PearlS | The Average Pearl

An Easter Intermission

Good Friday is here, and I am alone with the kids, dying eggs. My patience is thin and thinning with every sploosh of colored water landing on the kitchen table, every crack followed by an “uh-oh.” The baby has a bowl in front of her and she is smashing her egg into a green vinegary soup. After she threatens to eat it, I hold my hands up. “Okay, okay! We’re done with the eggs. Go outside and play until they dry, then you can hide them.”
After I shoo them outside and survey the damage, I read the crayon writing on the eggs. One says, “Jesus Is Alive!”–classic Easter egg design. One says, “Foy {hearts} pancakes,” and another, “Luke STINKS.”
Not one of these precious eggs has been lovingly dyed. And within two hours, most of them will be stuck in a pokey sagebrush plant in the backyard for some neighbor dog to rescue.

It is almost too windy outside, but I lamely hide the eggs in visible sight and call the kids to come and find them. They spend the rest of the afternoon wearing out all the hiding places as if this were the most epic game ever. Their joy is perplexing. What a normal, boring thing to do, hiding and seeking boiled eggs on a windy day in my prickly backyard.

And then I see them clearly, the clues.

The hunt.

“For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.”

Luke 19:10

The plain, unbuffed humanity.

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
    nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by mankind,
    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
    he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

Isaiah 53

The Purpose.

God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

2 Corinthians 5:19-21

Every day and every breath is pointing us to Him, even cracked eggs that spell out the insults of a brother. The monotony of messes, the methodical cleaning up of them. Jesus came in ordinary flesh to redeem ordinary people. He isn’t counting your sin against you–don’t you want to be found?

An American problem.

For the past several years, I have been thinking about how one traverses the gap from Have to Have Not. Plenty to Sufficient. Lavish to Meager. It is all very well that we understand the American Dream and our own version of it. But I am convinced Jesus came that we might not pursue the American Dream, but search for something far better. After all, the Son of Man, who came to serve and give his life as a ransom for many, claims He didn’t even have a place to lay His head.

The thing is, most of us start out incredibly rich. Forbes published an article a couple years ago titled Astonishing Numbers: America’s Poor Still Live Better Than Most of the Rest of Humanity. The term “poor” negates itself when we zoom out to see the rest of the world. In America, our basic needs–food, clothing, shelter, are essentially met from the day we are born until the day we die. Therefore our goal, our American Dream is usually to improve in every aspect of life. Bigger salary, larger home, more gratification.

We live in a day where our lives are almost 3-D. Media surrounds us in every form, not just the newspaper that, ten years ago, we could choose to leave on the driveway in it’s soggy plastic wrap. The lowly telephone has morphed into a pocket gadget that accompanies us everywhere, internet in tow. The standard of living is molded by every social media gathering place, every app at the tap of a finger. Here are a thousand pictures of what you could want and don’t yet possess. The sky is the limit. Our American Dream becomes exponentially bigger then–become a renowned scholar! write a book that changes lives! make seven, eight figures! Imagine and create a dream wedding fit for a queen! Indulge in only the highest quality of food and clothing! Go places no one else has ever been. Build a dream house, no corner unadorned. Be famous, admired. Have followers.

We are incredibly me-centered.

But Jesus twisted all we thought was right and noble and tipped it completely upside down when He said, “he who loses his life will find it.” “He who is last shall be first.” “Do things in quiet, where no one sees.”

It is hard to grasp, this idea of giving up more to have less, yet being better off for it. And, for those us who just happened to be born into a country where we “live better than the rest of humanity”, it is nearly incomprehensible. My kids cannot grasp the idea of having only one choice of cereal for breakfast, heaven forbid they ever become familiar with true hunger, starvation.

How do we wean ourselves off ourselves?

Jesus said it would be easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God. Well now, we have a problem! Something has to change, and it looks like it is going to be me.

the beginning.

It is funny how words cloud up the brain and threaten to thunder and shower when one is driving a carload full of babies in the afternoon. It happened to me just yesterday as I took the achingly slow route back home, praying that our sweet Lord would put them all to sleep so I could find a few quiet moments in my day.

I was two for three, the third making a mess of hot cocoa in the backseat. Alas, I cannot write or record anything when my eyes are on the road, even if I wanted. But I was thinking how tremendously lucky I was to be able to drive to town for no reason other than to play at the park and pick up gift cards (for teachers) at the drive-thru gourmet coffee place, where they gave me a gratuitous latte and two Not-So-Hots (chocolate) for the boys. Then I was able to return home taking the long way without even blinking about the cost of gas. My biggest concern for the day was that my two year old might not take a nap.

It was nearly thirty years ago that my folks took on the position of foster parents at a Christian group home, a modern day American orphanage. I would have been five and a half, the summer before kindergarten. It is funny what the mind remembers, and I had the advantage of being an innocent little girl with zero street smarts. The worst thing I did that summer was to try and bathe the kittens in a five gallon bucket of water. My dad, who was actually no fan of cats, rushed to the rescue of the poor kittens and dumped the bucket of water on me instead. He hollered something like, “You just see how that feels, Pearl!” and then he told me I couldn’t come inside for the rest of the day, not even to change into dry clothes. I cried for a long time, wet all the way through.

In his defense, he was having a rough summer. Plagued by serious health issues and filling in as a temporary dad to a dozen emotionally abused kids was a difficult spot. My accidental, almost-drowning kittens incident probably pushed him over the edge.

The youth home survived on donations from churches. There was a sweltering room–or was it a whole building? jam packed with stacks and stacks of second hand clothes. A big freezer that, in my memory, seemed to be freestanding outside near tall trees. Inside were donated baked goods, mostly white bread on the verge of molding–a cold, stinky smell I can’t seem to forget. A pen full of pigs where we tossed our apple cores. A smelly, murky lagoon behind the horse barn.

One day the kid in charge of setting the table did not do his chore so we ate little piles of corn straight off the table with our fingers. Another time I was playing under the slide when I felt something wet. I looked up and saw the twins peeing down on me, laughing.

There was a large gravel circle that connected the handful of houses, each one inhabited by a makeshift family. Most kids wouldn’t return permanently to their biological families, though they all desperately hoped they would. When an older kid got in trouble, they were sent out to walk the gravel circle a few times. When you are a foster parent caring for children that technically not yours, your choices of disciplining a child are limited. I am pretty sure my dad’s dumping a bucket of water on me wouldn’t fly in foster care, not then, not now.

That summer was the first of my life where I was physically and socially aware of things around me. Surely character shaping might have been going on before. But the summer before kindergarten, for me, opened my eyes to a world that isn’t fair or always kind and loving. Sometimes you get peed on and sometimes the only bread to eat is moldy. Sometimes you walk the gravel circle and feel alone. These are the kind of lessons that linger.

In the car yesterday, I thought about those kids that spent the summer with me at the youth home. They stayed longer than I did. Some didn’t leave till they aged out. I wonder what their lives are like now as grownups. They were all older than me then–they would be at least 35 or more now.

I wonder if they have raised their own kids, if they are able to afford fresh bread and new clothes. If they worry about spending too much on gas. When you grow up and the best you have is second hand, how does it affect who you become?

And ultimately, if Today is all I have, am I living the best version of it given what I know?