And Then He Sets Himself On Fire - A True Story (Because you can't make this stuff up)

Originally posted May 5, 2014

The past year has been crazy hard - type of thing poorly produced TV inspirational films are made of hard, but only if they have too many subplots to be coherent. First there was the big stuff, like the months of chemo that preceded my father’s death to an obscure type of cancer. Then I got to spend some time in the hospital for reasons yet to be fully explained. My suspicion is stress, but I am not medical professional. I am just the girl who came back from a chemo treatment to find my house flooded by a broken washing machine, a furnace that was out of propane, and family in crises.  Did I mention that my husband was hours away working to support us while dealing with various automotive break downs, lay offs, and the seemingly endless need to move cross country to the next job?

I was holding it all together pretty well, really I was. I was ready to pick up and go at a moment’s notice. I was able to make the many doctors’ appointments, get the kids were they needed to go, nobody starved, everyone was clothed, and the lack of sleep was no big deal, really.

After the funeral, I took up a somewhat regular residence in my house. A first in over ten months of simply sleeping there while an untouched refrigerator grew some pretty amazing mold that has to be the cure for something. Unfortunately, some of it is pretty terrifying too, so I still haven’t worked up the nerve to touch it. I am thinking I should just cart the whole thing out and start fresh with a new one because there maybe no decontaminating that one, but I digress -

Of course, I once again failed to notice that we were running low on propane so we were without heat, again. The fix was supposed to be simple. I called and they delivered. How much easier could it be?

This should have been my tip off - because nothing in my life is simple. It is a law that has been woven into the fabric of the universe. I, above all people, should have known this, planned on this, and taken all necessary precautions to minimize the risk, but I let my guard down and hoped - no, believed for a moment it really was this simple.

The delivery guy arrived with his massive truck full of liquid warmth, pumped it into the giant silver tank in my front yard, and does the requisite check of appliances. This, of course, means he has to see at least one burning. Now if my stove had been working…..another story all together, sorta, we could have used that one, but it wasn’t.

So he tries to light the furnace. Please note the use of the term “tries”. The automatic spark thing-a-ma-bob wore out long ago making lighting the stupid thing a bit of an ordeal. He turned the propane on, struck the lighter, and nothing. He tries to purge the system, nothing. He suggests purging it once more just to make sure all the air is out of the lines. He lays the lighter aside, picks up his wrench and as he stands up -

AND THEN HE SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE! HE IS ENGULFED IN A SWIRL OF FLAMES!!! RIGHT THERE IN MY KITCHEN!!!

Now, I am not an overly reactive person. Not to much, anyways. I stood there watching him slap at his hair and eyebrows which were burning off before my eyes. He runs from the house, and my daughter is on his heels. Me on the other hand - well, I just stand there watching the fire pour out of the wall and realize I will never be able to save all my books.

By this time the smoke is getting thick so I stroll over to the couch and grab my purse as the thumb drive back ups for my books were inside.

Outside, the human torch has been extinguished with only the loss of some hair. Sad, but not tragic, like it could have been. The poor guy is in shock, and I realize he has no intention of going back into my house there is STILL BURNING.

I ask him if he has an extinguisher. (I have one in my closet but I’m pretty sure it is more of bad decoration than a functional item). This seems to snap him out of his daze, “Is it still burning?” he asks aghast.

I have give him one those “well, uh, duh” smiles mothers reserve for their slow children. To his credit he rushed right back in and put out the flames.

It was about two days later I started working on a real psychotic break with reality. The happy land in my head is just so much more appealing. (Un)fortunately, I am surrounded by a group of people who are pretty good at snapping me back to this realm, whether I want them to or not.

Since it’s become bloody obvious that no one is going to let me take up residence in a padded room with my purple crayon to chew on - I thought running away to stay with the hubby would be just the break I needed. Reality had other plans, because the air conditioner decided it was just too hot for it to work. Did you know that camper trailers morph into toaster ovens when not prevented from doing so by a working air conditioner? Neither did I, but they can roast the flesh from your bones. And my purple crayon? Nothing more than a pool of purple wax now.

Look, things go wrong. Usually, lots of things at once in varying magnitude, and my job, your job, is to get through them the best you can. We cope the best we can and sometimes even that doesn’t work. Life is hard and anyone who tells you different is selling you something - to paraphrase one of the greater truths expressed in film. (Thank you, Princess Bride).

Right now, sitting here in this crazy place and time I have two choices.

1. I can choose to believe that this is some sort of cosmic punishment. Not for any wrong doing of my own that I can identify, more likely, it would be just for me being me - which I have been told is an affront to the established order of nature. However, that would also mean that God made a mistake, and I have a hard time buying that.

2. I can choose to believe that I am doing something incredibly right, and THAT is the affront to the established order of nature. In this fallen world, the ability to speak truth and the willingness to bear witness to the goodness of our Lord and Redeemer is offensive. Flying directly in the face of those would wish to silence us to his mercy and goodness.

