Day 13: Ancient homesteads

 When Philip was 2, the doctors said there was a good chance that he had severe autism. His scores indicated that his brain was developed similar to a 9 month old. 

I tried not to look too far ahead. Instead, i focused on where we were and what he needed in that moment. His first step to developing was learning how to pay attention to something for 15 seconds. To learn how to play with toys. I threw myself on the floor and watched and experimented and listened to podcasts and got therapists and played and played and played with Philip.  

I've kept the habit. Not thinking too far in to the future but looking at my kids right now. Are they growing? Are they thriving? Are there gaps we need to work on? I can't assume that school will be the same next year. I can register and tell myself -"the default plan is...." but I always have to watch and wait and pay attention to little details and come August, just before school starts, without fail, adjustments have to be made.  

I work pretty hard to help my family find a way to be themselves and yet be part of broader society. But it is hard sometimes and I like to take them out to the desert where there is a freedom to be completely themselves. I can feel the weights drop off everyone as they settle into the sand and rocks and sticks off the wilderness. 

But vacation ends and we come back.  

Usually it's a good challenge to go to school, go to church, be a part of society. Buy sometimes when the world doesn't look like it has space for them, I start daydreaming about pulling them out of school and moving out to the country and homeschooling on some homestead with a giant barn. I even learned how to make sourdough. 

Sometimes I think there's something more to my desire to homestead. I think i struggle with how to live out my faith in this current moment in history and i have a deep desire to withdraw and to set up new routines and rhythms. 

In my reading of church history, I discovered this impulse isn't new. My seminary trained friends can correct me here, but the first Christian monasteries were not communities but individuals exasperated by the church in the time of Constantine. House churches moved into buildings. Buildings grew ornate with gold, a big chairs for priests and elaborate alters. Clergy gained political power and many felt it was impossible to live out faith in those churches so they fled to the desert in droves. Seeking solitary lives marked by simple religious orientation. 

But lives in the desert were not right either. Christian faith is not lived through prayer and meditating scripture alone. But rather by love, care and generosity. 

Solitary monks found themselves again out of sync with faith and eventually formed monasteries that look more like what we think of today. Communities based on prayer and scripture, but also work, care for the poor and care of each other. 

I'm not alone in my impulse to just run away from the world. But the same faith that pushes me to run away, also calls me back. 

But man, sometimes I want to load up in that RV and drive for a really long time and rest in a wilderness that has no cell signal and just be. 

Day 12: Safe

Today at church I was at a meeting talking about various church policies to improve safety.  It got me thinking about public policy,  regulation and safety. 

At work, I help to enforce regulations and policies that help ensure the safety and efficacy of medical devices. Next week,  my kids have a lock down drill at school.  I also have to weigh the risks and benefits of taking a strong medicine that will completely mess with my immune system and sign a paper to agree to treatment. Safety, risk and danger is a huge occupant of brain space,  especially for parents who are responsible to make all the health and safety decisions for our children. 

And the internet is there blasting out all the risks and terrible diseases,  awful things that can and do happen to people and could happen to us if we aren't careful. 

It feels like in some ways the world is much safer than the one I grew up in and yet,  in other ways it feels like it isn't.  And so I spent the afternoon trying to make sense of safety,  danger,  faith and common sense.  

We live in a world that preys and profits on our sense of fear. 

Many polls show that people have a gloomier outlook on the economy, crime,  the environment and other social issues than what data says.  This is a broad brush statement and could take several posts to dissect, qualify and explain. 

But, as I reflected,  I decided that the point of this post isn't about public opinion or politics,  but rather a call to be faithful to the gospel,  the good news,  in a world that tries to trigger the fear centers in our brains. This is a Lent blog. We are are in the season of following Jesus to the cross. And so the gospel,  at the very heart,  comingles with safety and danger and faith in the face of such things. 

There  are so many verses that speak this.. written by people who themselves were prosecuted. Here are a few:

"Don't worry about what your life,  what you  will eat or drink or what you will wear..."

"So do not fear,  for I am with you.."

"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity,  but one of power..."

And my  favorite

"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear..."

But what does it mean to trust God?

Does it mean we should do risky things because God will keep us safe?

Clearly,  no.  But I think,  there is an impulse think we can engineer our way to safety. If we can be smart enough,  careful enough, we might be able to tiptoe through life and avoid tragedy.

When I learn about about a tragedy, inside there's a little voice that asks,  "What caused this,  and what could prevent it in the future?" I keep mental notes of dangerous situations and precautions I can take. 

I spend a lot of time in nature with my kids and I'm borderline obsessive about weather. I know when and where it is going to be extremely hot or cold,  what level of ground saturation can lead to flooding in different areas and the conditions for fires,  avalanche and mud slides.  I also have decent knowledge of dangerous plants and animals and how to treat burns,  deep cuts and other first aid things. I also usually carry a baby carrier that, in a pinch,  can be expanded to fit my three youngest children in the case of injury. 

But the reality is,  as much as I know,  as much as I prepare,  nature is dangerous.  Humans are fragile. And something could happen to me,  my husband or one of my kids. 

That thought churns the pit of my stomach. It shakes my core and makes me wonder if I should be more careful on our RV trips, or maybe not go to such wild places. 

But this is where faith breathes life and love into a place darkened by fear. God is with us. 

Not only is God with us out there in nature,  protecting and providing for us.  But more importantly,  God is with us in the unthinkable. God has walked the road of unthinkable sorrow to walk with us in ours. 

In the same way that I cannot articulate what faith is any more than I can describe the feeling before a rainstorm; I cannot name the calm that faith gives me in the face of danger. 

It is not a reckless, irresponsible impulsiveness but rather a trust that God is bigger than the brokenness of this world and there is not one single thing that I, or my kids,  can go through that God will not be with me.  

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I while I may take steps to be safe. I also remember to not be afraid