kind Archives - Page 7 of 12 - Lisa Colón DeLay

Faith = a Basket of Eggs: In Tribute to David A. Dorsey

So, a dear man died one week ago. Dave, to his students (because he preferred this), and Dr David Dorsey, PhD officially. On Tuesday the chapel was packed for his funeral as hundreds resolutely braved sub zero wind chill to pay respects, support his family, share memories and express their sadness at the loss. For us who remain in this world and knew him the hole of his absence hurts. It actually feels painful.

If I tried to tell you all the things that I loved about my former Old Testament Professor, or the countless benefits to me, or the simple and genuine ways he loved on me and others, I would be typing for days. Suffice it to say just about everyone on Tuesday was in tears and everyone felt the weight of the loss as we remembered his light in this world.

In the next few weeks I hope to share some of the insights I gleaned from this amazing scholar and human being.

For now, I’ll share with you something Dave taught us about faith. Granted, I won’t do it justice; and if you read this and heard differently from him, please add your own amend in the comments section.

So, here goes…
He said the faith of the patriarchs of Israel might not be the kind of faith we suppose it is. Hebrews 11 gives us a “Hall of Fame” of the faithful. We may think that these people trusted and relied on God. They did. But we get the pedigree of it all wrong. The practice of faith is much richer than we might suppose, especially at first glance reading the list of the faithful.

Instead, it’s something like this:

Faith is not about being hopeful about what lies beyond the bend in the future. It not really about a “blind” ascension to trust either. Those are good and important in their ways, but when we speak of the life of faith in terms of the Old Testament faithful, like Abraham leaving everything he knew for the wilderness for instance, we are really talking about a concept much like “putting all your eggs in one basket.”

That’s how Dave put it. The word picture stuck and it stuck good.

With the Life of Faith…
You are deeming God good, trustworthy, and loving and then you put it all on the line.

(So, it’s rarer than you think!)

You stop hedging your bets. You stop saving a little security for yourself. You stop holding something back that gives you a sense of control. You bet the whole thing. You leave nothing back. You. go. in. wholly.

Sometimes, I find eggs in my pockets, or around the house, or in places that I didn’t know they were, like a weird easter egg hunt. Not chicken eggs, of course, but the eggs of my worries. I may have thought I handed the basket over, and perhaps I really did, but life can make you lay a few eggs. Sometimes people throw them at you too.

Faith, Hope, Love. Those are what remain, yes?

Faith = a Basket of Eggs.

It’s a shocking level of vulnerability: the life of faith.

You can tell when you do it too. You get a mixture of feelings. Great relief that your job is over, your poor skills are not needed any longer, and someone more capable is now responsible and in charge. Whew! Then, you may get a twinge of terror at the power you gave up, but probably never really had anyway. You become all at once very hopeful and very dependent. It’s precarious.

There’s a rare beauty to it.

Sometimes we give up our baskets and sometimes they sort of get pried out of our hands.

Dave was gravely ill for over 3 decades. His was a life of faith. It had to be. And he handed over eggs.

It was a wrestle match, he would tell you. He didn’t always feel faithful. He made mistakes. His candor was humbling. But, through his honesty he became faithful all the more.

There’s something about growing to trust God for each breath, and believing that God revealed himself as a thoroughly good and gracious and generous Creator and Sustainer in the passages of the Old Testament that transformed this brilliant man into a true saint. Not sappy, but real. All at once very strong and stable and yet achingly weak.

Dave was not self-righteous but gracious. Not arrogant in any discernible manner, but loving and open to others. Concerned with others and their lives and largely uncomplaining. Free with his humor and goodwill.

Hear this: You don’t get the privilege to meet people like this very often. You don’t get to be a person like this often. It’s takes an amazing about of formation, re-formation, and transformation. It doesn’t happen by accident or by genetics.

A life of faith means that you hold nothing back. See the difference?

It’s not using power to feel better. It’s giving it over to be fully won over.

In a life of faith you love whole-heartedly. Not because it’s safe. It never is. But, because it is good. A life of faith means that you have a sharp, ongoing sense of your own weaknesses and dependence, and that goes overflowing into compassion for yourself and others.

