{shalom}

In my circles Shalom was always a word that 'those Jewish people' used, it wasn't for us evangelicals because we believed in Jesus and they didn't.  Yes, I realize this makes no sense but I grew up in a Baptist church and us Baptist?  Well, let's just say we don't know it all like I thought we did. Ha.

Fast forward a whole bunch of years to my 30's and my upending thanks be to God, literally. I still didn't know about Shalom except I thought it meant peace but wasn't quite sure.  I'm not good with languages and it felt foreign on my tongue.  I accepted it, however, as a word that people who believed in Jesus could also use.  People, I was making some progress!  And then scoot right up to about my year 38 on this planet. I had left traditional church, we mutually agreed we needed some time apart, and I was meeting with a group of like-hearted people in a home church setting.  This particular group observes and celebrates the Biblical Festivals and Shalom was a word that is a normal part of their vocabulary.  So I started trying it out. All these years I thought it meant peace (it does but more on that in a minute) but I had also heard mostly used as 'Aloha' is, a greeting and a farewell.  Kind of like how we crass Americans say, 'Hey' for the same purposes. Now don't get all weirded out thinking that my little home church and I were beginning and ending our conversations with each other and others by 'shaloming.'  I can honestly say that I don't believe I have ever once 'shalomed' someone in greeting or farewell.  But if you want me to, I can start. *wink*

No, our use of shalom was focused on the peace.  Shalom is peace but not just any kind of peace. Shalom is a deep peace that finds its way into every crack and crevice, that soaks in deep, that brings about wholeness and completeness.  Shalom is a very complete peace.  Jesus, my friends, he is shalom. And Jesus, my friends, wants us to experience that kind of shalom in our own lives and be so full of it that we spill it out on others and introduce them to true shalom as well.

When I first started grasping the depth of shalom I was reading a fantastic book by Tim Keller (Generous Justice) and in it he talked about shalom in a way that my heart finally clicked and locked into place with. Here's a few excerpts that resonated with me, upon reading this I 100% 'got it.'

Traditionally translated as “peace” in English it means much more than that. Peace in the English language means a period of time when there is no war or fighting.  But when God uses shalom he doesn’t mean a period of time when there is no conflict, he means complete reconciliation. A state of the fullest flourishing in every dimension – physical, emotional, social, and spiritual – because all relationships are right, perfect, and filled with joy. (Generous Justice, Keller, page 174)
If we take those four dimensions – physical, emotional, social, and spiritual – and look at them with and without shalom as their foundation we can see quickly what shalom accomplishes in a person’s life and when shalom is lacking what happens. 
Shalom is lost when our primal self-absorption leads to profound social evils – to war, crime, family breakdown, oppression, and injustice. The world is filled with hunger, sickness, aging, and physical death. Because our relationship with God has broken down, shalom is gone – spiritually, psychologically, socially, and physically.  (Generous Justice, Keller, pages 176-177)

So the translation of 'peace' doesn't do the function of shalom justice.  Not at all.  It is peace but not our wishy-washy ideas of peace, not our milk version of it. It is substantial, filling, completing, restorative, transformational. True shalom is not self-contained, it is not something that can be or should be hoarded, it is meant to have a domino effect.

Shalom is applicable to all parts of life.  The word is used for all parts of speech; as a noun, adjective, verb, adverb, and interjection. It categorizes all shaloms. (Source)  Christ wants us to be touched with shalom in every way possible.

The idea of shalom, its lack and its place in my life, has been more on my heart and mind the past couple of years since I really got what it actually was. In the book I read by Keller he asked a question that applied to areas of social justice but could easily be, and should be, considered for personal life as well.  We cannot pass on shalom if we do not possess it ourselves.  He posed this question and asked the reader to ask it of themselves and of their communities, "Where has the fabric of shalom broken down? Those are the places I need to weave myself into to reweave and strengthen the fabric and restore it to shalom."  (Generous Justice, Keller, page 177)

So I began to ask myself, where do I see areas that the fabric of shalom has broken down?  I began looking at areas of my life: my marriage, my parenting, my role as an employee and co-worker, my friendships, and of course my own personal inner life.  I looked for areas in my community,both my personal circles and the community in which I lived, where shalom was lacking or being fulfilled. I asked God to point out to my heart and eyes where his shalom needed to be reestablished and restored.

So for a couple of years now I have been weaving shalom into my life as God makes the lack evident. And like all things, sometimes the stitch has been wrong and I've had to go backwards, unweaving the mistake so it can be corrected. A few years ago I was honored to be able to visit Kusadasi/Ephesus, Turkey. I watched a carpet weaving demonstration. Some of the more intricate carpets take literal years, in some cases a lifetime, to weave and complete. It is not uncommon for a carpet weaver to only complete one or two carpets in their lifetime. That requires patience, dedication, concentration, persistence, and even vision. The carpet weaver has a vision in their head of what they want the carpet to look like as a finished product and they weave until it comes to be.  I look at the weaving of shalom into my life in the same way. Shalom is an intricate component to the whole of my life, it will require vision - in this case it is God's vision, persistence, dedication, and a submission to the process.

