The Gift Of Rust

So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!

- 2 Corinthians 5: 16, 17

My client and I were waiting for the bus with time to kill. He loves to talk on a wide variety of topics, from politics to church history. If "knowledge is power" then, for all I knew, he could have been wielding the seal of the pope today. 

"Did you know, Dallas..." I braced myself for a lecture, "I noticed that your car has rust on it. That means in one or two years your car will die and you'll have to replace it." 

I shrugged my shoulders, and pronouncing every syllable (he's deaf but reads lips) I conceded, "It's old, isn't it?" 

 

He nodded at me encouragingly; "Did you know Dallas, my sister has a new, shiny sports car." His eyes widened brightly, "The thing that I like most about it is its Surround Sound radio" (he's obsessed with the latest technology of Sound Systems, though he can only faintly feel the beat). "And there's extra space to put groceries in the back"; then as if to hammer the final nail in the coffin he pounded his fist down; "but best of all, it's all new!" 

I nodded back at him dismissively, trying to remove the finger firmly pressing on my open wound, but before I could change the subject he leaned forward in his wheelchair and with deliberation remarked, "Did you know Dallas, if your car rusts anymore it will look like a MONSTER"; his voice boomed with mocking laughter, adding insult to injury.

I turned my face - now he had gone to far - did he not realize the financial sacrifices I had made to work in this field, my family dragged into poverty with my vocation? A torrent of humorless, self-pity washed over me, my self-righteous indignation grew, and like a pin to a balloon, I snapped at him, "Hey, we're poor you know; we don't have money to buy a new car!"

"Oh..." He paused, obviously stunned, and sat back in his wheelchair thoughtfully; "Did you know Dallas, even though your car is old, it's still a good car, because I have an interest in old cars."

The next day we were out driving in my old rust bucket. Happily pointing out the make of new, flawless cars on the street, he stopped abruptly in mid-sentence, and turned to me with a relaxed smile; "Did you know Dallas, your car is an antique because they don't make this model anymore." I looked out the window and laughed out loud, as the shiny new sports cars rushed by with a puff of air.

The paint continues to peal off, and the rust furthers to show; highlighting the irreversibility of decay and death; but with meticulous attention to detail my client took note of something else at work in the evolving monster - overlooked with an untrained eye - the promise of antiquing; signs of great age and the wear of a rare collector's piece; precious in the hands of our Maker, who beneath the well-worn rustiness, is still imagining; recreating; making all things new.

Counting Our Blessings

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

- Luke 6:37-39

With our hands covered in icing, we had left a trail of fingerprints in the kitchen, identifying our sticky fingers. We opened the oven, steam lifting as we stepped back, carefully placing the wobbly tray of cinnamon buns down. We closed the oven door with a push and a sigh of relief - drawing breath again.

My clients decided that they would like to bless the participants of our day program by baking for others - not grudgingly - but because they instinctively knew that it's more blessed to give freely than to receive a forced "gift" with calculating duty.  

With one client manning the freshly brewing coffee, another client of mine took down orders with a makeshift menu in hand ("cream and sugar with your coffee?"). After he had written down a few names I realized that, aside from his own name, he had only memorized "Santa" over the years of faithfully writing his Christmas wish list, and so Santa's name was scrawled out all over the page. I broke each name down for him ("John...that's J-O-H-N); his face lit up with joy, spelling out life itself.

The timer rang, we pulled the cinnamon buns out of the steaming oven, breathing deeply with head tilted into the fresh aroma of cinnamon and coffee - smiling with deep satisfaction. My clients brought the orders out on serving platters ("oops...you wanted cream with your coffee, right?"). They couldn't hold their happiness in, moving the people they served with laughter that fills the eyes with tears; though if we were asked the reason for our unrestrained laughter, we would have all fell self-consciously silent.  

People slowly ate their cinnamon buns and drank their coffee contentedly; still laughing and savouring the moment together; lingering in the nourishing presence of generosity and good grace.  "God loves a cheerful giver" (2 Corinthians 9:7), and so the love of God spread like an emerging sunrise - the stretching first slant of warm, golden light dawning on their glowing faces - we were bathed in the radiance of God's presence, and soaked it all in. 

