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Whole Body Smile

3/28/2013

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One thing that I’ve noticed is that as a small child Reese smiles with her whole body.

Often I realize that if I couldn’t see her face I’d still know when she was filled with joy. Her hands pivot up and down, her legs swing and kick. Her whole being is caught up. She screeches or cries “ooohhhhh!” Sometimes her hair seems to get even curlier than it always is.

Reese isn’t self conscious about it. She simply doesn’t restrain the physical wave of joy. It flows through her like electricity. She lets it flow, and doesn’t unnaturally try to damn it up within her or tamp it down for our civilized consumption.

Of course Reese also frowns with her whole body. No denying that. But right now I want to focus on the smile.

My parents tell me that I did this long ago. As a boy about Reese’s age, on Christmas morning I’d sit in front of the tree awaiting my chance to open my first present. My parents say that my backside would literally bounce up and down in anticipation, in happiness, and if I must say, perhaps a little greed thrown in for good measure.

I didn’t do as much of that as I got older. I tend to call that shift “maturity”. But, I’m not sure that the shift should always be given such a respectable label. Perhaps it would be better to call that change “domestication” or something even less savory.

I’ve been thinking about all of this because of the words of Jesus. You’ve probably heard them before. I’ll paraphrase: Love God with your whole self – your mind, your body, your strength, everything you have and are. And love your neighbor as yourself.

Many parts of Christian life come to mind as an illustration here, and worship is one. Many of us love God well with our minds, but with our bodies – well, not so much. We feel odd if we start to tap our toes during the music of a Sunday service of worship.

Or, some of us love God well with our emotions, but we don’t want to think about our faith, to tease it out in our imagination, to study it with our minds.

Or, some of us love God all the way on Sunday, but we withhold our strength, our money, and our lives from the Lord come Monday. By Wednesday, we live however we live no differently than we would live if there were not Christ at all.

Maybe this smile with the whole self thing is easily done by Reese because she is still very young. Surely, the Jesus who gave the great commandment also smiled with his whole body as a child. Further, in the mystery of faith we confess that in that child God himself uniquely smiled at us with his whole body.

That is part of the deep magic and wonder that is Christmas. But, come to think of it, the Gospel of John says that even as an adult Jesus cried with his whole body  (in public, no less) before the grave of his friend Lazarus.

If Christ were willing and able to love with his whole self, then perhaps Christians are called to the same in his name.

The funny thing I’ve discovered is that being around Reese loosens me up, returns me to when I more easily smiled with my whole body. I do silly dances, sing pathetic, made-up rhymes, and speak in ridiculous, unknown tongues. And I do it for her unashamed. I do it for love.

Maybe being around Jesus helps loosen me up as well. Maybe in there somewhere is a lesson about my life lived before the Lord, a lesson about Christian freedom in an often uptight, angry world. 


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Clear Eyes

3/26/2013

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When Reese was born she had blue eyes. This surprised me because neither Mindy nor I have blue eyes. Over time they became less blue, but they’re still beautiful. (As a father, I’m contractually obligated to say that.) I believe this eye color change is common for children.

I remember looking at Reese’s eyes one day and being impressed by something I couldn’t quite figure out at first. So I kept staring, which I’m sure made her a little uncomfortable. Then I realized it. The whites of Reese’s eyeballs were a perfect, milky white.

That may sound like a given to you, but I’m not so sure. When I look at my eyes there are all these red streaks in them. I guess these streaks are strained and broken blood vessels. My best theory is that my eyes are bloodied by the wear and tear of use and misuse throughout long years of looking and living. Maybe your eyes are a bit streaked as well.

But not Reese’s eyes, at least they weren’t bloodied yet. If I’m right, Reese’s eyes were clean and clear because her eyes were enjoying a fresh start.  She was, after all, only five months old at the time. Her eyes were just beginning, as was she.

There is an ancient Christian tradition when it comes to baptism. One of the realities of Christian faith baptism represents to us is that of new birth. By identifying ourselves with the faithful love of God in Jesus, we can receive an opportunity to begin again with God, with our world, and even with even ourselves. This is good news.

All of us emerged through the water of a woman’s uterus as fresh and new children. And such a gift was made possible, made real, by the grace given us by a mother.

Baptism calls us to imagine that through water each of us can emerge again. We can begin again. We can be born with clear eyes and a soft heart. And such a gift is made possible, made real, by the grace of the God who smiles at us through the face of Jesus.

Tradition has it that sometimes in the early days of Christ’s people a person would be baptized naked and then clothed in a fresh white robe, a garment un-streaked by the use and misuse of life. The person wearing that perfect, milky robe had been given a fresh start in Jesus. And so, by Christ’s power, that person could see the world with eyes as unmarked as the robe.