Weaving shalom into my life requires the employ of various tools. Fortunately God is really creative and he has a wide variety of tools at his disposal to accomplish this.  His tools include, but are not limited to: split seas, people, circumstances, his Word, talking donkeys, all manner of media - secular and religious, music, growing in age and hopefully wisdom, health or lack thereof, the rending of barriers from top to bottom, the appearance of heavenly messengers with life altering news, the gentlest of breezes barely felt or heard, and more because God is creative and unique and knows what each of us will respond to.


As 2014 was closing out and 2015 was starting to peek her head up I felt compelled by shalom to focus on shalom in this new year.  So for the first time in my memory I decided to dedicate the calendar year to shalom. My family and I have had a rough couple of years.  We've had some good moments for sure but overall?  The fabric of shalom has broken down in us individually and then collectively. This year, in 2015 and beyond, I am asking God to restore shalom to my husband, my children, myself and to us as a family so we can then be his hands and feet to restore shalom to our local and global communities.  I need the peace of shalom in my life in order to be the wife and mom, to be an employee and co-worker, to be a sister and a friend, in order to be a daughter and an Auntie.

What about you?  Are there places in your life where the fabric of shalom has broken down and needs to be reweaved?  Will you let that weaving take place for the purposes of wholeness?  

May shalom be found in your life this year. 

Dear Teenager, I want you to know...

...that this moment you are living is not the whole of your life. It feels like it, I know. Oh do I know. You see, I was a teenager once as well.  So were your parents. And while so much has changed about being a teenager this has not.  This moment, this hard and yucky and distressing moment, is not the whole of your life.  I'll even go so far as to say I promise it isn't.

Don't let this moment color your entire life. When the painting of your life is finished, this moment will be the tiniest speck of color, lost in the amazing life that waits for you. This moment might feel like a large blob of black dropped on to the canvas of your life but I promise you it isn't.  Don't allow this moment to define your whole life, it doesn't have that kind of power as long as you don't give it that power. This moment is simply texture on the painting of your life and we all need some texture.

Put this moment in its proper place. Don't allow it to be bigger than it is, casting shadows on all the good things in your life right now. In fact one of the ways to diminish the false power of this moment is to verbalize and live out gratitude.  When was the last time you truly did that?  When was the last time you thanked your parents for letting you stay out with friends until 10 pm instead of complain that they wouldn't let you stay out until 10:15 pm?  When was the last time you thanked your parents for providing food in the house instead of complain about not having your favorite snacks?  Do you see what I mean? It's a matter of perspective and this moment needs to be put in its place.  This moment is birthed from a lack of gratitude for what you do have and a sense of offense for what you think you need but haven't been provided.  That's called entitlement and it will steal your soul and give you more of these moments than you should have.

Sometimes this moment is birthed from a true injustice. You still have the power to put it in its place and control it instead of it controlling you. Find someone to help you, you can't do things like this alone.  There is no shame in needing some help, a guide, a mentor, someone with more life experience than you.  There's no shame in it, in fact seeking help is one of the wisest things you will ever do.

This moment is temporary.  It feels final.  But it isn't.  Even as soon as next year you will look back on it and shake your head at the feeble attempts to have power over you.  It is only temporary, however, as long as you put it in its proper place.  If you allow it to define you then it wins and you lose.

I've had moments. Moments born out of true injustice and moments because I lacked gratitude. Sometimes I still have moments but I know I cannot let them define me.  One of my greatest desires is to see you learn that lesson sooner rather than later like I did.  I wasted years, literally, of my life being defined by a moment or two.  I don't want that for you.  There's so much life to live, why let a moment spoil it?  On the timeline of your life being a teenager is going to be a speck.  Right now it feels momentous and like it covers such a large portion of your life. And it does, right now. But when you look back you'll see the reality of this time and these moments. There's so much more life to live and look forward to, don't let this moment derail you. Don't let this moment become so overwhelming that you think life can't be lived any longer.  People who take their lives have been derailed by a moment.  And sometimes they let moments build on top of one another until all they see are the blobs of black on the painting of their life.  They can't see the color.  But the color is there, I promise.

Dearest teenager, this moment, this hard and distressing moment, will pass. Take a nap, watch a comedy, list out what you are grateful for, take deep cleansing breaths, and recognize that the moment only has power as long as you let it. Have the hard conversations if that is what the moment requires, grab the hand of someone who won't let you go while you take control over this moment so it doesn't take control over you.

Don't let this moment have you, you are not this moment.

You are so much more.  

Oh My Darlin'

Memories of Paul Ray Ashley

December 27, 1926 - January 4, 2015

The last time I saw him he wasn't quite sure who was in his room. But he knew he was supposed to know us so he pretended. I guess he didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings except we all knew that he wasn't quite sure who this group was. So we pretended also.  Oh the things we do for loved ones. I helped him drink his water from a straw and he sucked at it greedily, making noises of appreciation. Someone had put golf on the TV and he was pretending to watch but he hates golf so when asked about it he exclaimed it was bullshit. We all snickered. 

