A Psalm for Cinderella

Arthur Rackham's illustration for C.S. Evan's “Cinderella.”

Cinderella is an enduring story. Today's familiar version descends from folk tales published in the 1600s in Italy (Cenerentola) and France (Cendrillon). However, variants over one thousand years old exist in Greek, Egyptian, and Chinese literature. Why does this fairy tale of a persecuted girl being discovered and rescued by a prince appeal across centuries and cultures?

Books and dissertations have been written on this topic. As for me, I hear in it echoes of the longings found in every human heart: for the end of injustice, for transformation from lowliness and drudgery, for being chosen and cherished.

The Cinderella story isn't literally true, but it is figuratively true. We, like Cinderella, live in an unjust world and need to be rescued and transformed by unending love. I love the story as a secular parable or a message in the bottle accessible to all ages, all classes, all cultures.

But our true story also has important differences from this fairy tale. If God wrote this story, perhaps the prince and the fairy godmother would be the same individual--the One who seeks us and loves us forever is also the One who transforms us. And God's version of the tale would not imply that Cinderella somehow deserved rescue for her innate "goodness" and uncomplaining hard work, as if this fallen world is run according to cosmic karma or rules for fair play. No, Cinderella's rescue would be shockingly undeserved--grace swooping down upon an ungraceful, ungrateful creature. Perhaps the wicked stepmother would be the one transformed and loved. Isn't that often how God works?

If I were sent to encourage Cinderella before her classic fairy tale scenes--perhaps as her non-fairy godmother--I would suggest she meditate on Psalm 146 as she sweeps and scrubs. 

A Psalm for Cinderella (while still in her rags and cinders): 

Psalm 146

¹Praise the Lord, my soul.

² I will praise the Lord all my life;
    I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.

Dear Cinderella, 
First of all, congratulations on your upcoming royal nuptials. Sorry if that gave away the story's ending, but we need to discuss deeper issues of the heart than princely rescues and romance. My question for you is this: are you able to praise God right now, in your current state of drudgery and mistreatment? Because the "all my life" in verse 2 means in all circumstances, the good and the bad, the grease-spattered rags and the diamond-spattered ballgowns. You may be wondering why I bring this up before you reach your fairy tale ending...

³ Do not put your trust in princes,
    in human beings, who cannot save.
⁴ When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;
    on that very day their plans come to nothing.

As lovely and romantic as life in the castle sounds to you now, your human prince isn't your happily ever after. Yes, his coming will mean palace life with its beautiful clothing, sumptuous dining, and lack of housework. But princesses have their own sets of challenges and trials, and princes their own sets of very human flaws; perhaps yours has a short temper, haughtiness, or irksome habits. Not only that, but we humans are incapable of perfect love, so every human relationships has its share of misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and isolation. Even castles have cinders. Do not put your hope in the prince and palace. Look higher. Long for more. 

⁵ Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
    whose hope is in the Lord their God.

⁶ He is the Maker of heaven and earth,
    the sea, and everything in them—
    he remains faithful forever.
⁷ He upholds the cause of the oppressed
    and gives food to the hungry.
The Lord sets prisoners free,
⁸     the Lord gives sight to the blind,
the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down,
    the Lord loves the righteous.
⁹ The Lord watches over the foreigner
    and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
    but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

Precious child, our ever-faithful, ever-present God knew you and loved you before the earth was formed. Reflect on that and be amazed. But it gets even better: He sees your humble state. He is watching over and sustaining you. Even now, His rescue plan is in place, a plan that goes far beyond the train of your wedding gown and the last peal of your wedding bells. Can you imagine a joy greater than that of a bride marrying her beloved? Perhaps not, but that's what our eternal, powerful Father has in store for you: unimaginable joy and perfect love. Put your hope in Him. And when you truly understand what He has done to secure your happily-ever-after in His arms, you will find you cannot help but sing this as long as you live:  

¹⁰ The Lord reigns forever,
    your God, O Zion, for all generations.
 Praise the Lord.

