Author Archives: PearlS

I’ve been absent from the blog. A few weeks ago I had a run in with Romans 14 and had to sort things out again in my mind. 

Accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarreling over disputable matters. (v.1)

None of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone. (v.7)

Each of us will give an account of ourselves to God. (v.12)

Stop passing judgment on one another. Make up your mind not to put any stumbling block in the way of a brother or sister. (v.13)

Let us make every effort to do what leads to peace and mutual edification. (v.19)

Is what I say useful in building people up, or am I crossing some invisible line where my freedom steps on the toes of others’ consciences? Have I said something about masks or social distancing or school that rips at the seams of someone else’s convictions?

It’s good to put the pen down and let the Spirit do some mind transformation.

Who ever declared it was instinct, simply “observation” to take to your nearest social media account to bleed out reactionary wounds, declarations, and anger? It has never made me feel anything but uneasy–probably because it falls into the category of whatever you believe about these things keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the one who does not condemn himself by what he approves. (Romans 14:22)
I apologize for adding toil and trouble to the cauldron. I guess I’m as human as they come.

Two ears, one mouth–if that isn’t symbolic of the proper ratio, listening to jabbering, I’m not sure what it could mean. Yet there is a need for thoughtful, reserved humans to communicate discernment, which is the only reason I ever return to this blog.

We’ve been catching bits of the Democratic convention in the evenings, and I want to listen and understand where these politicians are coming from. I truly do, I want to see where they derive their certainty, their belief that everything would get better in a nation where godless citizens demand justice while blaming everyone but themselves. 

I had to turn the TV off. These are lifelong talkers, not listeners.

This week, I spent the day with an immigrant friend, arranging a doctor’s appointment, online job searching, explaining notarios publicos. She made arepas with my kids and hugged us when we left. The next day, a public school teacher showed up on my doorstep and visited with me for four hours. We talked about everything from her concern for students this fall to the miracles God has worked in our respective marriages. She ate a meal of chicken and rice with us on the front porch, my kids scooting up close to her to inhale the deliciousness of a kind soul.
I am trying to live the life of a good neighbor, not argue the character of some tweet-hemorrhaging talking head in Washington. They care about power, nothing more.
They don’t see the damage their policies cause, the racism and classism they so hopelessly try to eliminate–is made worse by their efforts. My local school will be doing remote learning for anywhere between two and eight weeks, foreseeable longer, whether or not families have access to internet. When they return to the physical building, they’ll be segregating the English and non-English speakers for cohort purposes–under the guise of keeping one another safe. It’s just an extension of what happened when school choice became the buzz word, meant to give disadvantaged folks the advantage of electing into a better school, but actually sparking a bigger segregation movement because only the most privileged of us had the cars to transport us to better schools.

Where can we find wisdom that transcends this nonsense, this talking head business? Where can we put a plug in the trickle down effect politics has on our faith? How can we keep some things between ourselves and God as a favor to our weaker friends (v.22) and at the same time “make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification” (v.19)?

Lord, do you want my mouth open or shut?
After I read Romans 14 over and over, it became more clear to me: we Christians worry a lot about offending one another–we take it to heart, we tiptoe around issues as to avoid them. But we don’t much think about offending God. We are non sequiturs, as hopeless as the politicians we support or scorn.

Sixteen years ago, we got married. At the wedding shower, a lady from the church gifted me a Republican Women’s Club cookbook. Inside the front cover was a note,
“Hope this gets you started off on the ‘right’ foot!” I cringed then, though I didn’t quite understand why. But now I know why it was so absurd:
The kingdom of God is not of eating or drinking, or of Republican or Democrat*,

But of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and receives human approval.

My two precious friends this week didn’t care one iota where I stood politically. And it wouldn’t have glorified anyone but myself if I’d have brought it up. We had fellowship, we glorified God because we didn’t indulge in petty remarks. My kids witnessed peace, mutual edification, love.

After I chewed on Romans 14, I returned to my Old Testament reading, where David has put up with King Saul’s abuse for years and years. He left. He turned off the TV and quit his social media accounts. He didn’t stay within a mile of the palace, fighting for his place in politics. He actually moved out of the country and lived as a foreigner.

David–the teenager who killed Goliath, the young man anointed by Samuel to become king–ended up behind enemy lines to preserve his soul. He lived with the Philistines for over a year, disappearing from the map for a while. He pulled a trick card, one that no one saw coming. He probably disappointed his own mother–for sure he disappointed his first wife, Michal. He had two chances to kill Saul, the man after his own life, but he didn’t do it.

He was not going to offend God.

There were people who had his back all along–they knew it was all a roundabout journey to glory. They didn’t question his motives or allegiance. He was a genuine guy. Anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and receives human approval. (Romans 14:18)

And God made David king.

Friend, I hope you are staying the course.
I hope you’ve made up your mind to not cause a brother or sister to stumble.
But I also hope–I pray–that you are unwilling to offend God. I hope you stick your neck out for people whose voice does not carry. I hope you risk your life to love others and give them the hope Jesus offers. I hope you can toss your agenda and prestige in the garbage when He tells you it’s time to move on.

