Reflections of a Google Geek

I put a “t” into the Google box at the top of my screen. It already knows that I am thinking Target.  Surprisingly, it only needed the“Ho” in “How ” to figure out that I had forgotten how to boil an egg. (Yes, I know.  It’s pathetic, but we don’t eat hard boiled eggs at my house.) This is incredibly useful and convenient.  Need a multiplication game for work?  “Mult” into the trusty box brings up a slew in every level.  Your eight-year old is wondering how much an earthworm eats? Covered.  What can I substitute for the milk that just got spilled all over the floor?  Easy.  Sharpie on the sofa?  Not a problem.  Stats for a sermon? Sure.  And most of the time, I don’t even have to type in the whole question.  AMAZING! (Almost creepy, really.) It’s like it knows.

I don’t even pretend comprehend how the Google box understands what I am going to ask it for before I finish asking.   It is a mystery to high for my little pea brain.  But I like it.  I use it. And I am grateful for it.  I can   remember getting Prodigy dial up internet for the first time when I was a kid.  Type in your password H-E-L-L-O and listen for the sound of the connection “brrrrrrrrrwrwrwrwrwr----BING and wait… in minutes (long minutes) you would be connected to Junior High research paper central.  That was cool.  But the Google box, stands as a whole different level of geek freedom.  Seemingly infinite information, over infinite topics  all in a fraction of second.    And I don't even have to finish my inquiry.

Okay, so I know my daily fascination with with the internet and my Google box makes me a geek.  I am okay with that.  Besides being a geek, I am also prone to make strange connections and be a bit if a mystic.  Maybe that's why my mind goes here:

 Even before a word is on my tongue,

   behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.  Psalm 139:4

Great is our Lord and mighty in power;

his understanding has no limit.  Psalm 147:5 

Just two in a list of many that have come to mind.   Before you click your stumble button, or set a search query for "blogs a little less off the wall"  Hang with me for a second.  When I read verses like this, I can't  fathom it.  I simply can't wrap my head around the enormousness of it all.  And I desperately want to.  So, I look for things in my world to reflect a little light on the situation.   That leaves me here,  juxtaposing the massiveness that the tiny Google box holds with the vastness the One who created the universe.


Sources that I googled (ironic? ha, ha) say that the information powerhouse holds over 2,000,000 servers in data centers placed all over the world.   Big as that is, it sits minuscule in comparison to the one who knows every star and calls it by name  (Psalm147:4) and knows the number of hair on each head. (Matthew 10:30).  All of history has forever been within His grasp.


You might think a being that big would cease to be personal or intimate.   Au contraire, mon frere.  The Master knows our names, our needs and our words even before we speak them.  (Which, by the way, begs a question of why we pray in the first place... but that is another post.  Stay tuned! )  He lives with us, and calls us friends.  While Google's vastness, presence, and helpfulness is astounding at times, can we call it a true friend? That which is inanimate cannot claim intimacy.  While it may serve as a tool in the  creation of connections, it can never create the connections themselves.  An true connection is something our Father is the Master of  It can never claim to be so knowing as to allow is to discover our very selves.   The only information it uses is which we present to it.  The box may seem to know all; we have all come up dry from time to time... worse.  Thankfully, He, actually does know all, and with him we never come up short.  


The next time you enter the wonders of the internet and are struck by the tool that has become a part of our every-day existence I hope you will be struck, too, by One who is ever-so-much higher greater. and more-knowing than that.   

Noses...

See how my nose is crinkled when I smile?  I have always hated that.  I as a tortured teenage soul, I would spend long moments in front of a mirror, attempting to smile without the crinkle.  I can do it now...sometimes. My nose has always stuck out (bad pun intended) as a source of vain irritation for me.

I remember conversations with well meaning loved ones who espoused  the merits of my Berling family beak.  Some of them even share it. (Disclaimer:  let the record show that my beef has been with the smeller on my face.  Yours looks perfectly proportional upon yours. Irrational, but true. )

Every girl has things they wish were different about themselves, and their bodies. We seem to be wired to compare ourselves to others we see.  I spent a few minutes on Pinterest the  other day and was struck my how many of the comments sounded like a hollow echo chamber of "if only"

"If only, I were that skinny..." "Wish, I had the thighs to pull that off..." "Wish I could have her hair..."  "Look at those nails!"  "I would wear those if only I had her ankles."

We are not always concerned with what's in the mirror.  But it does come up quite often.   Cate Blanchett made all kinds of news for putting her "real face" on the cover of Intelligent Life magazine.  This implies that  not  using computer editing to alter an image to make it more appealing happens so rarely it constitutes actual  newsworthiness.  In America,  public schools offer photo editing for school pictures.  Do little Sally's freckles really need to be erased from her kindergarten mug?   Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of my pictures,  (most notably from the totally awkward teen years) I may have  loved to have had the luxury changing. But what are we saying if we think every image needs to be edited to me complete?   In this age of readily available photo shop and airbrushing, the temptation (especially  for women) to compare ourselves to an unattainable standard looms ever present.  Computer generated "perfection" has slithered its way  into our everyday reality and lied to us.  We've bought the lie and so often now strive to look like an allusion.

