The Cement Stairs

We drive past an empty corner lot on our way to worship services several times a week.  Years ago, a house sat there; a little wooden house.  Some time ago, the house was torn down, and now all that remains is a path and two cement stairs that at one time led to a front door.  It makes me sad.

Every time we pass the lot, with grass growing evenly across the ground where the foundation of a home once rested, the enduring path and tenacious steps seem to cry out for someone to know their story.  After all, everything has a story, and in my mind I've written a hundred scenarios for the stairs that seemingly lead to nowhere.

I think about the people.  I think about the rooms.  I think about those two things together and imagine life in the little house ten years ago.

The recurring plots in my head are of misfortune resulting in lost hope or of sacrifice ultimately claiming residential dreams.  Both are depressing, but I can't help but look at what is left on that lot and be flooded with ghostly echoes of "what might have been" for the nameless characters in the story behind the cement stairs.

What happened to the house?

Perhaps the house was condemned or irreparably damaged?  Maybe it was part of a complicated legal dispute or maybe there are plans to build something bigger in its place?

There are countless possibilities, but here is what I know:  The house is gone and the stairs remain.

It reminds me of our spiritual homes.  I'm not talking about Heaven.  I'm talking about the homes we build for our families right here, smack dab in the middle of this world.  How strong are our homes?

Sometimes we start out with a path of cemented belief and a few rock solid stairs of faith, but when it comes time to build a home...we construct something unstable, vulnerable, and a little wobbly.  We walk through the front door, leave God out on the cement stairs, and end up with a spiritual home that will fall.

Our homes need the strength of God in every brick, in every beam, in every nail, and in every slab of mortar.  We need God to be our interior decorator, our electrician, and our plumber.  We need to provide our families with a spiritual home that has been built by faith, furnished with love, and that is maintained through the hope of eternal life.  A home that will not fall is one that has God as the foundation, Jesus as the cornerstone, and the Holy Spirit as the protective roof and walls.

Sometimes houses shake.  Sometimes people leave.  Sometimes our own lack of faith might weaken the walls.  But if God is there, in every nook and cranny of your home, it will not fall.

There comes a time when each one of us becomes responsible for the spiritual home we build our family.  Parents can't build homes for their grown children, preachers can't build homes for church members, and God doesn't build homes for us.  Don't stop at the cement stairs.  Keep building strong!

The Simplest Things

"...that the human spirit is more powerful than any drug and that is what needs to be nourished: with work, play, friendship, family.  These are the things that matter.  This is what we'd forgotten.  The simplest things."  --Dr. Sayer played by Robin Williams, in Awakenings

Like so many others today, my thoughts are reflecting on the life and tragic death of actor and comedian Robin Williams.  This morning I've watched video clips from a collection of his most popular roles and found that many of his lines now ring with a deep and heavy irony.  Following his death, the characters he played seem to call out from the screen, sometimes with words of counsel and sometimes with words of introspection, urging us to become more mindful of those who are suffering in the darkness of depression.

A doctor recognizing the value of the simple things

A genie wishing for freedom

A professor teaching his students to seize the day and make their lives extraordinary

A medical student realizing that indifference is the most terrible of diseases

A grown man encouraging children to face their problems

A psychologist pointing out that bad times help us better appreciate the good times

There are many more.

I pray we open our eyes.

Depression is real and it is devastating.  As a nurse, I've seen its destructive effects from lost jobs to ruined relationships, from neglected children to broken families, from substance abuse to suicide attempts.  It is a life-threatening illness. 

I don't know how long Mr. Williams struggled with depression.  I do know that he hid it from the world well and I also know that most people with this illness do the same.  Even those who seem happy, those who are firmly grounded in their faith, those who have family support, and those who are in the best of physical health, might be in a daily fight against depression.  We must try to see them and we must reach out to them.

I'm afraid that depression has become one of the words we use flippantly, in instances that minimize its gravity.  We might say, "I am so depressed--I can't seem to find anything to wear today." or "It's depressing when my fantasy football teams lose."  Depression is not just a feeling, it is a condition that is debilitating and unrelenting.  It is silently invading the lives of people all around us and we need to educate ourselves on its presentation and treatment.

Is it preventable?  Not always.  Can it be treated?  Absolutely.  There is help and there is hope.  

Today, I am reminded of the importance of "the simplest things":  feeding my soul with things that matter and never forgetting them.  I am thankful to God for my Heavenly home.  I am grateful that my citizenship lies there and not in this troubled world.  I am looking forward with great anticipation to the day I will be able to live eternally in the presence of God, surrounded by only goodness, with all of my family.  This is what motivates me, this is what makes me endure, and this is what makes life worth living.  "All of life is a coming home." --Robin Williams as Patch Adams

To Sit and To Swim

With my head turned toward the sky, eyes closed, hands sinking in the sand behind me, I drank in the salty ocean air.  Deep gulps...like a thirsty child at a playground water fountain.  It felt so good.

I sat there for a moment, enveloped by the beauty of the scene, and gradually I could feel myself begin to let go of the world: the worry and fear that I seem to harbor being pushed out of my mind by an overwhelming awareness of my Creator.

Deep in the process of emptying myself, I opened my eyes just in time to see my three children running toward the ocean.  They bounded through the ankle-deep, shin-deep, then knee-deep waves, and dove right into the water.  I saw them float, swim, and race each other back to shore.  I watched them play in the sand: digging, building, writing, and burying themselves.  Then back to the water.

I realized that while I was emptying...they were filling.

There, in the presence of God's undeniable power and glory, I was giving up my weaknesses, handing over my struggles, and letting God's peace take control.  Emptying.
My children, on the other hand, were jumping in and swimming around.  Filling.
It made me think about how those two actions manifest themselves in my life as a Christian.

Being emptied of the world and being filled with the Spirit.

Both needed...both necessary.

I should live a life of sacrifice and not be conformed to this world.  I should turn my burdens over to God.  The emptying.
But also, I should be submerged in God's love and grace.  I should saturate myself in His Word.  The filling.

Quietly sitting in the sand and thinking about how much God has given me, reflecting on His magnificence is important, it helps me refocus and recharge; but, at some point, it's equally important to put aside inhibition, run full force into the water, and outright plunge into His greatness.  James wrote about this through inspiration telling his readers they should be "doers of the word and not hearers only" in James 1:22.

I don't want to be just a sand sitter...I want to be a wave rider!

And with that, I grabbed my boogie board and raced my kids to the water.