A few days after Dave’s death I was praying in the car out loud as I do sometimes. (I take more comfort in doing this now. People talk on the phone hands-free all the time in their cars and look like they are talking to nobody. Now, I just look like I’m having an important conversation. In fact, I am, especially when I shut up.)

So, I was in the car and I was warring as I too often do with things in the distance. Shadows, possibilities, next steps. I was planning, wondering, and worrying–like I was holding a bunch of eggs and walking on a lake of ice.

And then I said, “No, this just won’t work. I see I’m holding too tightly. I think I have to go all in. I have to have faith. I have to put all my eggs in one basket. Your basket.”

And a song sung by Ella Fitzgerald came to mind. I’ve embedded the audio so you can hear it after you finish.

Then I simply burst into tears, because that’s what a godly and good legacy looks like. Literally, one leaves words to live by. Dave’s words of life and hope and faith were ringing true in my mind in everyday life, even after he’s gone. And I thought, “That’s an amazing man and I was given an amazing gift to know him.” I kept having to wipe away tears for awhile.

Spirit, you know, is “breath of life”. (The Hebrew and Greek words for breath carry this meaning.) God is Spirit. When you see goodness, when you see sacrificial love, when you see wrongs being made right, you see God. You see the Spirit of the unseen God. Those describers are just part of what and who is impossible to confine or describe fully.

God isn’t just Life Force, but God is that too. And I don’t think Dave lost his own spirit or the Spirit. I think God became greater. The Spirit got so great that it filled him, and his body of water and carbon gave out, finally. It birthed something new and better and unseen and lasting.

And this Spirit and the part of Dave that is Dave (his truest self–his soul) joined up in union with the Great Spirit, somewhere and everywhere, the One, True, Living God who defies reason, explanation, and the limits of us, and even of the universe.

But, Dave didn’t completely leave us. But, my does the sting smart, right now! From my experience I know it dulls in time; but the pain is, at first, ultimate.

Yet, the fragrance of his spirit remains. And it is sweet.

It’s around us when we remember him. The Spirit remains, and Dave’s flavor fused with that true Spirit carries on with us. We miss the more familiar everyday interaction with him so dearly, and always will, until the same happens to us and we are joined somehow together again.

To those who grieve him: his family and friends, I join you in your deep and powerful sorrow. I join you in your joy–that is bitter and sweet–that realizes the gift he was–having known him, been enriched by him, and been intimately connected to him. Your loss is not small.

May you feel the comfort, presence, shalom, and holy goodness of the Spirit of God.

Amen.

-Lisa

P.S.
Here is a brief local obituary posting of David A. Dorsey.

With these links you can enjoy two of his most well-known books:

(egg photo is a Creative Commons image.)

Essay: Is Blogging like Ginsberg’s “Howl” and Nano Pop?

It seems like good writing, the kind of rewrites, and reflection, and deliberation is in short supply, chiefly in the blogosphere and the slapdash sphere of most internet magazines. This post will reflect that flavor too. It will seem to you to (mostly) mirror what I am critiquing. It may seem instant or undercooked. It is caught in the vortex of the medium. I won’t pretend otherwise.

But, it’s also a start.

Blogs, we recall were so-named as a combination (or perhaps even slang) of the words Website and Log. An online record of passing thoughts captured in 1s and 0s for internet reader consumption. Outdated posts not recycled as fish wrapper but buried deep under a mountain of newer posts, like digital tels. The more content the more recognition, so say the experts. Plus, the all-important the SEO. We can’t forget that.

Or, at the very least blogs were and are a chance to make a mark on the world, or to a few friends with knowledge of your URL. Are they more than this? Are they less? (You can tell me in the comments section. I’m working the system.)

The Heights
And we have too-often elevated them to a place inappropriate. At times confusing there position–determining what is prolific to be paramount. Though airy they shimmy under their own weight more than they don’t. But with their own magic, they may sting or bite. They may incite vibrant feuds that recall schoolyard antics–digital spilt lips. They may seem like a sand lot variety of King of the Mountain, riffing on zingers and cultural assertions. Though not long after, they reek of the “My dad can beat up your dad!” slurs. And these too gain vigor as referenced links in posts fueling more of the same. (I won’t give you links. You probably already know of some.)