Be like David and surprise people with your relentless pursuit of Christ. Shock them–not by your words, but by ditching your Twitter account and disappearing into a distant, foreign land–perhaps to your very own neighborhood and family.

*added for my amusement. I think the apostle Paul would understand.

My heart is not proud, Lord,
My eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
Or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
Like a weaned child I am content.
Israel, put your hope in the Lord
Both now and forevermore.

Psalm 131, a psalm of David

 

 

Our libraries finally opened. We’d been putting books on hold for four months. Once a week we’d pull into the parking space, call the hotline, relay our library card number, pop our trunk, and wait for a gloved and masked (G&M) librarian to deliver the goods.
So we were excited to get our summer reading rewards in person, the kids having logged a million minutes (or something like that). My kids love the library.
Those of us older than ten masked ourselves and we strode into the common area. Coincidentally, the library had been completely renovated and we were oohing and ahhing the remodel as we made our way to the front desk. A terse G&M librarian pointed us to the shelf where the treasure laid, kids’ eye level, labeled with a green tape: DO NOT TOUCH. 

“Each child may pick two books for their prize, but don’t touch them. Make your selection and I’ll give you a copy,” she explained.
Well. If that isn’t a cool rain on our sunny, book-fanatic parade. Also, try and tell a four year old girl she can only look at, and not touch the Fancy Nancy book she has just earned for her summer trouble. It only took a fat second for my littlest kids to reach out and touch the shelf, to stroke the shiny surface of a paperback. It was as natural as, say, going to the library.
But the selection wasn’t even that good.

The G&M librarian swiftly descended.
“Ah, ah!” She tsked. “I’m going to have to quarantine those now!”

I quickly ushered my children back toward the front door.
“But we haven’t got our prizes yet!” they protested.
“We’ll get ice cream instead,” I said.

We piled into the van and I confessed to my kids I was a little angry.
“Why?” they sweetly asked.
“Because I think kids should be allowed to touch books in the library,” I told them.

In July, I began homeschooling in earnest.
Well, sort of.
I found a free “Bill of Rights for kids” printable online and made two copies for the big boys. It was a quickie, afternoon foray into worksheets post-Covid-shutdown. It was worth having them write just to see how much our poor penmanship has suffered from minimal use, but I needed a reminder for me and my kids: what, exactly, are our rights? Where, exactly, is the line drawn? Who had what in mind when these tenets were written two hundred years ago?
I wanted them to be reminded of what Jonathan Swift wrote and our forefathers echoed in the Declaration of Independence, that government without the consent of the governed is nothing more than slavery. Our Declaration boldly declares if “any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government…”

Thirteen states had to whittle down a Bill of Rights they could all agree on, and these are the most basic, collectively valued, human desires expressed by a baby nation.

They ring true today: I want to worship in a manner I see fit, I want to defend my family, I want a safe home, I want to send my kids to school, and dang it, I want to touch the library books.
You’re telling me I can go to the grocery store and handle all the apples, pull my germy cell phone from my back pocket to double check my list and coupons, touch the cart with my bare hands, pay with cash that’s been who-knows-where–but I can’t walk into my tax-supported library and pick up a book? Seems shady. It doesn’t get my consent.
Seems like we have grounds for terminating this sack of rotting modern policy.

Alas, this is what the world-turned-upside-down looks like today. I do believe we are 180 degrees from the direction we were headed in 1776. We are imploding, destroying ourselves. Consent of the governed, i.e. taxation without representation, is a nifty old phrase we’ve put away with yesterday’s knickers and powdered wigs. You and I–we cannot rely on the words penned by our forefathers, because haters would burn it in a moment if they could. We are held hostage, unable to defend our “consent of the governed”, unable to abolish the overreach of government, because the enemy has come from among us.

If I thought screaming and protesting would do it, I’d be right out there with the lot of them. But the colonial people were wiser: they simply refused to participate in Britain’s blatant disregard for their consent. They simmered, but they didn’t boil over. In the middle of the night they dumped the tea right off the ship.

We have to be just as calculating. Our surest, most defiant resistance will not come in the form of outrageous, disrespectful bursts of violence. Our best, most noble cause now is quietly educating our children. While the world is dark we are throwing seeds in the ground. We are raising the next generation of arrows in God’s quiver. We’ve got to train them to spot inconsistencies and defend what is true. 

This focus, for me, is becoming sharp in my mind.

So I am not so hopeless when I think of homeschool. Circumstances are never outside of God’s control–I am just apt to whine and carry on when I don’t get what I want. But then I can usually come around to His point of view. This school year, I am spurred on to review as much civics as possible (hey, surprise, surprise, a state standard!–how much longer before citizenship is disparaged?) and indoctrinate (yep, you heard that right) my children into a higher way of living as the 4-Hers say, “for my community, my country, and my world.”

