Tomorrow marks my first day of teaching a 12 week stint on Spiritual Formation. I’m relating the journey of faith with and toward God to a scenic road trip, like Route 66.
Early on, Route 66 was well-traveled as people moved westward for a better life. Decades later, it became a common vacation expedition for families in the 1950s and 60s. What is it now? It’s not any of that.
The huge Interstate Highway system made traveling West smooth, faster, and more direct. Many of the towns with roadside attractions, and the windy roads from Chicago to Santa Monica were all but abandon. Some sections remain, and for the nostalgic traveler or the lovers of adventure on open the road, no other route is more alluring than, the Mother Road–the famous Route 66. It’s the stuff of legends.
For those of you who can’t come on join us, in person, here’s a “postcard” from the first leg of the trip.
Before we set off on a genuine road trip, we usually get an idea of where we’re going, and who we’re going with. We might venture off the map, and we’ll certainly have unexpected happenings along the way. We can become anxious over what lies ahead, out of view; or we can keep optimistic, knowing that we trust our companions. We can adventure on, tackling whatever obstacles we need to. The truth is, our the destination shouldn’t overshadow our view or enjoyment of the journey. The journey is part of how we are trained for our destination. SO, here we go.
Here are 8 ways we learn during the Christian journey. Maybe you can think of some more.
Through the Holy Spirit
Through Scripture
In community
Spiritual guides/teachers
Through Sacraments
Through devotional practices
Through Christian History/Tradition
Which ones have helped you the most? Which ones have you left out the most?Thank you for sharing your ideas on this topic. Hop in, let’s go!
The face that could launch a thousand mirrors into pieces.
I have to be very honest with all of you today. I’m REALLY struggling.
I’m reeling from some awful news about a man who’s been going to our church. The article is here, but be aware, it makes for horrid reading if you’re a parent, or have a heart for children.
Everyone is heartily nauseated by this series of events, and plenty of people hope he dies, or is tortured, etc. As sick as this makes me, I continue to wonder where redemption and restoration can be found for all involved. What would God have us do? My heart feels broken.
I ask you to stop, right now, and pray for all involved.
Abuses of authority rank at the top of things I loathe, and I’ve seen it in many varieties that I won’t go into right now. I just cannot seem to get a handle on this situation, right now. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I’ve been wondering just how many young people have been hurt by this person, or those like him.
Sadly, the statics are so high, it’s likely there are more abusers that just haven’t been caught, within our fellowship and community–but I pray not. The trouble is, like rape, child molestation is one of the most underreported crimes. The FBI Law Enforcement Bulletin states that only 1-10% are ever disclosed. Please, read that again, and let it sink in.
Kids like my disabled son, and shy children, are prime targets. And hearing about it all, so close to home, makes my blood run cold, and prompts me to action to defend and protect the innocent.
A FEW FAST FACTS that you should know:
• 96% of these types of abusers are male, and the average pedophile knows the victim, and molests 260 victims during their lifetime.
(I’m not trying to condemn a gender, but seriously…what the heck?!)
• All have a fascination with pornography. Please! Read that again. Now, think: how easy is it to get a hold of that, and feed the monster? Rates of abuse are skyrocketing, with no end in site. If you struggle with this issue, and pornography is in your life. Get. help. now.
Pornography is a gateway poison, that leads to a diseased mind and criminality. We need to come forward, and be honest about just how detrimental it is for all sectors of our society.
• The behavior is highly repetitive, to the point of compulsion, rather than resulting from a lack of judgment.
I’m going to channel my energies in this post to opposing and satirizing Dictators, because that’s about all I can do without crying, at the moment. Bullies come in all shapes, sizes, and varieties, but they have the same basic qualities.
My choice today is Muammar Muhammad al-Gaddafi, who’s a bit dim witted. Bullies thrive with creating fear, dictators especially so. When the fear is diminished, hope flourishes; and many will struggle to the death to gain freedom.
Here are 5 Clues Gaddafi could use to extend his life. But, I really hope he never reads this.
1. Realize the importance of shoes. Sure, women, for millennia, have valued shoes, but in the middle east, the bottom of one’s shoe is considered vile. If posters of you are getting whacked with shoes, your time is running out. You are considered lower than dirt, and probably for good reason.
2. Calling Yourself a Martyr Doesn’t seem to hold any sway. When Gaddafi said, “I cannot leave my country, I will die a martyr,” it probably told his opposition he really just “didn’t get it”, right? Or, maybe martyr in Arabic means “fool”.
3. Your Fancy Hats Cease to Charm People. Nothing says coo-coo like a stupid hat worn by a sociopath. This has never been more true. You folks from Reedsville know just what I mean.
4. Your Putting on of Aires is Lamentable. If you pretend you are Lawrence of Arabia and try to imitate his wardrobe, disaster is probably in your future. Really Gaddafi is decades overdue.