Tying Up Loose Ends

But Jesus called them together and said, "You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must become your slave. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.

- Matthew 20: 25-28

It was a cloudlessly perfect day for a picnic. The air hummed with birdsong; shading our eyes with cupped hands, squinting in the glare of sunlight. A group of clients tossed a frisbee with me, wildly swinging their arms and throwing it wide of the mark  - splash - they mercilessly laughed at me as I reached out to grab the floating frisbee drifting in the wading pool. A few of our clients had rolled up their pants and - supported upright by their staff - stepped into the refreshingly cool water. We brought out the watermelon, orange slices and popsicles, everyone sucking in deep breaths of summer. 

We headed over to the open field for a friendly match of soccer.  The ball was kicked in every direction - often the wrong way - tripping over our heels with laughter at every turn. We had lost count of the score, when at the goal line the ball was passed to a client from my team; but instead of comfortably shooting the ball into the net, got down on his knees at the feet of his friend - a member of the opposing team - and tied up his shoes. 

In a world of one-upmanship, where people step over others to get their own way, he bent down in the humble posture of a servant to wash the feet of his friend. 

Opening Blind Eyes and Closed Hearts

As Jesus and his disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus, was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, "Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Jesus stopped and said, "Call him."

So they called to the blind man, "Cheer up! On your feet! He's calling you." Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.

"What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked him.

The blind man said, "Rabbi, I want to see."

"Go," said Jesus, "your faith has healed you." Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.

- Mark 10:46-52

There is a dear elderly lady at our day program who often flatters her staff: "you look nice today!" she'll say, and with praise on higher ground she might add, "you look like me!"

We always smile at her embellishment in a flattering light, for the simple reason that she is blind, and can't see us at all. Still, she has a way of seeing things with striking clarity that I'm often blind to; and the more I listen to her flattery the more I see how she calls forth a beauty hidden deep, something wondrously beautiful within. 

In the Gospel story above there are two astonishing miracles that take place: the opening of blind Bartimaeus' eyes, but perhaps even more remarkable, the opening of the crowd's hardened hearts. 

The crowd had closed their ears to the cry of Bartimaeus' heart, endeavoring to silence him. Bartimaeus' disability was repulsive to the crowd; dismissed as a "waste of time", his unwelcomed voice disturbed their smug self-satisfaction; all except for the ears of One who heard this blind beggar's heart cry and was moved with compassion. Jesus called Bartimaeus, overlooked and underrepresented, to the centre of their attention, where all could see him clearly and their own unrecognized need. They found themselves in the same company as his blind beggar, crying out for mercy. 

And there he was, the centre of attention - in the centre of God's will - Jesus' gesture of invitation opened their closed hearts, seeing Bartimaeus in an entirely different light, a light thrusting through even the hardest of human hearts. In a surprising turn of events, they cheered him on, as Bartimaeus jumped to his feet and ran as fast as his legs could carry, stumbling toward the inviting voice of Jesus, the One welcoming him into the house of love with a view beyond words - the human face of the revealing God staring compassionately at him - still adjusting his opened eyes to what must have been overwhelming, blinding light.

Though the world had made every effort to convince him otherwise; Bartimaeus responded to a generous voice calling out for him personally; a stirring voice that spoke deep and called forth the deepest longings of his unwanted heart: a voice of recognition. Jesus saw past cosmetic superficialities and social standing, past the attractiveness and abilities the world renders useful; Jesus saw right past outward appearances - the only thing the crowd could see - because "the Kingdom of God is within" (Luke 17: 21). Jesus saw something in Bartimaeus the world refused to look at - receptivity to his voice - giving Bartimaeus the faith to cry out with an irrepressible voice of his own. 

I no longer listen to our client's flattering words with skepticism, but with a heart of welcome and  wonder; if only offering a glimpse into what she is seeing with spiritual in-sight; momentarily turning us inside out from her point of view; unearthing the beauty within. You are beautiful to God - beauty to die for - and though the world may not see it; Jesus is always listening; ever perceiving the way of the heart.  

