I have much to learn, and my friends are the ones most likely to teach me the most important lessons of life. And this post is self indulgent... and cathartic- I hope.
I grew up in a house hold where the family was overwhelmed because we had a baby born to us with a congenital birth defect called Cystic Fibrosis. It is devistating to a family. My mother told me once that she could never explain to me what it was like to go to your childs' room and kiss her on her brow not knowing whether she would be dead or alive. I think that part of the reason that she did it was to be reasurred.
Both of my parents had full time jobs, and though my mother would not allow me to call mtself a latch-key kid, I went home to an empty house from the fifth grade on. (The neighbor babysat me for a year, but it was safer to be alone. Her kids were difficult to trust as friends and I was often the butt of jokes, or made the outsider when the kids form the other side of their lot came over to play-They never picked me first or over them- consequently here I am with nothing to hide behind and feeling alright for it- a little vulnerable but the truth will set you free, and this is my truth. Whether or not it's THE truth, well, I'm drawing on 30 year old memories) and my father would come home about two hours after I got home, so it really wasn't that big a deal.
That is, unless my sister was sick. My dad would come home from work and change his clothes and off to the hospital he'd go after being sure that I had dinner. Sometimes my mom would go straight to the hospital from work and come home earlier than my da'. When we were young she wasn't too sick very often but the older she got, the more often the hospital trips would be. And my parents didn't force me to go, which is probably one reason that I don't resist visiting friends in hospital...-
I don't think that I'm going to continue this- I fear that I've already said too much. And besides, who really wants to read about this.
"Two priests walk into a bar...
Oh yeah, encouragement. My name was almost Barney, or at least that's what my sister tells me that she saved me from. I'm a little glad, considering recent childrens television, but the other day I was contemplating this and I think that it was in fact the name that God would have given me. At least in the context of it being short for the name Barnabas, meaning Son of encouragement, as I remember. What a high calling. You have been that to me. When my vision grows dim, there you are, lighting the way. The Jesus in you shining like the city on a hill.
You know, we are called to be Zion. Our lives are to be the hill that our lights shine from. We take our everyday and create mountains of fertile ground or it just remains mulch, too hot to be handled, too slippery to get a grip on- It takes a little heat to make it useful, our every day being ourselves stuff. This is our testimony that overcomes the enemy. We take the high ground and shine in the midst of our weaknesses, doing the best, being the best that we can be, enduring to the end. Whether we carry our own keys or stay with the neighbors until He comes.