My cousin – somehow, twice removed or three times forward, at any rate we are cousins, shared my blog post from Sunday. She added the caption, “Open the eyes of my heart Lord…” And this seemed good and reasonable.
Yes, Lord, do that. Open the eyes of my heart.
Lots of feedback from that post, good and bad. On the bad side, there were criticisms about the holes in my argument. One million moms weren’t attacking adoption and foster care. And no, they weren’t. They were saying that they didn’t want their children to have to see the demise of the conservative view of the family while they shopped.
And my argument was I was sorry that they were “uncomfortable” in the lap of luxury. Let’s stop whining and let’s get busy!
This is neither here nor there. Because I prayed alongside my cousin, Kaysee, “Open the eyes of my heart Lord.” She in one small Texas town, I in another.
The Lord opened the eyes of my heart. And this is what I saw:
I ran to Dollar General to grab some trash bags. I was standing in line behind a well-dressed man, maybe 40-ish, buying cigarettes. He was obviously old enough to buy cigarettes, but the young cashier said, “May I see your I.D?”
He lost his mind.
You wonder if you will run out of blog material, and then you get to witness this kind of utter madness. He proceeds to rant and rave, what best I can tell, is a speech he has given before about the dictatorships of the American government interfering with his rights to smoke. The poor girl behind the counter is looking at him with the blankest of stares. I have a way with words, so I am able to interpret the look, and it reads like this:
“You are a moron. I make $7.25 an hour and didn’t finish the 8th grade. I have met raw chicken meat with more intelligence than you. I hate you. I hate everything you stand for. I want a different life. I hope you get hit by a bus. I hope I am on the bus, in the front row so that I can witness your demise.”
Are you familiar with this look?
The look doesn’t deter. He continues, turning to me, with a disgruntled chuckle, as if we are on the same page of what he has deemed asinine and his last straw. I am not with him at all. I try to convey this by checking my phone and rolling my eyes. To which he says, “OH! I see how it is? Why don’t you give out your date of birth to anyone who asks.” And I snark, “September 26, 1971.” And he YELLS, “You are part of the problem!”
And he is right. I am.
I wrote a barking blog post and fully participated in the madness of what I believe American Christians are doing wrong, thereby, doing it wrong. I have tried all morning to justify this for the Tuesday post. My eyes are wide open, and I can’t get them shut. I even prayed, “Close the eyes of my heart Lord.” And He said no.
So, I got one of those Facebook flashback alerts. I can’t shake off the image. It is of a Starbucks cup. One year ago today my daughter Maggie posted the picture below. With the caption: “I am turning into my mom, lipstick on my Starbucks cup.”
The barking lunatics are fighting a battle. A battle for their beliefs. I tried to convince God to let me blog on the insanity of wanting not to have to look at a homosexual couple while they shop, or the warm fuzzy feeling they get when there is a Christmas tree on their $6.00 latte. I even pleaded, “LORD! I will title it: I’ll have a non-fat, full-fat, extra whip, double shot, caramel, soy, extra hot, Venti, vanilla latte, in a cup with a reindeer on it, please!” He said no. I saw another post that said: “Pray to Stop Starbucks!” and I pleaded, “LORD PLEASE!!!! Let me just…” and He said NO.
Because that is the barking dog. Americanized Jesus. Our tender spirits offended. And although I think He thought the title was kind of funny, He wants more for us. We have everything. And we are fighting for and falling for utter ridiculous things. And we bark. Jesus was this, Jesus was that! Jesus would drink lattes with the homosexuals! Jesus would not! Nuh-uh! Uh-huh! Jesus wouldn’t pay that much for a latte! You’re not the boss of me! Yes, I am!
And my eyes spy Satan sitting back sipping a Grande Mocha-Frap, cause it’s more refreshing when you’re in hell, and letting us do the battle for him. The barking dogs are their own undoing. Then I saw this…
This. This should make us so desperately sad. For Christians to become the mockery. For the rise up, to be at our ridiculousness. The look from the cashier – that we would be looked at like this? This is sad.
And then, my eyes were further opened. The picture below is my laundry room now.
A fellow adoptive/foster mom made arrangements to leave clothes for our two young sons. Her boys outgrew them, and she thought of us. She took time out of her day, packed up these items and hauled them here. Coats, shoes, pants, shirts – two huge bags. My husband who, by the way, was not a fan of Sunday’s post, said, “Oh! Where did all those clothes come from?” and I explained and he said, “That is what I am talking about. Just general kind, helpful, behavior. Just kind.”
Gentle Jesus, who simply said, “Follow me…”
I want to be more like that. Kindly leaving clean folded Spider-Man pajamas on your doorstep, with a piping hot cup of Starbucks. I know I will still be snarky, and I know I will rant and rave again, but I refuse to be used by the enemy to make anyone look at me with “that” look. The eyes of my heart are open.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
“As Jesus went on from there, He saw a man called Matthew, sitting in the tax collector’s booth; and He said to Him “Follow Me!” And Matthew got up and followed Him.” Matthew 9:9