The Beauty of Christmas, 2017

The World Upended

The ethereal hails the dust of earth

The One who lit the stars shivers in darkness beneath them

A dirty peasant girl’s bastard child is

God with us.

~S.B.S. (December, 2016)

My friends, the beauty of Christmas isn't family togetherness, twinkling lights, or the story of a cute baby among barnyard animals. 

The beauty of Christmas is that the most powerful being in the universe shocked the hell out of heaven and hell, not by a show of might but by becoming the most vulnerable of humans: the baby of an impoverished, teenaged refugee. 

Why? It was a crucial step in the ultimate, ongoing, undeserved rescue plan for you and me, who--even in our moments of best intentions--make an ugly mess of everything we touch: every opportunity, every relationship, every governing system, every inch of this planet. 

When will the final rescue occur? How will it happen? I don't know, but I suspect it will be an even more audacious, amazing, beautiful show of love.

Epiphany

I took meticulous notes on a sermon yesterday and then left them in the train. On purpose. 

It’s probably the most shamefacedly passive evangelism known to humankind. It’s probably ineffective too. But at least it’s more effective than my usual method. Which is nothing. 

I was visiting my sister’s church in New York City. We took a crowded bus through crowded streets, stopped in a crowded bagel store (because half a block from the church our daughters remembered they had been too busy playing to eat breakfast), and then sat down in an embarrassingly empty church. 

My sister looked around. “The college students are on vacation. But I hope more people show up,” she whispered. 

None did. The carved wooden pews made to seat hundreds of worshipers held thirty people and their piles of coats, hats, and gloves from braving a bitter cold Sunday morning.

The service program was a thick booklet printed with the order of service, the Bible passage being discussed, the words to the hymns, and announcements about prayer groups and service opportunities. The last page included how-to-accept-Christ- into-your-heart instructions and prayer.

A seeker church, I thought. A service aimed at those who have not yet accepted Christianity as life-giving, life-changing truth.

Reading the program from that perspective, my eyes were opened to the wisdom and beauty of the hymns’ words. The modern ones and the old told the same beautiful story of the Epiphany: God’s amazing and costly gift to us reflected in the treasures that foreigners from the East brought to Bethlehem. 

Perhaps that’s what planted the idea in my heart, the idea of an unexpected and precious gift.

I took meticulous notes on the sermon, starting with the introductory question: is religion simply a product of culture and upbringing, such that people from Muslim regions and families are more likely to be Muslim and those from Christian areas more likely to become Christians? 

Then I carefully copied the pastor’s reasoning, based the seventh chapter of John’s Gospel: to be convinced by the Christian faith, you must undertake the difficult experiment of following Jesus’ example fully and living as He did. Not simply seeing, smelling, and touching the feast before you but putting it in you, tasting it, letting it work throughout your body. I wrote fast and then revisited my messy scrawl in hope that these words would speak to someone who thinks we are Christians by default, not people who have thoughtfully, carefully studied our faith. Thinking people who, at some point in our lives, took a deep breath and made that plunge into intentional Christian living.

The pastor also related Jesus’ example of holy living to current events, the French cartoonists who were gunned down last week for lampooning the Muslim faith. I wrote in big letters: Jesus was a religious extremist who died for those who mocked him. That might speak to someone struggling to get a handle on all the hatred in our world. Or someone who thinks the world would be more peaceful without religion.

The service ended. I stuck the program in my purse and prayed that I would have the guts to leave it somewhere. 

Even that is a struggle. Why? Because it might be littering, which I consider very bad. Or would it be recycling, which is very good? 

I’m embarrassed to report that these inclinations warred in my conscience for many long minutes. Leaving the bulletin in a bagel store, subway car, or other public place would be the ultimate recycling, right? Letting someone else benefit from the packet of wisdom in the program. Enabling someone else’s epiphany. Or it would be littering a city that needed grace on all levels, including the physical grace of not adding to a litter problem.