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.

- 1 John 3:1

I always look forward to routinely informing my client every Monday that I will be working with him that day. It's become procedure now, but I never tire of the inevitability of his reaction, as if I had told him for the first time. His eyes widening with wonder; his entire body bursting with joy; even the frame of his wheelchair, coextensive with his body, seems to shake animatedly; his voice quivering with delight, "Oh Yeah!" Today with exclamatory flourish he enthused, "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"

So many people in our tired world feel they are a disappointment to their families, loved ones, work place, themselves, and even to God if that were possible; as if the world would be better off without them. The Bible offers a welcomed corrective - God has lavished his unfathomably great love on all His children; and my client's lavish affirmation - step by step, week after week, mystery upon mystery; attaches legs under that truth and walks with me in my unbelief.  

Today we made use of the C-Train to go downtown for a computer class. We entered the crowded train entombed in a dead atmosphere of drowsiness. As we were traveling downtown-bound my client pointed excitedly to everything he could see, face pressed against the window; "Oh! Wow! Truck!" Or: "Oh! Kewl! Zoo!" And as the train ascended up the ramp over the Bow River he peered down at the world racing by; "Whoah! Goodie!", pealed with laughter, giggling to himself the whole time. I don't always know what's so funny in his world, but he manages to find the humour in everything. With a spirit of hilarity, he refuses to let us take ourselves too seriously.

I looked about the train packed with commuters, heads hung drowsily, bobbing up and down with the monotony of sameness. Like the other lifeless commuters, my client had been on this identical train route many times before, but somehow the landscape didn't have the same deadening effect on him. His spiritual alertness is extraordinarily rare among those who have given up on themselves and the monotonous world they inhabit; a readiness to lavishly affirm the mundane; an extravagant love the world, lulled into sleep, doesn't know.  

Wonderfully Flawed

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

- Psalm 139: 14

For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

- Ephesians 2:10

Today in our worship service the worship leader invited a beautiful boy of Middle Eastern descent with an endearingly sweet presence to come out onto the stage in his motorized wheel chair. Slowly but deliberately he shared with us that he is in Grade one and loves to sing songs to God in the bus on the way to school. With his captivating smile he also added that he is learning more about God in the Children's Ministries at our church.

He had memorized two verses from the Bible (cited above) and while the words had a difficult time getting out at first, with his head turning back and forth, God's Word began spilling over with an open heart and spirit of tenderness. 

It dawned on me, as I looked across the rows of flawless people impeccably dressed and immaculately done up, that there were many among us - as is the case of so many airbrushed models of the world - who could see nothing but their blemishes carefully concealed from everybody else. There would be many who embodied the ideal of "perfection" but whose bodies were inhabited by the fear of exposure, the fear that those invisible disabilities would be left undefended for all to see.

And here was this little boy confined to a wheelchair, about as visibly disabled as one could be, absolutely convinced that he is "wonderfully made", a meticulous work of art, "God's workmanship", and no one could convince this boy, beloved of God, otherwise. He was lovable because he knew he was dearly loved. There was a light within him that refused to go out, because he refused to take the givenness of life for granted. As one of my clients so often reminds us at work, "It's always good to be yourself!"

"From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise" (Matthew 21:16); such as this little, disabled (?) boy today, marginalized by the world as disfigured, but reconfiguring our relationship in belovedness, created for a purpose of Divine magnitude - flaws and all - persuading us that we really have nothing to hide, as long as we are hidden in Christ. Heaven is full of surprises.

A Window of Vulnerability

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.

- Luke 8:17

Many of my clients rely on me to remember all that they need to maintain their daily routine (i.e. medication, transportation bookings, fee assistance cards, etc.). Sometimes in sorting through the mental files I keep on behalf of my clients, I forget my own necessities. A caregiver often neglects to care for oneself.

