Mediant*
The last couple of hours before company arrived were always a mad frenzy at my house growing up. Maybe yours too? We each had our job. Mine was always sweeping out the entryway (I think partly because it kept me out of the way). In eager expectation, we cleaned the house and seemingly surface in it to prepare our home for the guests who were coming.
It’s hard to watch people we love sabotage themselves.
Early on in my recovery journey, I had a friend who either could not or would not follow the path of honesty and candor that is necessary for healing from any kind of addiction. He couldn’t be honest with himself. And that meant that he couldn’t be honest with us—his friends, his community. And so, as you might imagine, we had to watch the consequences play out in slow-motion.
“When I grow up, I wanna be just like her.”
Who are the people you’ve said that about?
For me, the ones who stand out have been the wise and faith-filled women who have embraced, supported, and instructed me throughout my life. Women like my Ammachi—my grandmother—who taught me that God abides with us even in the deepest uncertainty and pain. Women like my 7th grade English teacher, who reminded me that God intends so much more for us than just bare survival. Women like my favorite nuns in Wisconsin, who showed me that God already has us enclosed in an eternal embrace and harbors no blame or wrath towards us in our weakness. When I grow up, I wanna be just like those women.
We’re used to a world of clear cause and effect. “A” causes “B.” It’s a basic understanding of the universe that guides us in pretty much all the work we do. We think: If we can crack the code—if we can learn enough about “A”—then we can develop the right strategies, tools, and tricks, and we can accomplish “B”—what we want.
“This isn’t who I want to be. Why do I do this? This isn’t who I want to become.”
I was sitting on the couch in my sponsor’s basement, going over a 4th & 5th step—taking a moral inventory of myself and admitting the exact nature of my wrongs. I was owning up to sin in my life: the ways I have missed the mark, the ways I’ve broken relationships, the ways I have refused to love wholeheartedly.
And I was frustrated.
“Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones…” It’s an image and phrase that resounds, resonates, echoes throughout the Gospels. And here Jesus doesn’t quite finish the sentence, but elsewhere he makes it explicit. “Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to these little ones gives it to me.” This is good—giving a cold cup of water and serving the little ones—because as we do it for the little ones we do it for Christ himself.
It’s so good to see you all.
Who’da thunk it, right?
By rights—by the logic of the world—I shouldn’t be standing here. When some of y’all first met me I was a barely dried-out drunk, who didn’t even have anything nice to say about Christianity. Let alone any desire to serve in ministry. Christian community had chewed me up and spat me out. My life had collapsed around me, and I was just learning how to survive one day at a time.