For at least two years I have been grieving the slow loss of this man that I grew up with, that my children were able to grow up with.  He's been declining and it's been hard to watch. Because he knows he's connected to us all somehow he pretends to follow the conversations and know the people. But I know. I watch him. I watch him take in everyone with his eyes and try to pick up clues as to who people are from conversations. When he isn't confident of who someone is they get referred to as 'Lucky', in fact I don't remember the last time he called me by name. The only person he knows is his wife of 67 years, he never forgets her.  

Years ago when his own Mama was declining, singing 1920's drunkard tunes and generally amusing everyone with her tunes, I remember holding her hand and realizing she and I had matching hands. Mine were a younger version of hers which meant they were also a younger version of his.  When I look at my thumbs I see my Granny and now my Grandpa. I look at him and my Dad, next to one another, and see what I will look like as I grow older and toward the ages they are at.

In my younger years he smoked Camels. On our long summer trips in their motor home, affectionately named the Green Machine, I remember watching him store away all the cartons of Camels he bought for our trip. It never bothered me, the smoke, and to this day if I smell smoke I can usually tell if it is Camel brand and it doesn't bother me as much. Weird right?  But he quit smoking when his body told him he had better stop or he wouldn't live long.

They lived on the edge of a ravine, tucked back in a wooded area. It was the best place. I loved that house. Grandpa had a riding lawn mower because there was so much area to cover.  My brothers and I thought it was cool. So Grandpa taught us to drive it. We drove up and down their long driveway, collecting the mail for Grandma, and pretending we were grownups. Grandpa would stay in the garage tinkering around keeping an eye on us. His garage was tidy, organized. He had a workbench and I can distinctly remember how it would look lit up at nights he was working in there while we were running around their property playing in the dark. Sometimes when I think of my Grandpa I see him backlit by the light above the workbench, bending over, glasses perched on his nose, smoking a Camel, and tinkering,  It's one of my fondest memories.

He had his flaws, as everyone does.  He was racist and slightly male chauvinistic.  But he was my Grandpa so I could forgive him these ideologies. When I was younger he would let me take sips of coffee and warn me it was going to stunt my growth. When I was older and getting my own coffee he switched from stunted growth tales to telling me it would turn my nipples black. Yes, yes he did. Scandalous! He would give me a knowing nod and wink when he watched my daughters drink some coffee.  All I could do was shake my head and grin.

After his Mama passed he and Grandma moved to Colorado where all of us were.  We resumed a family tradition of Saturday morning breakfast. I'm incredibly grateful for the years we were able to do that, my girls got to experience some of what I did as I grew up and they got to know their great-grandparents in a way a lot of kids don't.  Saturday morning breakfasts were some of the best memories I will carry with me.

When I was little it was their house that was the "holiday home." It's where everyone landed for get togethers during holidays. My parents house became the "holiday home" once Grandpa and Grandma moved to Colorado. My Aunt and her husband would pick them up on their way and all four would arrive together.  One Thanksgiving a very large group of us played a family favorite card game and about 2 am it ended.  We laughed and laughed. We always played cards and dice when together, it was - it is - our thing.  We did it with his Mama back in the day and have never stopped.

He fought in World War II. When the war ended he had to go to one of the concentration camps. I've never heard him utter a word about it, some things you see you just can't talk about.  After his time in the service he became an engineer. He rose through the ranks of his company, ending up a VP before he retired. He was an incredibly smart man, his brain was like a machine.  His company used Fireballs, the candy, as their trademark or signature.  There were bowls of them all over their offices and he would bring home paper bags full of them.  I grew up sucking on Fireballs and thinking that was normal, didn't everyone have a never ending supply of Fireballs to enjoy?

He kept busy after retirement. He built a pottery wheel and kiln and learned to throw clay. He tooled leather. He collected coins. He pulled out his art supplies and used them again. He played poker with his buddies once a month and went on trips with his metal detecting club. He probably annoyed Grandma too but I never heard about that.  *grin*

When I was younger I remember watching him eat raisin bran with cranberry juice. I couldn't fathom it.  Why would he do that?  And then I learned that he had no sense of taste or smell due to an illness. Every time he sniffed appreciatively or exclaimed, "this tastes great" he was fooling around. He couldn't smell nor taste a thing!

Growing up my grandparents slept in two twin beds. I didn't understand why they would do that but then I discovered that at night they would push those beds together and separate them again in the morning.  That always made my heart a bit warmer.  One morning I remember laying in my own fold out bed across the hall from them and I could hear them murmuring and he was rubbing her back as they talked and woke up for the day.  I love having that memory of them, really of him in his role as a husband. It was rare to see that side of him since he was my Grandpa.

He whistled all the time. And he would sing bits and pieces of songs at times.  One song is at the forefront of my memories. He would whistle it and sing it.  "Oh My Darling Clementine" is weaved into all my memories of Grandpa. Except only these words to the song, "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darling Clementine..." I never realized any other words existed.  Imagine my surprise when I finally figured out there were other words. *grin*

The last time I saw him he would burst into song at random times. I don't know the tunes he was singing then but it wasn't the one I was always used to hearing him whistle.  I found myself leaning down to hug him and heard myself humming, "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darling Clementine..."