Case in point: I got into a cab with my client for the day, sat back and sighed deeply with satisfaction, as we were all set up for a swim at a leisure centre; but halfway there I realized that I had left my own swimming gear back at our agency. His disability requires that I stay close by him in the pool and so without my swimsuit he would also have to miss out on a swim. 

There was no turning back now. How could I explain this to his guardian? Moreover, how could I explain this to myself? I know how my client carefully prepares his swimming bag the night before and leaves it at the door with anticipation for his "swim day". 

We arrived at the leisure centre and I decided I would ask the front desk staff if they had a spare swimming suit. Sure enough, they had a used swimming suit in the Lost and Found compartment. I swallowed my pride and took the used swimming suit with gratitude. The woman behind the front desk turned to my client and with good humour accusingly pointed her finger at him; "Did you forget your swim wear today?" He smiled graciously and turned to me with a look of uncertainty. I laughed nervously, averting eye contact with reflexive denial. With my head hung low, we walked away quietly into the locker room.

With no voice of his own to defend himself, my client is vulnerable to abuse wherever he goes. I knew that, in his defenselessness, I had manipulated him to protect my reputation, and it was difficult to look him in the eye for the remainder of the day.

His vulnerable openness - weaponlessness - brings to mind a phrase coined by NATO for strategic military purposes; a "window of vulnerability"; and I think this military jargon also serves to describe the day-to-day lives of my clients. In military strategy one's window of vulnerability needs to be concealed and the enemies window of vulnerability exposed; but my clients hearts are laid bare; unprotected; none of my clients vulnerabilities are concealed - they don't have the strength to close the window on their own - all their broken windows of vulnerability are disarmingly flung wide open.

Because they are open they are also vulnerable to abuse in a world armed for confrontation. Consequently, they need our protection and advocacy; but I see now that their vulnerability is also a gift wielding gentle power -  powerful enough to change a life, and open a heart. 

A faint reflection of the soul held up against the light; mirror-like; pointing back to my stubborn instinct for self-preservation. I saw myself a little more clearly that day - through the window of my own brokenness - and confessed my willing self-deceit in a spirit of repentance. My window of vulnerability had been sealed shut with insecurity and self-protectiveness, but now light broke through concealment, as a gentle breeze blew through the room. 

The Scribe of the Soul

These things I remember

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go with the multitude,

leading the procession to the house of God,

with shouts of joy and thanksgiving 

among the festive throng. 

- Psalm 42:4

Ever since we hosted a floor hockey tournament for our day program, one of my client's has been wearing his hockey medal daily for the last few months. Every time I see him now, with his shining medal draped around his neck like a medaled war veteran, the imagination is stirred and I am flooded with memories and feelings. 

Everyone had a contributing role that day; the opening ceremonies began and each team walked in with their team's banner and logo flying high; one of my client's sang the Canadian national anthem as we patriotically faced the Canadian flag; another client prayed that God would watch over us and give us a "fun time together"; still others served as colour commentators and statisticians. And, of course, we were all there to cheer each other on.

At the end of the tournament we shook sweaty hands and celebrated with an Awards Ceremony. Every member of each team was awarded a medal to commemorate their valuable contribution to the making of a historic tournament. 

Funny thing, as I remember it now, this client who tirelessly wears his medal doesn't really care for hockey all that much. In fact, I wonder if he recollects how his team lost mercilessly in the playoff round, or how the ball would roll past him as everyone shouted, "shoot! shoot!" and still he stood with a puzzled expression on his face, as if to suggest that everyone was making a big fuss about nothing.

The memory, of course, was much more significant than how many goals he scored (none) or how many games his team won. "Memory", according to Aristotle, "is the scribe of the soul". Serving as a scribe of sorts, he's been narrating the history of our community; the texture of our soul. He was a member of a team participating in a story with a Divine scriptwriter, writing out the history of the broader community. He wore that medal as a visible expression of his inner life, the raw material of the soul, which re-presents the past and gives direction to our future.

Like the psalmist who lamented and "poured out his soul" as he looked back and remembered better days, we need visual reminders to give us concrete hope on those days when we inevitably grow disappointed with others and disillusioned with life in community. We need each other to make sense of our lives. 