I decided to wait and see if an opportunity arose. On the way back to my sister’s apartment, we stopped at a doughnut shop, and I ate the best doughnut I’ve ever tasted. We sat at a big, busy table in the tiny shop. There was no place to leave the program. Plus, my fingers were so sticky with chocolate glaze that the program would have been ruined by my touch.

This is silly, I thought. Why am I even considering this? 

Maybe because God has used me in silly ways before. I once left a sleeping bag in a church shed after hearing the rumor of a homeless man camping out there. Years later, I learned that he found the sleeping bag and was blessed by not only its warmth but the warmth of a stranger's concern. 

Or the time I saw an old lady pause on the sidewalk and, for some reason, stopped my car to ask if she was okay. She said had walked too far and was very tired. I gave her a ride home, over a mile away and up a long, steep hill.

I am not bold in big ways, but I serve a God who uses our weak and our little. He uses our two copper coins when that’s all we have to offer. Lord, use me. I am yours. Please let me be a blessing in this world. 

After enjoying the doughnuts, we stopped in stationary shops and a book store. The program stayed hidden in my purse. It would be wrong to clutter someone’s store. Besides, the best drop spot would be a place without reading material, like a bus stop where someone bored with waiting might peruse an odd paper left by a stranger.

And then it was time to return home via taxi, Penn Station, and the train to Princeton. Our schedule was tight to make the train, and Penn Station makes me panicky. I didn’t remember the bulletin until my daughter and I were safely on the right train. 

Mixed in with all my good feelings about the trip and special time with my sister and her family was a sadness that I was leaving the city without completing my silly plan. How hard is it to leave something behind? 

The train ride back west was long and quiet. My exhausted ten-year-old daughter slumped against the window and closed her eyes. I listened to the chatter of two moms and their daughters returning laden with purchases from the American Girls doll store. Tomorrow morning this train would be packed with commuters headed into the city.

Commuters. I pulled the program from my purse. I shoved it between my seat cushion and the solid arm rest with a corner conspicuously sticking out. 

Maybe the ticket collector would find it and recycle it as soon as the train reached the end of the line. That’s okay, because that’s exactly what would have happened to it at my house. But here, at least, it stood a chance of being more than a recyclable.

Maybe it would be found by a bored commuter on Monday morning. A message in a bottle. A call to taste and see that the Lord is good. A chance for epiphany. 

My part was not costly. God’s part was. May God’s treasure shine in this dark world. May it shine despite me, if not through me.

Day 39: A Convicted Heart

As I've been telling my kids (more and more bluntly as I realize how short their time is before Mom's perspective on their lives is relegated to somewhere deep in the compost pile), we speak to God through prayer and He often speaks to us though the Bible. That's why it's important to read your Bible regularly, Kids.

Last week, I read these verses from Revelation 21, which spoke to me in a new way:

⁶ He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. ⁷ Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. ⁸ But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”

 Now, I haven't spent much time in the book of Revelation since my preteen years, when I turned to the exciting dragon part on Sunday mornings when the sermon dragged on too long. (Kids: this is great way to stave off boredom during sermons without getting in trouble. No parent will give you The Look for reading your Bible! Oh wait, not sure I should be sharing that advice.) But I can tell you that these verses come almost at the very end of the whole Bible, during the most cathartic conclusion in all the world's literature. And this is a true story, no matter how symbolically you interpret Revelation to be. It's His ending, our ending, my ending. I am thirsty for His living water and eagerly anticipate taking my place in the world's only genuine Happily Ever After.

But this time, a different part of these verses jumped out at me: a sure sign that I the reader should be paying attention. Look back at the very first sin listed in verse 8. "Cowardly"??? What is "cowardly" doing among the despicable sins consigning certain sinners to the fiery lake. Is cowardliness really on par with vileness? murder? sexual immorality? idolatry? When I think cowardly, I think of the harmless lion in The Wizard of Oz, not burning sulfur. This gave me pause.

