A Grandpa Summer

This summer I’ve spent quite a bit of time with my grandpa. Usually he knows who I am. He’ll get a big grin and say something like, “Why, it’s my little HB.” HB, of course, being short for Heather Baby. But sometimes I am Christy. Or Jenny. Or little girl. Dustin basically has been relegated permanently to, “That nice repair man who does things with bicycles.”

Spending time with someone who has lost his memory is…challenging. Sometimes I feel energetic and am really good at telling myself that he didn’t lose his memory on purpose- I have a sense of humor when he comes out with my bra tied around his knee because he thinks it is his ace bandage. But other times I feel angry and I clench my fists because he refuses to take a shower or because it’s the twenty-third time in the last hour that he has asked me when Gramma is coming home. I think if I do a better job explaining or if I talk more slowly it might make a difference. But really it doesn’t. It’s like trying to hold up a sandcastle when the wave washes over.

Thoughts come up when I am with Grandpa. Thoughts like, why do children starve to death? Or, how come God allows people to be born without the ability to see or speak or walk? Or, how come He lets people’s minds slip away?

Grandpa always prays before we eat and his prayer always begins the exact same way. Dear Lord, we are yours. That phrase really sticks in the mind, doesn’t it? We are yours. Sometimes I’m Job, slapping my hand over my mouth- who am I to question the goodness of God. Did I create the stars and the oceans? Did I create laughter? We are yours. Occasionally I intellectualize and I push my red wire frame glasses a bit higher on my nose and think, “Well, working with Grandpa and his dementia has been a great opportunity for me to grow as an individual and I am so much more aware of my deep rooted character flaws and boy oh boy, I’m so glad that God is using this time to make me a stronger person.” We are yours. Really, when it boils down to the very end of a very long day, I feel grateful that it is not me who holds the world in my fingertips. I feel grateful that I can crawl on all fours into the palm of His hands and know that He loves me and cares when I am hurting and when I am tired and when I am discouraged. He cares when Grandpa is hurting and tired and discouraged. And I feel a trace of peace, knowing that we are His.

A Sign of Authority

Every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head…the woman ought to have a sign of authority on her head. 

 I Corinthians 11:6a, 10b

So picture Las Vegas. Flashing lights, high rollers, bling. Think of the darker side of Las Vegas. Sex trade, greed, addiction, violence. Now think of Las Vegas but way bigger and with way fewer rules and you’ll have a fairly accurate picture of first century Corinth.

Corinth was a wild cultural melting pot of conservative Judaism, pagan cults, and burgeoning Christianity. It was smack dab in the middle of the trade routes, so EVERYONE stopped by Corinth with money to burn…Which ended up to mean that Corinth had a lot of prostitutes. First century prostitutes did not cover their heads so as to advertise that they were open for business. Later, because they were considered defiled creatures, they were not allowed to cover their heads. In the same way, female slaves were also not allowed to cover their heads because they were considered to be lesser humans. So in short, slave women and ex-prostitutes could not have their heads covered so as to visibly shame and isolate the women- a sign of dishonor (something along the lines of the Puritanical Scarlet Letter).

Paul’s command, therefore, to have ALL the women cover their heads as they publicly prayed and prophesied, was crazy. Was totally revolutionary. It was revolutionary because he was breaking some serious cultural taboos by commanding the church to accept the slave women and ex-prostitutes in the same way as they would accept “pure” and free citizens. He commanded the church to allow these previously rejected women to take up their dignity, to cover their heads just as citizen women were allowed to cover their heads. He commanded the church to identify the women not as sinners, not as slaves, but as daughters of God who were clean and blameless before His sight and as full inheritors of every blessing.

This is amazing. God desires to mend the broken. God desires to give spiritual authority to those deemed wholly worthless by society. He doesn’t want us to carry around our shame and our dishonor. He doesn’t want us to be identified by our past, but rather calls us, commands us, to be new creations- servant leaders- that are identified by our love and worship of Him.

Holy God, I am humbled by your love. I am humbled that you accept me and desire me to be free- free from my past, free from my shame, free from my accusers. Free to love, free to serve, free to speak forth.