His medal calls us to re-member, as each member of the community gathers together to share our collective memory and narrate our lives to one another. The act of re-membering is essential to the life of the church, and sometimes it's the most broken and bruised member of the body of Christ who invites us to join together as many-limbs-to-one-body, revisiting the memories that shape us as a faith-community. 

With his medal still decorating his neck, he approached me today with a sense of urgency; "Remember Dallas...I like you", he said again. I won't forget. 

The Repetitive Gift

Turn my eyes from worthless things,

and give me life through your word.

- Psalm 119:37

I have a client who will stick up his hand for our attention once he has maintained eye contact, "Excuse me, I have a question for you." Our days with him are riddled with questions -sometimes unanswered and often unanswerable. By the end of the day people will respond to his tiresome questions with exasperation; "no more questions please!" He usually only has a couple of pressing questions weighing heavily on his mind, but you can count that he will raise the same question with you the next time you pass him, though only ten minutes has passed, and repeat the cycle.

Repetition - the word itself makes me squirm in my seat. I have a restless mind that pushes and pulls me in conflicting directions. Repetition forces me to sit still, and the lack of movement and diverting entertainment can be painful. I've heard the stifling question a thousand times and ran from it, but I'm only now beginning to appreciate the gift of repetitiveness, as his questions are sinking from my head deep into my heart. 

My daughter loves to sing the worship song, Jesus loves me, and so we sing it wholeheartedly together, Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Again and again. It's a song that I grew up with as a child but it's always remained close to my heart, and as I've grown up, I can see how this simple children's song has grown with me in ever-widening concentric circles of deepening faith.  

There's so many competing voices clamoring for our attention in this noisy world, but as I cut through the ear-splitting noise - distinguishing the voice of Jesus from all others - listening attentively to God's "still, small voice"; I often hear the same, simple message repeated reassuringly, over and over; "I love you", "You can trust me", "I am always with you".

There are times when I just simply have to ask my client to hold his question as I run off to finish business at hand, but I find myself more willing now to sit down with him and listen a little more closely to the repetitious question. Actually, I'm not sure it is a question at all anymore but a confession of faith; "I like being with you", "I trust you", "I won't forget you".  

Dance and be Glad

Then young women will dance and be glad,

young men and old as well.

I will turn their mourning into gladness;

I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.

- Jeremiah 31:13

A group from our agency attended a mixed ability dance workshop here in the city and we had a lot of fun together - they keep dancing in and out of my life. If there's one thing I've learned from people with developmental disabilities it is that God created us to dance, and since we were created in God's image (Genesis 1:27) it must be in God's nature to dance with us, as we fall into the arms of the One who loves us most. 

If there's anything else I've learned it's that the sanctity of dance has been distorted by our fallen world. So much of what passes for dance today is inward-turned, sex-obsessed, self-absorbed, and as the latest "reality" TV shows will attest: competitive. 

In stark contrast, they step into dance cooperatively not competitively, a community-building expression of their life together. We may tend to be a bit clumsy (hopelessly clumsy, in my case) and step on a foot or two, but there's always someone there to pick up the pieces, as we fall and get up again. You won't find anyone dancing alone. Even as stilted and flat-footed as I am, I too am called to participate in the life of God and join in the dance. We come as we are; stripped of our pretenses, rejoicing in the presence of God. 

I awkwardly picked up a client of mine who is unable to stand on his own and carried him on my back with the help of two others holding up his legs from behind. We initiated a "dancing train" as we dizzingly circled the room together, laughing all the way. Here he was, the most uncoordinated and least mobile among us, teaching us all a profound lesson in dance, as we came together to support him, lift him up, and dance unhesitatingly. 

We left the dance workshop with our hearts still leaping with such lightness of being it felt as if our feet weren't even touching the ground. We poured out of the theatre into the downtown streets of corporate Calgary with business people on their lunch break; appropriately dressed; appropriately behaved - but with an expression of slight sadness - burdened with the serious business of the day. Oh Lord, let heaven come down, give them reason to dance today.