I am a convicted coward. I do not doubt my salvation or my place by Jesus' side in heaven, but cowardliness is a signature trait of my writing.Why is it so hard for me to write this blog compared to writing a work of fiction or a promotional piece for a pharmaceutical company? I was especially struck by my tendency to call my cowardliness by more innocuous or even virtuous names. Usually, it's "self consciousness" or "shyness". Sometimes, I smugly call it "modesty" or "humility". Oh, I'm not going to tell people about my cancer blog -- It wouldn't be modest to share the link. That would be self-promotion. Or pride. No, I'll just share it if someone specifically asks me about it. However, if I truly feel called to write, then writing is not an act of self-promotion but a calling. Right?

I am convicted to explore my motives and tendencies in prayer, to set them at God's feet and ask Him to blow away the chaff and leave me pure motives in keeping with His will. I will pray for boldness, the courage wield my pen without hesitation, to promote my Savior and His Kingdom, whether though my own experiences or through fiction or through some other means.

Whew, this is a big one! Lord, please help me. I don't even know where to start.

Day 38: Children Who Walk in Truth

3 John 1:4, I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

Sometimes parenting feels like a crapshoot -- sometimes more crap, sometimes more shoot. I know several parents of strong faith whose children grew wayward as they hit their teen years. Some were outwardly rebellious but others hid behind a pious facade. I think of the pressures facing teens, the siren song of the party peers, and I think what a limited time our family has before we reach that stage.

Of course, parenting is not a crapshoot. My child's every move is within God's realm. But I often find myself fearful -- am I missing an opportunity that will make a difference in their lives? Are my own insufficiencies and sins obscuring the passing along of my beliefs or making me appear hypocritical instead of a sinner in desperate need of grace? 

I look at Huckle, who regular sighs on Sunday mornings. "Mom, church is sooo boring." Am I stifling his faith? Should we be doing something differently?  How should I respond? (Lord, give me wisdom.)

I look at Sally, who still freezes up when asked to pray aloud and does not show any curiosity about the faith. Is her heart hard, or is she just introspective? Should I sit tight and simply wait for her faith to grow? (Lord, give me wisdom.)

On friends' advice, we no longer make our children take turns praying aloud. Instead, we model prayer and a prayerful approach to life. This is working for Sally. Huckle still likes to take a turn (especially since his prayers are often shorter than Mom's, especially when he's hungry) but also likes to listen. And then I hear with pleasure his new prayers picking up phrases and concepts I used. Joy! My son is listening even if it sometimes seems as if his body never stops moving.

A few nights ago, we somehow finished our bedtime chapter of The Wizard of Oz early, giving Sally a bonus 20 minutes before bedtime. This is practically unheard of -- usually we're running late and Mom is frazzled because YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE IN BED 20 MINUTES AGO AND LOOK AT THIS MESSY ROOM! Sally and I looked at each other incredulously. Where did this extra time come from? How should she spend it? "I know!," Sally said. "I'll do my devotions." And she picked up her little pink Bible, a devotion book that has been collecting dust on her floor for a few months, and a book of children's prayers, bought in an earlier, failed attempt to give her words to pray aloud. And, without my prompting -- and almost without remembering my goodnight kiss -- Sally set to work, spending her extra 20 minutes with God. Joy! Great joy!

I pray that my children hold fast to their faith and continue to grow in wisdom and truth.

Lord, my precious children are in your hands. Please hold them tight and never let them go.

Day 37: Unexpected Blessings

Yesterday was a day of unexpected blessings from my son Huckle.

First, as I was driving down a traffic-clogged interstate on my way to a morning Bible study, my car was passed by a minivan making a strangely muffled yelling sound. I looked over and there was Huckle waving madly and trying to yell through the closed window, on his way to a class field trip. I had just been praying, as I passed his school 10 minutes earlier, for his safety -- how fun to see an answer to prayer in action! (And what a blessing that my son hasn't hit an age when seeing Mom in public is humiliating!)