And as much as I feel at odds with our library system, for the moment I can get my books via car pick-up, as long as my children don’t dare breathe on the gloved and masked librarians.

We will eat ice cream as we read the pages. We will celebrate, because freedom is not so easily wrestled from those who give no consent to take it.

This weekend, we called the police.
Thankfully, they responded.
This isn’t a new problem we’ve had in our neighborhood. It simply doesn’t matter how responsibly we try to live our lives–in this world there are people who are trapped in cycles, drugs, alcohol, violence, power struggles–and our front porch faces the action. We call the police because it is our duty to report abuse, to subject the rule-breaker to the law–not because we are privileged, not because we subconsciously hate our neighbors and want to destroy them–but because we’d be neglectful to ignore it. And also (a big also)–because I care about my children. I care about where they grow up and who they become. I sincerely want the best for them–just as I want the best for the baby across the street who has to suffer the consequences of his own guardians.

I don’t tolerate the notion I am fragile because I rely on my tax dollars to stop the domestic abuse across the street. I’m not weak or extremist; I shouldn’t need to defend my right to summon the help of professionally trained, gun-toting, bullet-proof vest wearing civil servants. If neighbors need the threat of being arrested to jolt them from the dead end lifestyle of violence and addiction, God help me if I remain silent.

In the two years we have been here, we’ve become familiar with the Blue who has our back. When I say Blue, I refer to their uniform. Their place of birth, dialect, and skin pigmentation varies. But they’ve been in my house, they have even seen my basement and bedroom. I’ve offered them food, apologized for my messy kids, made jokes. They’ve been at our school, interviewing, advising, consoling, and bringing stability to kids who have none at home. Their authority is unquestionable, their very presence commands respect. The Blue uniform represents the Law–a firm boundary for what is acceptable and what is not.
But Blue is hated, because Blue testifies that actions have consequences.

I’m watching the very erosion of our community, five months and counting of changing rules that contradict every law our country has ever established.

It began with a virus. Or did it begin before the virus? Does the virus even matter? Did civil unrest come from being stuck in our homes to “keep us safe”? Was it the unlawful death of a man on drugs, the immediate, visceral, knee-jerk, media driven hysteria blaming it on his skin tone? Was it the bizarre incident of a man drunk-asleep in the Wendy’s drive-thru, a father who still had no business grabbing the taser from a cop?

I’m not sure what makes your hackles raise, but the Law isn’t supposed to bend. If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.  (Gen. 4:7)

Our Blue people are just people, trying to represent Law. They are men and women using their human senses to respond to lawlessness. They are not the Law. I’m watching my Blue friends crack, I’m watching the foundation crumble. I’m seeing people I love who represent Law be mocked, scorned, hated. I want justice for them, as I want justice for people who are wrongly slain–but throwing out the baby with the bathwater never solved a problem. Hold individuals accountable, but if you destroy the Law, you sentence us all to death.

You sentence the baby across the street, whose parents were high when they started screaming and beating each other in the front yard. You sentence the grandparents next door who cannot defend themselves when the thief breaks in their front door. You sentence yourself to the drug-fed, alcohol-induced, psychotic, rageful whims of the hopeless and lawless.

When Law is abolished, it bleeds into every area of life. Teachers unions are trying to strike a deal in some cities–demanding the dissolution of police force in trade for returning to school. If Law can be dissolved, if the education of our children can be politicized and pushed to the side for some “greater good”, we have no hope for a future generation. We have no hope for a society, no common ground, no peace. No action to take when safety is threatened.

No hope that the poor neighbors across the street can ever break the cycle of drugs and abuse.

She texted me in the middle of the night after the second beating. She’d gotten away this time, unlike the time I tried to coax her to a safe house and she instead returned to the brick house across the street where he’d threatened to kill her.

“I love you guys,” she wrote at 1:18 am.
I’m going to be a better person,” she promised.
I told her none of us are any good, not without Jesus. But the Law is where we begin to realize it–the rules we keep breaking, the consequences we face eventually lead us to a desperate prayer for help. 

This is why Law is essential, so we can eventually get to the prayer: God, help me. The Law is for you, me, and my neighbor to understand that becoming a better person is beyond the Law. Abundant life isn’t about edging as close to the line as possible and getting away with it, but actually overcoming our old nature and pursuing holiness.

Blue is the shadow of hope–they are exactly who I need in my neighborhood, who you and I need responding to my 911 call when we witness abuse and lawlessness. We need Law because it is a solid foundation. We need people who do their best to represent it. These servants need encouragement.

We are not fragile. We are not bullied into apologizing for doing the right thing. Please don’t think you are valiant for degrading police. Dig deeper until the shovel meets some resistance. Where in your life does the rubber hit the road–are you just promulgating some theory from your safe home onto the internet, when you actually have no physical skin in the game? Are you holding a sign on the corner when you have never welcomed Blue into your home? Have you ever held the hand or cried with someone who is completely guilty, completely broken–in need of the law to point them to Jesus?

Consider where you stand. Our society–my precious neighbors–depend on it.