It's really pretty here...

...and slippery. (Photo of our yard by Ben Horsch)


Most things were closed in Athens today. Like, for example, Ohio University.
Some things were open, though, and stuffed with people. Like, for example, the Good Works Timothy House and China Panda.

Hard hearted

I'm finding that it's really difficult to care about things.

That is, I do care about things, and caring about things makes life harder. A lot of my life has been lost to sarcasm and not giving a damn about people around me or the events going on in my world. It must have been about eight years ago that I asked God to take away the terrible apathy that I felt. I think that's been happening for a few years now, but it feels like it's all catching up with me this week.

I don't exactly regret praying against apathy, but...compassion hurts! Life is better with compassion, but it is also harder in a lot of ways. I find myself thinking a lot about things I didn't commit much time to before. I feel like I'm describing an android getting a soul...here are some things I'm chewing on tonight:

We're taking some disciplinary actions with a woman living at the Timothy House right now. She's being awful to the other women she lives with, picking on them, and generally insulting every aspect of their lives. Obviously, this is not OK and we have a responsibility to protect these other women from abuse. But I keep thinking about the woman we're disciplining. Like many people we meet, she doesn't have custody of her kids. She's disconnected from her family. All of her relationships are broken. She is full of bitterness and jealousy because of her fractured personal life, so she's taking it out on people who have meaningful relationships.

I also feel a lot of pressure about the WALK for the Homeless. It's really, really important to me to produce content that helps walkers understand the significance of solidarity--of voluntarily suffering with people. I want them to feel empathy for their homeless neighbors in a new way, and I don't want the experiences we create to fall flat.

Finally, I'm feeling really emotional about our friend Robert's death. I feel a lot of emotions about his passing, and many of them are in conflict and making it hard for me to work through them in my mind. I miss him. He filled a role in my life that no one else is filling--he was a person with whom I could be honest about embarrassing things. His physical vulnerability invited me to be vulnerable as well. He also had high expectations of me--in the way that parents or teachers do, and his expectations helped me to become a better person. He was also my friend, and maybe my husband's best friend. At times over the past couple of years when we were hungry for companionship, we had Robert. We were faithful to him, and that is good, but he was faithful to us, too. He didn't have to take an interest in us, or buy us steaks, or pick me wildflowers if all he wanted were rides to church or the store. But he didn't want rides; he wanted a friend and we needed one, too. So he wasnt' our pet project. He became family. His life is so devalued when people who knew him a little want to only talk about all the things we did for him. It's not like that. Robert expanded my definition of "friend" and "family." He was a person from whom I learned gentleness and patience. We opened our hearts and our family to him and I feel a loss.

This post is getting long and I need to go to bed. I'm having trouble articulating a lot of my thoughts. I think what I'm getting at is...opening my heart to people is new territory for me. Not totally new, or anything. I'm not discovering America. It's more like negotiating the Louisiana Purchase. Caring is hard, but really good.

My Friend

Some people wear their goodness on their faces and in their words for anyone and everyone to share. Other people are in pain and hide their goodness. They ration it out from deep inside. Maybe they don't have much to go around, so they keep it back just for a special few. But if we can be patient with the hard people, sometimes we are so blessed as to see their kindness. May we receive their smile, their blessing, their prayers, and may we be blessed indeed.

Thank God for the saints who are walking around among us who are willing to be faithful to the pricks and the bastards, because they hold the keys to our salvation. These friends are truly Christ-like in their love.

My husband is a faithful man.

Our friend Dr. Janet brought Robert Dorn to the Vineyard for the first time about three years ago. He was terminally ill and more than a little spaced out. His comments were pretty clearly intended to scare us off. He wanted to make it clear to us that he was an asshole and we wouldn't like him...but we did. I think what I liked about him most in those first few months was his gruffness; society paints a picture for you of how you should die--all peaceful and grateful for the time you've had. Robert wasn't like that. He was pissed that he was sick, angry at his body, cursing, and threatening with every turn for the worse to blow his brains out. He was a prick, but he was honest and he was entertaining. Ben and I took to him immediately, and he took to Ben.

I don't think it's an exageration to say that after about six months or so, Robert became Ben's best friend in Athens and Ben Robert's. They spent every Sunday after church together. Ben would take Robert home and Robert would talk for hours about anything and everything, and Ben would listen. I gave up on the idea of Sunday lunch with Ben. Sundays were for Robert.

Ben made an investment in him and Robert made an investment in Ben. Robert's heart began to change. He started talking to the frail women at church. He hobbled over to them and really listened to them. If he found out they had a problem or a need, he was insistent with us--what we were going to do for them? He started really listening to us, too. When Ben got stressed out about school, Robert asked me if he was OK and encouraged him. When our friend wanted to buy chickens, Robert taught him how to raise them. When I got a chest cold that didn't go away, Robert put his hand on my shoulder and prayed for me.

Somewhere along the way his words turned from poison to kindness, and we knew they were sincere, because he didn't know any other way to be.

Robert died in his own bed in his trailer some time Thursday night or Friday morning. Over the past few years he had become a member of our family and I miss him.

Robert's life causes me to consider God's faithfulness and love. Because God has been faithful to us, and because we hold his love in our hearts, sometimes we can see the potential in others. Loving communities give us the courage to love ugly people. God is so gracious in reaching out to us. I've had the great joy of seeing Him use my husband's faithfulness to turn the stoney heart of the hardest of men toward the gentleness of Christ.

I was blessed to witness this transformation. I am grateful to be married to a person who sees the best in people. I am glad to worship a God who so loves us.