Blog posts, plentiful like the sands on our cultural shore-scape have piled up like dunes but don’t seem to become a bulwark–an art form like a Pulitzer article, or piece of superb literature, or even a good film. There are some rare exceptions and there are some blog postings that somehow change lives.

More often though something vital is traded for the speed and convenience of the quick write-up. I’m stating the obvious, right?

What is it really?
Like instant coffee, the full-bodied flavor textures and aromas of this medium don’t quite work. Chronically under-brewed, the bulk of the speedily-penned internet articles too reveal not just slapped together writing but the slapped-together thinking ungirding it. We are awash in sloppiness. I don’t exclude myself either.

The passion and angst of any given post may drown out this feature and we may be convinced that we have meat to chew on, that is, until we read really good writing.

Maybe a precise poem, birthed not just from suffering or bliss or insight but from the careful gathering of words like seed beads and the arranging of them like art and embellished patterns on a long gown of societal topography.

Maybe a travel article written not for the rushed, tired, and ravenous tourist consumer, but for the person who truly wonders about other cultures and ways of being human in distant regions. A piece of craft that may include the underlying philosophies escaping the mind of a deeply thoughtful and curious person who can and does take the time. Here there is peace of a certain kind that never makes its way properly to Facebook.

Survival
Will the banter or the sarcasm of blogging (and commenting) last through the arc of observable time, at all?

Will it survive weeks, years, decades, after the refinement of reflection and chronological distance makes its way down through it like canyon whitewater? Or will blog posts be captured digital bits of immature polemics, impolitic reverie, and dated fervor of a begone time, like Allen Ginsberg ‘s once criminally obscene 1955 poem Howl reads for us now? A once-debauched and revolutionary vocalization now a kind of caricature of a ruckus time; now a relic of a frenzied, outlying beat–a strange light from a olden day.

Will blogging be frittered like a summering free-love hippie of this time in the Connection and Communication Age, rendered not in the insensate fog of drugs, but in the fever of hot blithering and the lechery of notoriety.

What will be the classic (masterly) posts of blogs from our era, if any? What will be the wheat amongst all the gusting chaff?

Where will there be instead that lasts? Perhaps commentaries well-researched and produced in a arduous string of revisions and heartache and a probing of not just of the topic by of the writer’s own inner world. Questions and ideas that could perhaps give voice to something true, useful, universal and somehow everlasting? The shoulders to stand on.

Archival
Will blog posts be like cultural postcards, the scraps from a newly-formed, digital age whose populace didn’t yet crave more than boilerplate reports and passing thoughts? Tweets like echoes of something that mattered. Facebook the endless ticker cataloguing our lives in bits and bytes.

What, if anything, in this blogosphere and this ephemeral epoch will collese and age like well-kept merlot for future readers in future times? Things truly enjoyable and worth saving? Something, say, for high school English classes to ponder 20 years removed?

The postings might go bleached like Polaroids, capturing in anemic hues a snap swatch; the evanescent blush of the solipsistic maiden: the early 2000s cultural zeitgeist.

Not Warhol’s Pop but something slimmer.

To coin a term: Nano-Pop.

# # #

I’d love your links to blog articles that you feel will not just stand the test of time, but may well be considered paragon of blog posting as a literary art form in our times. If you can find any, please put them in the comments section.

Why not get direct delivery of the next post? Click in the sidebar to be included.

Thanks for reading today.

-Lisa

Evangelized by a Rat Terrier: Communicating Faith with a Bared Belly

Today is Halloween and this book is a murder, thriller, in the religious dramatic fiction….hum.

Spook-tacular!

Today’s post is part of a blog tour Erin McCole-Cupp!

Erin is a talent writer and a helpful friend of mine. I got a copy of her new book that has done amazingly well on Amazon!

I was thrown back to the 80s—like in a totally awesome way.

(ya catch that!)

She’s stopping by today on her interweb book tour with a great story about her doggie superstar Sigma and a bit about her new book.

View her bio here.