5. If your best friends are dictators, the signs look bad. Palling around with other known dictators isn’t just in poor taste, it shows to your “subjects” that you root for the bad guys, which includes yourself. Try to not be retarded, if possible.
Thank you for hanging on with me, and reading this today.
I’m sorry it’s bizarre. Too many sad things all at once I suppose.
-Lisa
It’s so cool.
I have half a mind to buy a karategi just to feel feisty and strong.
I took a 10 week Karate course when I was about 12. I’m not sure what belt that would translated into now, but I’m pretty fierce, so maybe a corduroy one or plaid (tartan preferably) . And, frankly I’d rather a drawstring than a belt. It does the job without giving your attacker a chance to strangle you with your own accessories. Always a plus.
The spiritual life isn’t something we do, like I did with Karate. It’s like Mr. Miyag said in 1984 in his backyard surrounded by all the cool classic cars, “…Either you karate do “yes” or karate do “no.” You karate do “guess so,” (squish) just like grape.” Mr Miyagi compared training in the art of karate to crossing a road. One can’t “kind of” cross a busy road, or it’s a squish like grape moment.
waxing on before chopping the red block (click to find source)
This website is a bit like a dojo–a spot to learn and train. But, it’s not a dojo as well. For one, I typically a wear bathrobe, or pajamas when I’m writing, not a fancy martial arts getup. The other reason is that when we enter spiritual mentoring and training it is best as a face-to-face and life-to-life lifestyle decision. We simply can not just try it on, like Halloween costume, or take it on a spin, like a hobby.
(Also I take liberties around here to throw in breaks in dojo stuff with general zaniness and humor. And that’s just plan too silly for a real dojo.)
SO! If you took on Christian spirituality and development like training at a dojo, what would you like to know? What problems, or questions would you have? What would you need?
A dojo-like community makes better disciples. That’s one of the aims here. I thank you SO MUCH for reading. And, I invite you to be a part of it a bit more by clicking the subscribe button (marked as “Alluring Button”).
Even though, I might not be your sensei, but I’d like to know.
Did you ever try Karate? What was your favorite Karate moment? (films included)
There’s a feeling you can get, after you’ve done something horrible. It’s so bad, that you might consider poking your own eye out (if for nothing else than a viable distraction.)
My first job (besides babysitting) was as a hostess at Eat’n Park Family Restaurant. A woman about 10 years older transferred there. She had been a waitress for a long time (even a decorated one. Yes, Eat’n Park is special like that.) She also had the name “Lisa,” just like me. That’s about all the ingredients needed for good communication and lasting friendship, right? um. No.
Background:
Sometimes I’d goof off and crack jokes in passing with Lisa. No big deal. (If you know me, this is all highly typical behavior.)
WELL-
One day, like a stoke of non genius, it came into my head to wisecrack when I noticed Lisa had a blue pen scribble on her forearm. I noticed it was actually a very sloppily rendered mark of her own name. The “L” was super long on the bottom, and not in a cursive way. It was just odd. It struck me as humorous. I already knew she had a 4 year old daughter. Her little girl had probably been playing with her waitressing pen and wrote out her mom’s name all by herself. Or maybe Lisa had done it–for a joke, or because she was bored. So, feeling my comic Einstein vibe coming on me (which is inversely proportionate to my rational thought and good judgment), I said–rather flippantly, I might ad–“Hey, what’s that on your arm? Is that so you don’t forget your name?”
Sudden. Dead. Powerful stare.
Awkward pause. I could hear a spider near the salad bar blink.
Then I noticed she had a sort of sad “How could you, you freaking jerk?” look on her tired face. (I picked up on that because I’m really good at feeling people out!)
It was a tattoo.
A horrible one.
A mistake.
Perhaps a drunk boyfriend or trashed stepdad scrawled it there. Who knows. But whatever the story was, it was part of a painful past. A past she did not want thrown in her face by some stupid and insensitive quip from a dumb teenager.
My heart froze with panic. It’s the kind of panic where you start to smell yourself. A cold sweat mustache erupts on your lip usually, too
.
Would she stab me with a steak knife?
Plan to burn me “accidentally” with a scrod entrée platter? (Wicked hot, they are!)
I fumbled around, and got out, “um… hahah… I’m just kidding.” I was trying desperately to appear nonchalant. I considered whistling a tune to prove it.
Still, she just looked at me–steadily.
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up the nerve. It felt like a blanket of shame washed over me. Self-loathing–all over the place.
She shook it off, and went back to work. From then on I tried to be extraordinary nice to her, in every way I could think of. I bused her tables, and got her refreshing beverages, and tried to be as pleasant, and positive as I could. She didn’t hold it against me, beyond a day or so.
Once, after a 10p.m.-5 a.m. shift when my dad failed to pick me up, she even drove me home in her weary beater of a car.
I still wonder about her.
It was poke-your-eye-out shame.
I’ll never forget it.
Have you ever had “inner death by shame”? (you can just answer yes or no, unless you want to be brave and tell your story)
