California Roll

Sweeter than Starbucks

Usually I'd be at Starbucks while my daughter takes her 90 minute lesson at a hall far from home.

Today I tried a new hangout.   I can't hear here the clink of mugs on laminate tables;
instead I hear wind rustling oaks' leaves and the chwee chwee, chwee of a bird.
Here it's quiet enough that the drop of a solitary brown leaf touching ground touches me.

At Starbucks I could overhear a chick in low-cut jeans staring in the eyes of her girlfirend, seated across from her, boasting her smooth, tan skin in a sun dress in between sips of her coffee mix.  I've seen such eyes meet, exchanging secrets of the heart.

Instead here I'm sensing God's heart, seeing with new eyes.  I stare at two little birds,  their breasts colored lime.  Around and round they chase one another.  He knows when one of those tiny ones falls.  He's smiling to see them play.  If them, why not me?  Could he be happy with me now, resting, enjoying what he's made?  I breathe out some toxic air, breathe in, sweet pleasure.

Thirty minutes earlier, I hesitated when I read the sign at the park's entrance:  $5 required.  Yanking open my wallet is tough – no sweet smelling coffee or muffin promised satisfaction, no crowds of people signalled this was the cool thing to do.   

Yet now I know.   This purchase was good -- 70 minutes' solitude in beauty deserted by trendsetters but surging with energy of oaks, twittering birds, and wind music.

Yes, at first five dollars seemed a lot.  Now I know it's not.  What comes here is so much sweeter,  weaves inside me something more strong, more lasting than any Frappuccino, Latte or sugary pastry.

Passing Faith in Postmodern Times

    In my high school years our youth group director at church taught us how to tell others of our faith by reading and explaining a small, hand-sized booklet called, "The Four Spiritual Laws."  It was a useful tool when our church choir sang on the beaches of Honolulu and afterward approached strangers to tell of our faith.   I can't imagine doing that now. 
    Yet apparently some still do.  A young man I like and respect as bright and creative, also a graduate in film-making, trained the soon-to-be counselors for a youth summer camp for Mien (a minority south-east Asian) with this kind of method.  It was incredible to me that this friend who hails from Berkeley, city of hundreds of faiths and languages, uses a method I see as contrived, constrictive and forceful:
       Contrived, because nowhere in the Bible is the good news of Jesus Christ ever presented this way--either by Jesus, Peter or Paul.  They fit their message to the context and the listener.  Constricted, because it melts the truth down to four points, points that may not resonate with the spiritual journey and questions that person is asking.  Forced, because what decent person has the heart to say, "No, I'm not interested in God or spiritual things," to some young, ingenuous person looking them in the eye?
        A contrast to this is an experiential, fitted-to-the-person witness.   I've had a delightful opportunity for experiential witness lately with Teri.  At Teri's first visit to my church I learned she didn't have a church-going background, and felt anxious to avoid the strict rigidity of her Catholic high school in Hong Kong. 
      Over coffee in the following week, I learned she didn't consider herself a Christian, had suffered a divorce and, like me, was seeing a "shrink."  She'd started this church-going venture because of Christian friends.  I answered a wonderful question from her about how one can become a Christian.   She was looking for connection so I invited her to a women's meeting at church.  Going there twice with me, Teri has heard talks that explain faith, based Jesus's Sermon on the Mount.  She joined me also at our Christian Writer's group--not normally a place where elucidation of the faith occurs.  In writers' groups time we are acting and thinking out the faith as we read each other's work, critique, tell our intimate concerns and pray for each other. Love pervades.
    Today was her second time attending this writer's group.   In preparation we had all sent each other copies of what we were writing.  Hers is a children's picture-book meant to be read before bedtime as parents tenderly affirm their children.  Through her beautiful book, children see and wonder at the functioning of our marvelous bodies.  As we responded to her words, one member of our group pointed out how the soul was not mentioned once among all the body parts discussed.   "I'm talking about physical parts in the book,"  explained Teri.
     "Yes, but it's good for children to start to learn that there is a place that God can live inside us,"  said another writer friend.
    "When I wrote this, I wasn't a Christian yet and didn't understand about that."
    "Just something to think about."  (My friend is clear but not forceful in her point.)
    "You can pray and ask God to give you a good line if He wants something in there,"  I added.   
    Where and when did Teri cross over?  What pieces of this witness helped her fit the
puzzle together?  I don't know.  But I'm glad she's a sister in Jesus now.   I'm glad I didn't try to share the Four Spiritual Laws to her.   I would have if she had asked.   I think she would have felt devalued, like I wasn't recognizing and responding to her personhood.