Now–Enter, Erin…

Thanks for hosting me, Lisa! See, dear reader, Lisa and I go way back—way back to the 1990s, when the internet was something viewed on a black screen in tiny pinpoints of green light. Lisa knew me through my first conversion, the one where I became a Christian, but I’m not sure she knows about my second, far more recent conversion: that from cat person to dog person—and more specifically to a small dog person.

In Lisa’s latest (and wonderful) book Dog in the Gap, she wrote a chapter called “Taming,” in which she discusses how we humans are tamed by dogs. She writes that the mutual process of caring and being cared for by a dog, “…can, if we let it, carry over into our other relationships–this sacred act of taming each other. Instead of tolerating each other, we go further in.”

I experienced this, more specifically what Lisa identifies in that same chapter as “mutuality,” starting this past Spring. We were thinking about getting a second cat…

…because this one doesn’t like us.

When we arrived at the local shelter, we were shocked to find their cat residence virtually empty. Apparently we’d arrived before the bumper crop of abandoned kittens was due.

“Well, let’s go say ‘hi’ to the dogs,” my husband said. We went through the kennel and one of the residents made our youngest stop in her tracks. She pointed and shrieked with delight.

“Tiny dog! Tiny dog!”

Ugh. I’d always called small dogs “hors d’oeuvres” or “light snacks,” good for nothing but barking at all hours. And who on earth would want a tiny ball of noise called a rat terrier? No. Thank. You. Still, for the sake of the kids, I gave in to a “visit” with the little guy, assuming he’d annoy them so much that they’d see some sense and we’d come back in a few weeks for our kitten.

When the shelter volunteer brought him in to us she warned, “Now don’t expect too much, because he’s pretty shy and takes a long time to warm up to–“

The little blur dashed in, threw himself down in front of us all, belly up for scratching. His tongue lolled out. He was smiling.

“—new people,” the worker finished. “Wow! Look at that!”

We did not choose Sigma. Sigma chose us.

What did he do next that won me over? Funny enough, it was the barking. He barks less than I expected a little dog to bark, but when he does bark, it’s because he is trying to protect our pack. Stranger at the door? Get away! Stranger approaching while the kids walk him? Stay back! Is a friend yelling near me, his Mommy? Yowwowwowwowwow! You’re not allowed to bark at her! Rat terriers are known for being wary of strangers and protective of their territory. We belong to him.

The most precious example of this I can give is the time a relative stranger accidentally tripped over my middle child’s feet. Before he could apologize, Sigma jumped up, tapped the guy’s shins with both front paws, and gave a low warning bark. Do not hurt her! She is under my protection!

As I apologized, the perceived “offender” said, “Don’t apologize. That’s the kind of dog you want taking care of your kids.”

I’ve had a dog before. I’ve never before had a dog who would clearly give his life for mine and my family’s. I’ve read about heroic dogs before, but part of me always thought those were melodramatic stories made up to fill dead air on morning radio shows. Now that I’ve seen the active loyalty of a dog, I can believe that those stories are real. Siggie believes that we are worth heroic effort.

Sigma chose us. We belong to him. He believes we are worth heroic effort. If “evangelization” means at its root “to bring a message,” Sigma has done just that. He won me over specifically, not because of anything he demanded of me but because of my value to him, just as I am. He was the first pet with which (with whom? hm) I’ve experienced the “mutuality” that Lisa talks about in Dog in the Gap. Yes, we feed him, walk him, rub his belly, anoint him with flea and tick preventative, and throw tennis balls around for him. But he does for us, too.

I don’t know about you, but when I think of “evangelist,” someone on a stage comes to mind. Someone with a podium and a microphone, slathering at the mouth with the Fire of the Spirit, hair gone wild with all the thrashing about he’s done, all in the name of igniting in his listeners the furious love of Christ. Cerebrally, I know that’s not the only way to share the faith, but my tiny human brain didn’t have room for any more concrete image… until a “Tiny dog! Tiny dog!” came into my family and made us a pack. Our “Siggie Baby” is not powerful or smart or eloquent. His evangelization of me was never about him; it was about showing me what I was worth to him.

That’s such a small way of reaching out, but it’s a genuine way that you don’t need a degree or an agent or a microphone to share. We can—no, we must show others that someone on earth thinks they are worth choosing, worth claiming in love, and worth heroic effort. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful, charming way to entice others into seeing that the Body of Christ is a pack worth joining? After all, don’t we Christians occasionally find ourselves perceived as slobbery, barking hors d’oeuvres?

