Children of Noah

Thanks to Jeff Ratcliff for the image.
Thanks to Jeff Ratcliff for the image.

So as the story goes we’re all children of Noah, right?

If you follow the Old Testament and read the Bible and remember all the stuff that went down about that flood, if you have any belief at all in Christ or in God, if you remember the story, the whole earth was wiped clean because humankind was so dirty, bad, almost un-savable.

Everyone, of course Noah and his family.

And if I remember correctly, even God was sad, even God was a bit regretful He made us, His finest creation, and He was deeply sad about having to wipe the slate clean so to speak, but there wasn’t a way around it, with God being who He is.

Argue the theology all you want and try to rectify that into your understanding of God. It’s a hard concept to grasp from the God of love, but if you think of a parent disciplining their child, or letting their child take responsibility for their own actions, I think you’re coming close to maybe grasping the concept, although no one can really grasp the strange backward paradigm that is God.

But I’m not here to argue theology.

I’m here to remind us that we are Noah’s children. God’s children too. We are offspring of holy.  Holy.  Let that sink in.

And I think we need a reminder in this time of too much bad and graphic news, a reminder that we are holy and precious things, people from the holiest man at the time.  Children from a family that God, God alone chose to save.  We are children of Noah.

And because of God’s great and wonderful promise, he promised not to wipe us all out again in a flood.

Lately, after seeing how destructive and cruel and inhumane we as humans can be, and with the recent development of the kidnappings in Ohio and all the gory and inhumane details that will spill out about that house and those men, in a matter of days, some days I wonder if a flood again, to wipe us out, would not do us just a tiny bit of good.

I’ll say it: all un-Christian and everything: there is a large amount of hate, of vileness and repulsive feelings I have for those men, for any people actually, who hurt, abuse, and/or use power in a perverse way over humans and animals.

Those people, I think, well, some days I think a flood would be helpful in their particular cases.  But those are not nice things to think, not Christian things to think at all.

They get me worked up into a mix of rage and sadness, so much so some days that I have to remind myself that I am a Christian, and as one, I don’t get the last say.

I don’t get to go be negative and get revenge.  Some days this is good, as it keep the latch locked on the fence of the wild pony of my emotions that would love to jump over the fence of discipline and shout obscenities (amongst other things) at people who do so much wrong, so much hurting. But I don’t get the last word on that. God does.

And while I’m choosing to trust God and not become the bitter and revengeful person I can so easily be, I still have a call as a Christian I do have to speak up and do something. And writing is where I start.

Here’s the thing about my wishes and the flood–God’s not going to do that again.  This is a mixed blessing, a mixed bag, because a part of me always wonders, always wants a report card—God said he won’t do it again, but that doesn’t mean that we aren’t worthy of it happening—are we as vile, cruel, unloving and destructive as those people from the Old Testament?

If our God wasn’t as loving and as faithful as keeping his promises to us, how many times would we have been wiped away, gone, already, in this age? I have to say I’ve pondered this one too many times in the last 6 months or so, every time something horrendous happens, and I’ve pondered it more times that I would care to admit.

But that’s not the point of all this.

The point is to trust God, that all things will be redeemed in His time, in the end.

This makes no logical sense, really.  This is something I grapple with daily, because it feels a lot like giving up, like being passive.  But n actuality, it’s probably the most aggressive and radical thing you could believe.

But the whole ‘everything will be redeemed in His time’ concept? That’s a long time to wait, maybe.  And that’s a lot of trust we have to put into a God that we think is taking too long, or a God we don’t quite fully grasp, a God in reality, that is much bigger and wider than any of our minds can comprehend.

On these days, the down days, I wonder what heaven is like, if it really is perfect. I, of course hope so, but wonder: then does it get boring? What happens with perfection, with things always going so good?

And then I think of the news last week, the horrors we feel and see and hear and think to myself: heaven, redemption, you can’t get here fast enough.

That cool glass of refreshing water that is heaven cannot arrive too quickly.

But in the meantime, we have to live, and love and somehow maneuver through this world, carrying both the pain and the joy of living in these days.

And we get through with each other, and the answer isn’t a cape and a 28-minute episode where all bad things and people are resolved at the end of the show. It’s doing small actions, the small things, inconvenient steps, each day.

