M*A*S*H

There are many thoughts bouncing around in my head this Memorial Day, but one of the top is the last episode of M*A*S*H. 

Watching M*A*S*H was as consistent of a family ritual in our home as saying "God is great, God is good" as fast as humanly possible before meals. Does prayer count when it is a race with your brother?

I will admit something now that I never could have then - I was disappointed and confused. Mind you, I was in middle school, but today that episode clicked.

I remember Hawkeye telling the shrink Sidney Freedman about how he was on a bus and they were in danger, but a woman couldn't get her chicken to shut up so he hollered at her to silence it and she killed it. He tells this story several times and it is only in the final telling when he can confess that it was a child not a chicken. Sorry if I spoiled the ending for you, but it has been 37 years. 

It was unbelievable and confusing to me as child that he couldn't just tell the truth to begin with and get on with the tearful goodbyes. After twenty years as a pastor, in the midst of so many competing truth narratives, I have some understanding.

There are times we can only handle so much truth. There are some ugly places in our lives where we twist our stories so we don't have to admit how destructive we have been. 

I long for private confession and forgiveness to be a regular part of the church; I'd even really like the little booths with the sliding door. I used to be slightly envious of Catholic churches, but most Catholics don't even do that anymore. 

People need places where they can tell true stories even when they are brutal and ugly. Therapists definitely fulfill part of this role, but the gift of confession and forgiveness is you begin and end the story of truth with the eyes of love and grace upon you. It might not always feel like that in the church, but that is the goal. 

There are stories that must be told in all of their ugliness so we don't have to be in bondage to their secrets any longer. We can speak the worst thing we've done without blame or justifying it and then hear the promise that we are not defined by our sin, but by the love and mercy of God. 

I think that's some of what the cross and resurrection are all about. We cannot escape looking upon how cruelly we treat boundless love in this world and we cannot escape looking upon God's continued faithfulness to mercy. That's the story that frees us to tell the truth. 

Eggplants

I wore my new eggplant mask to Costco today. 

It makes me laugh for so many reasons.

I'm not a huge fan of shopping and even less of trying to chit chat while shopping and now a mask cranks it all up a little bit more. The eggplants definitely help and there was a sweet lady today who complimented my beautiful mask. I love my town.

And I've really loved the PSAs on the radio reminding us that we are all in this together. There is a gift to being off the road system and knowing we are all stuck in this together so we need to figure it out together. 

But here's my question for today: how did this pandemic become so politically divisive? 

Political leaders have moved to the top of my prayer list. I don't know all the pressures on them. I know that I'm feeling the weight of responsibility on my little decisions and I can't even imagine what they are feeling. 

I'd be okay if we dropped the party system and asked every leader to spend time with people they love and respect who disagree with them. We could set up dates where leaders have to wear eggplant masks and discuss a whole range of ideas about how we will get through this economically, physically, and mentally. It's going to take all of us and our perspectives to get through this without imploding. 

I'm concerned that the fringes have become normal and I miss arguments where I walk away with new insight instead of shaking my head wondering if this person lives in the same reality as I do. 

If we can't achieve some sense of togetherness and civility in crisis, and we can't use eggplant emojis without it meaning something erotic, then I'm voting for mass production of eggplant masks for all politicians. How hostile and divisive can you be staring at someone's beautiful eggplant face? 

Fitbit

I don't accessorize well. I actually don't even wear my wedding ring anymore. Some of it is laziness and some is my fear of losing another one. Both of our rings are curled up together taped to the sound machine - that's maturing romance.

But, I recently realized my phone tracks my steps so now I'm slightly obsessed. I've never thought of it before and it will probably pass soon, but my beloved saw it as a prime chance to buy an accessory. 

I now own a Fitbit. I haven't worn anything on my wrist since my Kermit the Frog watch, which I still miss. Kermit was the first motivational speaker for my generation. Speaking of my generation, I immediately pretended like the Fitbit was a CB radio, "Breaker, breaker, this is Stagecoach, any smokeys ahead." 

I walked 20,255 steps today. The thingy buzzed when I hit 10,000 but didn't give me any reward at 20,000. I feel cheated. 

I'm not sure I want to track my life with this much detail. I used to journal and that seems much more helpful in tracking life. I don't go back and read them often, but every now and then I pull one out and see where I've been and what tools I used to survive.

Swearing is a consistent one, but also recognizing that when I am tired and stretched thin I'm not good to anyone. I found in my journals all my "shoulds". I put in there all the things I should be doing or thinking and then I  let them go and gave myself permission to do what I needed to do to be the healthiest person for myself and others I could be. 

The Fitbit feels a bit like a "should" enforcer, instead of soap on a rope it's guilt on a wrist. I'm going to reframe it from guilting me into 10,000 steps a day into an opportunity to accessorize, pretend like I'm a secret agent, and have some idea of how healthy I am today.

Skunk Cabbage

Skunk cabbage should be named something more majestic in the spring. She is such a beautiful reminder of color and life; she is the first to break through in the forest and hopefully the first food the bears who are waking up. 

I find "skunk cabbage" so belittling for the comforting creature who makes me smile every spring. Yes, she will soon make the mud around her smell so bad that you might have to throw away your shoes if you get stuck, but for now she is stunningly gorgeous. 

As a bonus, soon it becomes a good chance to talk about sex education with your kids. The skunk cabbage has a fascinating reproductive cycle. I'm a far cry from an expert on plants, but my favorite quote in a short synopsis of the skunk cabbage is, 

"skunk cabbage (Symplocarpus renifolius), can produce massive heat during the female stage but not during the subsequent male stage in which the stamen completes development" 

I'm feeling you there. I do know something about producing massive heat. It's also pretty obvious to even the casual observer when she becomes he. I actually thought I just imagined that's what happened until I read the scientific account of its development. (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19640927)

Anyway, I'd like to name her King Cobra or Swamp Princess or Yellow Enchantress. Sometimes I think we all should have lots of names because one label doesn't capture who we are or all that we can be. 

One of the weirdest and fascinating of stories in the Bible is Jacob wrestling.

Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, "Let me go, for the day is breaking." But Jacob said, "I will not let you go, unless you bless me." So he said to him, "What is your name?" And he said, "Jacob." Then the man said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed." Then Jacob asked him, "Please tell me your name." But he said, "Why is it that you ask my name?" And there he blessed him.

Jacob is renamed Israel (wrestles with God) but he never gets to know the name of the man. I have no brilliant insight other than to acknowledge that sometimes letting go of labels and identities can be a fruitful thing.