Dare to believe it. Dare to act out of the belief. We can all become new because of God’s love known through Jesus. Can we believe it? Can we live with the hope and lightness of being that comes from such shocking good news?



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Snow

3/26/2013

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We were in Colorado Springs for a few days one winter not too long ago. As you might know, Colorado Springs is a fun, little city nestled against Pike’s Peak. We flew into Denver and drove the hour south into the Springs.

 Much to Reese’s disappointment, there wasn’t snow in the forecast for the Colorado Springs area before we left Houston. But, Reese prayed about it, and, lo and behold, by our last night in Colorado Springs a blizzard was setting in. It was the worst storm of the winter and it turned out to be one of the strongest storms of the last few years.

Mindy and I decided to leave for Denver early, which meant driving back at night through the opening movements of the storm. We checked out of the hotel early, piled into the car, and set out. Reese was amped up. While I had packed up the room, she and Mindy had stayed at an Irish restaurant nearby and Reese had been dancing to Celtic rock.

The driving conditions were nasty, especially for someone raised in Houston.

I couldn’t see the lanes. Couldn’t often see the tracks of other cars. In all honesty, before you and me, I couldn’t really see the other cars. There was blowing snow. I kept two clenched hands on the wheel the whole time. Muscle knots buckled my shoulders. I found myself faking a confident look on my face for Mindy to see while desperate prayers knocked around inside me. Almost every time I had to brake the car I let out an audible groan. I drove 35 miles per hour on the highway the whole way to Denver. It felt fast.

Reese promptly fell asleep. Once we were out of Colorado Springs and the blizzard started socking it to us, she started snoring. She didn’t wake up until we had reached the hotel in Denver. Upon opening her eyes, Reese stretched and said something like, “That was a quick, easy trip.”

A day or so later it occurred to me that this was one of the greatest compliments Reese has given me. Ever. I’m sure Reese didn’t realize she was giving a compliment, but it was a great one nonetheless.

In Mark chapter four Jesus and his disciples are crossing the Sea of Galilee in a boat. A furious storm suddenly sets in. The disciples start fighting a two-front war against the storm on one side and their terror on the other.

Meanwhile, Jesus is sleeping in the back of the boat. The disciples wake him up and get on his case. They say, “Don’t you care if we drown?!?!”

Jesus, probably still yawning and stretching and scratching and doing all the things people do when we first wake up, stills the storm. Then he has a few choice words for his disciples. And after that I bet Jesus goes back to sleep on his pillow nestled in the stern.

It appears that Jesus trusted God enough to rest, even in the midst of a storm.

In the Old Testament the term for the quality of God’s character that elicits this trust in God’s people is “hesed.” It is a hard word to capture in English, but can be translated as mercy, loving-kindness, or steadfast love. My favorite rendering of it is loyal love.

Hesed, the loyal love of the God who brought the universe into being, invites from us a deep sense that when God calls us his own, we can rest upon God’s loyalty through thick and thin.

It does not mean life will be free of storms. It does not mean those storms will always be stilled quickly. (Jesus surely knew this in the Garden of Gethsemane as he prayed on the night before his execution.)

But it means God’s love enfolds us in a life-giving and unbreakable embrace. It means we can stand upon that loyal love even if its presence and deliverance is not readily visible until the morning dawns and resurrection comes. An old hymn calls this quality of God’s character his “everlasting arms” upon which we can lean.

Through Jesus this hesed is extended to all, even to me and to you. It is the power behind Christ’s “this is my body and blood given for you” at the Table and Jesus’ last words in the Gospel of Matthew: “I am with you always….”

If God is really loyal to us, then this can be the foundation from which we approach the storms and crises and nights of tossing and turning and doubt. And, if this is the foundation, maybe we can always be free to rest and play, even when so much in life seems so dark.

And maybe resting and playing, even in the middle of the storm, is the greatest compliment we can give God. Jesus calls this compliment faith.

A shadow of this compliment was what Reese was giving me on I25 into Denver. She didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she trusted me to bring her through. Amazingly, I did.

May I relate to the Lord more like the way Reese related to me in Colorado.

After all, God’s ability to carry us through the rough patches of life is infinitely more trustworthy than a Gulf-Coasting, Houston-dwelling, flat-lander’s ability to drive through a Rocky Mountain blizzard.


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    Author

    Robert here.



    This is something called a Reese Piece. Reese is a nickname for Karyssa, my daughter. 



    Each Reese Piece is a brief exploration of some way I sense God has spoken to me through her.

    God reaches us through the experiences and relationships of daily life. This seems obvious, but I find it’s something which is still easy for me to forget. 


    It is my prayer that “Reese Pieces” will encourage you to look for the ways the Lord is trying to reach you through the life you live each day and the people who populate it.

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