So is there chaos, frustration, even pain in my life right now? I would be a liar if I said no, but it isn’t insurmountable and it isn’t the end of my story. So stayed to tune - who knows what grand adventure I will get to on next week. It may simply be a search for a new purple crayon or visiting with foreign dignitaries, such are the days of my life.

A Useless Faith

You should never question God, or so I was taught. God did not like questions, and even more importantly, God did not like people who dared to ask him questions. Good Christian girls buttoned up, sat down, and kept their mouths shut, to do anything else was to invite the wrath of the Almighty and inflame the ire of the Most High.

And I tried to be good. I really did, but who can live like that? What is the point and why would you? It never made any sense to me. Why in the world would you say you have a relationship with anyone who could not tolerate a question? Is not a faith without answers useless? But these were questions I didn’t ask because questions were not allowed.

Until the day I discovered that I needed the answers more than I needed to be safe. I asked my questions of God in defensive anger and offensive pride, too scared to reveal my desperation and too terrified to give into the shelter of false humility. I needed to know why my life had fallen apart, why - even when I did everything right, played by his rules - he had allowed me to be hurt so deeply. I raged at the heavens, hurled insults at the sky, demanding to know where he was and if he cared at all. I screamed blasphemies and thundered accusations into the night, caring little for the consequences, for even to be struck down would prove my faith had not been in vain.

Night after night, you could find me there, pacing like the wounded beast that I was, and night after night, nothing but the echos of my cries could be heard. No bolts of lightening, no smiting of the unbeliever, just silence in return for my abuse.

Some would denounce my behavior, chastise me for such audacity and brazenness, but I learned something in those times. God does not flinch before our questions. He is not scared of the scars that make us lash out in pain. He waits patiently until the storms of our emotions are spent, and he speaks in the quietness that follows, honoring our honesty with his presence and tending the wounds we are brave enough to bare.

It is there that the we learn that real faith has room for the questions, even the unanswered ones because the faith is not in answers it is in the abiding presence of our King.

And the Answer is . . .I think.

Originally published on Exploring the Pagus

I was recently asked why God lets us experience pain. It is a legitimate question, after all he says he loves us, and he claims to be all powerful, so if any of that is true shouldn’t he just zap us with pure bliss? Isn’t that what a loving all powerful God would do?

Maybe, if it was all about him, but that sort of negates the whole love thing, in my opinion. Because isn’t love selfless? I know a few of you just felt your heads explode, so after you reassemble the pieces let’s begin again, shall we?

The worst thing in my world is seeing the ones I love in pain. It drives me crazy.

If my kids are sick or Ty has a headache I find myself wishing that I could just be the one who was suffering. It is so much easier to deal with than watching them. It is an expression of my love for them, and I think God feels the same way. It would be so much easier on him if he took it all, so much less painful.

But I know that sometimes the experience of pain is what we need to grow up. We need to know that remaining in our present situation is going to cost us, and we need a chance to make an informed decision. So I find myself sitting back, letting my children make choices that will result in hopefully minor and temporary injury. I do it because I love them.

I do it because I am praying there will come a day when they are wise enough to make choices without having to consult me. That they will be able to look at situation and know what they need to do without being told, and let’s face it, we don’t learn these things if someone is always erasing the consequence of our choices. And I think if I can figure this one out, God was already aware.

Now, I don’t think this explains all pain. Some of it is the result of outside forces that we can’t control and our actions have no bearing on them, but so often pain is the way we learn.

When I read my Bible, I see a God who is all about us growing, maturing, and learning how to be more like his son. I see a God who is not content to let us remain as we are. Yes, he accepts me just as I am, but then he desires more for me and from me.

So often we equate pain with something evil, but strictly speaking it’s not. Pain tells us sitting on the hot stove is a bad idea, that our knees weren’t designed to bend at that particular angle, or that putting a staple through our thumb isn’t the smartest thing we could do. It tells us when we need to move in out of the cold, step into the shade, or find shelter from a storm. Pain keeps us safe if we are willing to listen to it, it minimizes the damages the harsh world would inflict on us when we are unaware.

Spiritually, pain warns of dangerous relationships, bad influences, and the hazards of complacency. It makes us move when we would be content to be still, it draws us closer to God, and awakens our senses to new possibilities. It hurts so that we have incentive to act, even when we don’t want to.

And the truth is the remedy for pain is often more pain. How many of us will endure an aching tooth if we don’t have to face the dentist? We know that a visit to him is going to mean needles and screeching tools. So we put it off, unwilling to face the pain needed for our healing. It is only after the side of our head swells up and Ambusol just doesn’t cut it anymore that we are willing to face the music.

Most of us just aren’t any better when it comes to our spiritual hygiene. We will endure a little ache as long as possible, if it means we can avoid facing God. So he lets the pain grow until we become disfigured with it and no amount of suppressants can touch it. And even then most of us would rather groan in our misery than take the proper steps to be whole. We cringe in fear of what it may cost us to find relief, until it simply becomes too unbearable.

So why do we experience pain? God loves us. I know it seems like the wrong answer, but ultimately it is the only answer to all our questions. God loves us and he will do anything, endure anything, to bring us closer to him including agonizing with us as we learn to listen to his voice.