Oh yes, inconvenient.  If we are going to change the world and revamp the world into one we actually want to live in, we’re going to have to put down the iPhone occasionally and look up, look within, and notice what is going on within and around us.

And that means we simultaneously guard and open ourselves, our families, our communities.

We help each other with things get bad.

If things or life or our choices completely fall entirely off the rails, we are open enough to admit it, get help and move on.

We are open to community.

We are not afraid.

And we are not afraid to take action, step in, step on our neighbor’s toes in the process of trying to get it right.

It does not mean ignoring, feeling pity for others without praying; it does not mean, for certain, indifference.  Or a lot of “that’s too bad” comments on blogs.  It means we need to do something. It means action.

We care about our neighbors, and those in our community we get to know them, and we say hi and make efforts. These little things are the big efforts.

We don’t just pull our car into the garage and hop from one location to another, keeping to ourselves or to our phones, just barely noticing others.

In short, it’s that we realize that we are all family and we all have a duty to help each other out, even if that comes with defensiveness, feelings being hurt, missteps, mistakes and all of the awkwardness that comes in knowing one another authentically, as people.

And we continue to do it.  Get into relationships with other people.

Even when it gets hard, messy, ugly.

And we ask God for all the help we can get, and all the help He can possibly give us.

And we pray. We pray like the world needs help (it so desperately does), like our society needs more help that just simply a Band-Aid, a patch over problems, and we get on our hands and knees and pray like our lives are depending on it, because they are.

And we trust, still radically trust, that He has it all under control.


About last week…

Hi There-

So glad you are reading.  Just wanted to drop a little note–tonight I have 2 posts that I’ve written that I am fighting off the fear and going ahead and hitting the ‘publish’ button.

Of course, that’s not how the proper, professional bloggers do it, it would be a bit more balanced.  Not two posts in one night about more or less the same subject, but then again, I never fancied myself to be a professional blogger.  Nor do I have the consistency they do either.  I roll with what little time (or energy) I’ve got.

The point of these posts is just to say what I’ve been longing to say, it’s to somehow try and express the feelings that are so mixed and confused and hurt, just heart-heavy hurt over the news from Cleveland last week.

I’d love to say that I’m one of those that is strong in my faith (maybe-almost-there, someday soon, kind of strong) and I’d love to say I don’t struggle or grapple with faith, hope, trusting that everything will be alright in the end, but that would be a lie.  I struggle, I wrestle with this, even though I’ve read the end of the story, and everything turns out ok, better than we could have ever imagined.

So, here in two posts–is real and true grappling with my faith, with God.  Trying to hold water in my hands, trying to struggle to understand and hang onto hope.

Hope my expressing this, helps you in someway too-that’s always the aim of my writing.

Waiting on Heaven


thanks to  Evgeni Dinev for the image.
thanks to Evgeni Dinev for the image.


Some days I think it would be some much easier to live, to just live day-to-day if I lived elsewhere.

Maybe in Australia, where the president had enough of  people killing people that he banned all guns.

Maybe in Canada where there is better health care, and better maternity benefits.

Maybe in some other foreign country, like France, where the eating disorder rates and the obesity rates aren’t through the roof and sky-high like they are here.

Maybe somewhere even in this country, like Portland, where the big, open green spaces are protected, and every time I turn around I don’t see a huge plot of land being ground up, churned, mutilated for new development, or for a more convenient location to a Wal-Mart or CVS.

I just want to live in a place where my heart doesn’t constantly hurt.  Where it isn’t constantly broken by people or problems or things.

I just want to live in a place where human and animal rights are protected, not abused. Where people can be people and co-exist with their neighbors and not worry about being tormented or used or abused or tortured in new and unusual ways.  And ditto for the animals-that they can co-exist and trust all of us, instead of having to suffer through life abused, used, broken or tortured.  And a world where they get to actually keep their habitat instead of having to constantly find a new home, re-adjust to a world that is constantly changing and trees and habitat that just keep being cut down.

I just want to live in a place where each person knows the value or his or her own life, where they don’t have to play ghost, play dead or play invisible by starving or stuffing themselves to death.

I just want harmony.  I just want us to appreciate (and love) the life we are given and the animals and environment around us.

It’s clear: I just want heaven, redemption.  And it can’t get here soon enough.