Then, when the kids came home from school, Huckle had very little homework (due to the field trip). That's a big blessing -- his homework trowels a thick layer stress onto our afternoons and evenings. Huckle loves ALL his afterschool activities and has an hour of homework every night. That combination means Mom must practically sit on him to see that all is done before bedtime. Not pleasant. For any of us. Especially with Husband out of town many weekday nights -- I'm the one and only Bad Cop in this here town.

With no homework and a Mom moratorium of after-school activities for the night, Huckle was at his most pleasant and creative. Gadget-loving Huckle had had his eye on an electronic engraving tool in the basement given to us by a gadget-loving friend who moved away. So we pulled it out and set to work writing our names on the kids' stainless steel water bottles and then decorating old boards. Using an electronic tool + creating = one busy, happy boy practically floating with enthusiasm. Then -- I hope you other moms are sitting down --10-year-old Huckle REORGANIZED A KITCHEN CABINET. Is that not strange?? But he loved it and did a great job. Funny (and encouraging) that, on a night off, he would choose to work for me, that slave-driver who is always nagging him to work, work, work.

Needless to say, this experience has me rethinking his busy schedule and wondering how we can have a Happy Huckle every evening...

Day 36: Cloudsourcing

Husband now backs up my computer files via "cloudsourcing."  Here's the definition of cloudsourcing, in case you aren't a techno-geek:

Cloudsourcing is a process by which specialized cloud products and services and their deployment and maintenance is outsourced to and provided by one or more cloud service providers.

All the mystery is cleared up now, right? Your metaphorical clouds have parted and all that? Nope, I don't get it either. I also don't understand how cloudsourcing could be more secure than leaving my files quietly stewing in my private computer. Doesn't it sound as if my precious writings and all those photos of my kids are being chopped into bits and thrown into the stratosphere? I imagine a few of my words and a picture of my cat's left ear falling in someone's backyard next time it rains. However, it's good to be current, to keep up with security measures as identity thieves and hackers grow more bold and clever. I suppose keeping files only on a personal computer is the modern equivalent to keeping one's money under the mattress.

But never mind the actual definition of cloudsourcing -- what I really like is the word. It's probably a play on "crowdsourcing," which I do understand: outsourcing a task to the undefined public rather than specific people (eg, paid employees). [Appropriately enough, that definition is based on an entry from Wikipedia, a crowdsourced encyclopedia.]

I also love analogies, and I think the words "crowdsourcing"  and "cloudsourcing" make a great one.

Question: Would you rather have your joy crowdsourced or cloudsourced? 

Crowdsourced means your joy is dependent on people, that undefined public. If your happiness comes from other people's good opinion of you or from the pleasures of friends and family, then your joy will be incomplete. I'm constantly guilty of focusing on this. For example, I struggle with caring too much about other people's good opinion. I shamefully admit this: I worry about making a good impression on strangers in the grocery store. I waste time wondering how they perceive me. Do I come across as intelligent? Kind? Beautiful? What will they think when they see 4 cartons of ice cream in my cart? Do I look as stylish as that lady over there? Why, oh why didn't I change out of these ratty yoga pants before running out to buy fruit?? It ruins my day when someone honks their horn at me while driving. I get defensive. I don't like to be considered in the wrong, even if I didn't do anything wrong.

Crowdsourcing joy is ridiculous, when you really think about it. We people are fickle and imperfect and selfish and -- well -- mortal. Even if you add together every person you love -- parents, friends, spouse, children -- this crowd cannot provide unending joy. They make mistakes. They have their own interests. They need to sleep.

You know where I'm going with cloudsourcing, you clever person you! I need to cloudsource my joy. I need to shoot my needs heavenward; I need to make God my focus. That sort of joy is unending and overflowing, like a sky full of clouds heavy with rain. When my joy is in Christ, then all those little bits of me can rain down on others as blessings, turning upward-facing joy into outward-facing joy.

