now. Your brother an’ herself. Only family you got.

“Angel… Angel!” She looked into the eyes of someone who knew her, who was holding her up, who would protect her. Her sister. Who knew her. “We gotta go. Now!” She felt like she was falling forward as they started to move, out of the alley and down the street. She stumbled, but the strong hand kept her upright and moving. 

The cars and people and storefronts flashed by them, indistinct, a wash of color. She fell faster. Then a sudden cry startled her and she tripped hard and hit the pavement.

When she looked up there was a child. A young girl, with tears in her eyes, her mother bent over her. Lifting her and gently brushing the dirt from her dress. “It’s okay, honey. See? Good as new.” The girl wiped the tears, then for a moment their eyes met. 

“Ange, c’mon!” She was lifted from the pavement by the strong arms, but then she didn’t move. And this time she answered the fierce gaze with a shake of her head. “You got the wrong…” She pulled away from the insistent grip. “I’m not who you think….” She turned and started the other way, ignoring the shouts.

Within a block, Christie found a pay phone. She pulled the phone number from her pocket.

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a surrender - 36

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

After that, we would occasionally take long walks down to the lake and talk. Often about life in the community, or about Jesus. She was also very inspired by his life and teachings. Sometimes we talked about writing too, and she helped me with some of the stories I was working on. 

One of ones I liked best was called “Angel”:

“… finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it….” The rhythmic voice pressed into her head, then droned on, buzzing in the fog that surrounded her. And slowly the darkness lifted. Light crept through the haze, spreading with a pinkish glow, and then her eyes opened to life again.

As her vision found its focus, she saw the shape of a woman, her face averted. Then the woman suddenly turned, looked right at her, and smiled warmly. The droning voice clicked off. The woman’s voice was softer and richer. “Hello, honey. My name is Maria.”

She was in a hospital room, attached to beeping monitors and tubes poked into her arms. She didn’t remember how she had gotten here. She didn’t remember what had happened to her. The woman, Maria, told her that she had been in a fire, that she had saved Maria’s daughter and had come back for Maria but was unable to free her and was knocked out when part of the ceiling fell on them. She had been fearless, the woman said. A hero. Firefighters had arrived in time to pull her and Maria out of the house, but they had a hard time reviving her. Maria had been praying for her life. She tried to speak, croaking “I…,” then stopped, surprised at the strange sound of her own voice. The older woman nodded, waiting. “Who…,” she began again, then faltered, her voice dropping to a whisper, “do you know my name?” 

Christie. Maria told her she overheard the paramedics asking many questions when they got her breathing again, to make sure her brain was okay, but she had only answered, “Christie, Christie.” She didn’t remember that name. But when the orderly came and Maria had to leave, she saw it. The orderly removed her shirt to bathe her, and there on her arms were dark tattoos. On one arm a rose etched in red, drawn with blood dripping from the petals. And the other arm was wrapped with a band of thorny vines woven together, with elaborate lettering above and below: Domine Iesu Christe miserere mei peccatricis. She didn’t understand the words. But she saw the name.

After her bath, she slept. When she awoke, Maria was there again. This time the older woman spoke of herself and her daughter. They were leaving soon, moving far away to live near Maria’s relatives, where they would be safe. Maria was sure that the fire had been set by her ex-husband, and she wasn’t going to give him another chance. They had nothing left here anyway. 

“Where do you live, dear?” She couldn’t answer. She didn’t know where she lived, or even if she had a family looking for her. It was a horrible feeling, as if she had been thrust into a place where she didn’t belong… yet in some unknown way, she did. She needed a connection badly, a connection to her lost life. Something Maria couldn’t give. Something the hospital couldn’t give, either. The orderly had told her they had no identification for her, assuring her, though, that the memory almost always came back in time. “I don’t know.” It was all she could say to Maria, her voice trembling. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. Don’t worry about that. I’m sure that will be taken care of. Someone’s looking for you right now, you can be sure of that.” Maria took her hand. “And you’re always welcome with us, any time, for as long as you need. It’s just me and my girl now. We owe our lives to you.” The older woman’s eyes were wet. She began to look through her purse. “We’re not leaving for a week, if I’m not here call me, for anything… you could even go with us. You’re family now.” Maria gave her a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “But I’m sure someone will come for you soon.”

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