So how do you dash out of your shelter and show others the vulnerable, bared-belly love of Christ? Lisa and I tend to bare the bellies of our imaginations: we write, thus inviting you into the very brains and hearts where we (try, at least) to make a home for Him. I took particular delight in writing the character Cate Whelihan in Don’t You Forget About Me specifically because she espouses so many things that I think are, well, not so good for us.

I love Cate because she’s part of my pack, and, just like so many real humans I love just because they’re loveable, not because they agree with me.

I know I need to do that more in my real life, outside of my head. I need to show, not tell, the people I love that I choose them, that they are part of my pack, and that they are worth heroic effort. If the Son of God can do that for me—for every single one of us—and I’m supposed to be following Him, then I kinda don’t have an excuse to keep it in all my head anymore.

Do you?

# # #

Thanks, Erin!

If you are interested in the book, and gosh, you should be! Purchasing info is here. The Kindle edition is available now. The paperback will be available on November 1st (2013).

There’s also a Goodreads giveaway running now through November 15, so you can enter to win a paperback of Don’t You Forget About Me at this link.

The “KISS your BLISS” Effect

You’ve heard “follow you bliss,” right?

“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.”
― Joseph Campbell

“If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.”
― Joseph Campbell

[This is wiki link for the scoop on Campbell]

Campbell wrote “The Power of Myth”, “The Masks of God”, and “The Hero of A Thousand Faces” among many other works and was an American mythology professor, writer, and orator best known for his work in the fields of comparative mythology and comparative religion.

Follow your bliss refers to a path you take. The journey and the making of a hero.

(video is cheeky and humorous summary of what happens in a Hero’s Story)

It’s the journey of every great person and every life well-lived also.

(photo source)

My offshoot and focus is “KISS your BLISS”.

Why? Because nothing’s more active than that (and it rhymes, which is a nice mnemonic device).

This is the name for the moment you cross the threshold to adventure and finding your purpose. It’s when you decide you have a deeper calling in this world and living from your core is what counts most. I’m crafting a book on this right now and it’ll be out this fall. I hope you’ll come back for more details soon.

You will find that once you embrace your passion and gifts and kiss them full on the mouth a switch happens. At that point the sides fall off your holding cell and it turns into a go kart. You pick up speed, scream in delight and your passion is infectious.

Make no mistake: It is a risk.
There is true danger involved.

At the KISS POINT you will gain two things:

1. A following–people you splash with your passion who come for the ride, guide you, or cheer you on.

It is also characterize by new and better-fitting opportunities unveiling themselves and new connections and relationships emerging. You’ll “be on to something” with all kinds of vague but palpable mystery that whispers of the divine. You’ll feel “in the flow” with new energy and a revived sense of purpose.

2. The devils–people (or systems) who are threatened by your passion or jealous of it because they are lacking it and feel empty.

The obstacles will be new too and formidable. You’ll feel a target on your back and a strange level of animosity that has no proper explanation except that which points off the map to something cooperative and moved by the otherworldly trying to thwart you and divert your path. Weird, I know.

This is the Kiss your Bliss Effect.

Sound at all familiar?

That Carol Jones!

Carol Jones

Yet another kind review for the new book “Dog in the Gap”? Yes. But, this time it’s different.

Carol Jones isn’t just a writing and idea guru, she’s a 20 year friend of Doug Jackson and his wife Becky, and she has the pictures to prove it. How splendid that she wrote this special post. It’ll warm your heart.

Here’s an Excerpt:

What is most beautiful about
Dog in the Gap is how it “probes questions about trust, mutuality, ownership, personal and spiritual growth, grief and joy through the acute lens of canine care-taking and guardianship.”

I believe Doug says it best in his introduction, “Man with dog,” writes C.S. Lewis in “The Four Loves”, “closes a gap in the universe.” This book is written from inside the gap.

Written from inside the gap. I love that.

Read the rest here.

I hope you’ll grab a copy of our book. And, please, leave us a review on Amazon and help us spread the word.

Thank you from Doug and me!