How does the Bible suggest one makes one's "joy complete"? It's more than just loving God. It's living in unity with one another in God's love.

Philippians 2:1-4, Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves...

John 15:10-12, If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.

I strive to go into that grocery store unconcerned about what others think of me, because I'm content and full-up in the Lord so that His joy overflows out of me and blesses all those shoppers in line behind me. Even the one wondering how someone could allow 4 cartons of ice cream in her home.

Day 35: Anniversaries

October and November are, for me, a minefield of reminders of difficult times. For example:

• October is the month my first baby would have been born if he hadn't died in utero during pregnancy. I will never forget the pain of losing my first child.
• October is the month my first-born son spent 10 days in the NICU with a rare infant botulism infection. I will never forget the terror of seeing my 4-month-old baby helpless, paralyzed, covered with tubes and hooked to monitors. 
• November is the month my ob/gyn found a lump that turned out to be breast cancer.

In early October, I often pause and consider the upcoming anniversaries, like pressing my finger on a scar to check if it still hurts.

Here's the thing: I cannot forget, but it doesn't still hurt.

• I no longer feel acute pain from losing a child. I remember clearly the moments of learning my child had died, of waking from the D&C procedure with feelings of profound emptiness and loss, the months of crying and waiting for my body to recover. I hurt and mourn with those who suffer a miscarriage, but my scar no longer hurts when I touch it. I look forward: before me stands a joyful meeting in heaven and an eternity together -- all my children. I look backward: behind me stands a young couple facing their first major trial together -- a practice run for the full-on heart-intensiveness of parenting. I see the kind people who ministered to us. I know the healing joy of birthing my first-born the following year, the fierce mother-love of holding a precious baby-treasure, never to be taken for granted.
  God provides.
• I no longer feel terror over the botulism infection and the near loss of my first born four months after that healing birth. I remember clearly the frightening trip to the ER as our baby struggled to breathe and weakened quickly, the terror in the hospital as test after test was run to determine the correct diagnosis, the sight of my baby in a big hospital bed only eating and breathing and surviving through the workings of machines, the warnings that my child might face physical and mental challenges. But I look at my son now: Huckle is tall and strong, a 10-year-old of integrity and wit, strong-willed and intelligent. I look forward to seeing the man he will become, God willing. I look back and see the hospital staff and facilities that more than met our needs -- we never even saw a bill. Although infant botulism is rare, this hospital had seen it before and knew to test for it. Our son came through unscathed.
  God provides  
• I no longer consider myself a cancer patient. I made it through surgeries and chemotherapy and came out scarred but more aware that my body is a tent, not a permanent dwelling. I cannot find inner strength in health or self, no matter what our self-help culture suggests. I look forward to my permanent, heavenly home and my permanent, heavenly body and an eternity with the God who loves faithfully and fully. I look back and see the friends and family who ministered to me and the strength I drew from God.
  God provides.

I look back and I look forward as I press my scars and assess the damage. I don't feel damaged; I feel healed and full of joy in both directions: joy in seeing God's provisions throughout my own history -- especially my wanderings in the deserts -- and joy in knowing God will provide in my future. I know He will provide because I have learned His character through my trials.

• He is not a Precious Moments god, cute and starry-eyed and weak and whoops-you-dropped-your-ice-cream-cone-but-I-love-you-anyway.
• He is a kind and sympathetic friend who sits beside me and holds my hand and loves me. But He's much, much more. 
• God is a warrior -- huge and terrifying and awesome and fierce. He fights on my behalf, ever vigilant, ever in control. He always prevails. What joy that I am on the winning side! And so I will, as written in I Timothy 6:12, "Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses."
• Finally, I have learned firsthand that God is a "compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness" (Psalm 86:15). What a joy to be the recipient of such goodness, to try to mimic my Father in this world and to be with Him in the next.