Even if we take computers and Photoshop out of the equation, there are other slithering snakes that will bring the temptation of  "if only" and all that comes with it back into play.  Make-up.  Diets. Hair dye.  Did you know that the women who invented Spanx is the world's youngest self made billionare?

I am not saying we should all crawl out of bed and never give a second thought to what others will see.  I realize that there is a fun side to sparkles, and make-up and things that make us feel pretty.   Enjoy that.  Play around with the photo editing, too.  Just realize you were beautiful before any of that, and you will be gorgeous long after it's all gone.

Reading my friend Becca's Photography stuff the other day I was struck by something she said:  "Beauty is found in the genuine."  So simple.  So true. (Plus she takes great pics!) True beauty cannot be created by any combination of allusions or mirrors.  True beauty is a refection of the Creator wherever and whenever it's found. The Father of lights leaves little bits of amazing everywhere we look.. .There is genuine beauty in the grace of His creativity resting in us.

I don't want my girls thinking they have to strive to be something different to feel beautiful.  I don't want them tethered to illusions.  I don't want them toiling at the Sysiphus-like chore of trying meet unrealistic expectations.  I do not want them buying the lie.  I want them to know they are beautiful just the way they are, because of the One in whom all beauty originates.

I caught them both laughing so hard  they were rolling on the floor tonight.  Mia had nothing but a diaper on, Cowboy Macaroni was crusted on the corner of her mouth.  Abi had four colors of paint in her hair and four (yes four) different socks on.  Their noses crinkled a little when they looked up at me.  And I sighed, because it was, in a word: BEAUTIFUL.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

    my soul knows it very well.

¹⁵ 

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

¹⁶ 

Psalm 139: 14-15

Getting Unstuck

I have a friend.  In the interest of privacy, we will call her Clare.  Clare is 11 years old and has a severe case of Downs Syndrome.  Mentally, she functions on par with most one and a half year-old children.  Claire is sweet and tenderhearted.  She loves Disney Princesses, shoes, pizza and legos.   More than anything in the world she wants to make her mom smile.

A few months after I met her,  Clare developed a habit-- of sitting.  She wouldn't dream of hurting anyone or disturbing anything....She will not cry or throw a fit.  But when others are playing or working around her. She is very content to sit.  Clare has lost her sparkle.  Her smile has become an endangered sight.  All day long, attempts to engage her result in a hunkered down resolve to sit.


No more drawing, or basketball, dancing or lego-fests.  No more proud attempts to write her name or show me the Walmart ad with the  new Ariel clips she just had to have for her hair.  Nope, let's just sit.  Bathroom?  Nah.  Don't need it.  What's that, you want to go outside?   If I must. As soon as we get out I will sit some more.

One day when she was particularly stuck, we had a pizza treat.  I set it across the room, where she could see it and smell it.  I was hoping that would act as the on a the carrot on a stick principle to rouse her.

There she sat, like a granite statue in a red polo shirt.  The only thing that moved were the pink and purple ribbons on those Ariel clips.  (My statue always chose her stations under the fans.)

Every time we transitioned to anything it was at least a 20 minute ordeal.  For weeks this went on.  I talked to mom and grandma sister and cousins, too.  They  offered little light, and no solutions.  She would refuse anything and everything for as long as she could in favor of any opportunity  to sit, and do nothing..  Positive reinforcement.  Play based learning and therapies. Self-directed activity time.  Reverse psychology.  Applied behavior analysis. Bribery.  Buddy systems.  Temporary removal of chairs.  I even checked her favorite shoes for pebbles.    My sizable bag of tricks was severely depleted.

I would like to be say it was my stellar teaching efforts, counseling skills or inspirational touch that finally unglued my Clare from her chair and lifted her out of her funk.  It wasn't.  It was Micheal:

No kidding.  A friend of mine doing was working on a college project.  She brought in an old Micheal Jackson CD to use in a presentation.  A few seconds of Beat It, and my sweet statue was groovin' and back to her old self.  From then on, when she started to get in a funk, we would pull out the Thriller album and get back to business.

Something about that song spoke to her.  It motivated her.  It connected her to what she needed.   Maybe that's what the Psalmist meant when they remarked:

The Lord is my strength and my song;

     he has become my salvation. Psalm 118:14

When we are stuck and we don't want to move.  The Lord is the song to get us dancing again.  Through music, through scriptures, through the loving support of friends and family, He sends that song, that hope and that support.  When we feel small, or insignificant, He is our strength.  When we have reached the end of our bag of tricks He always comes through.  Sometimes it's with a hug, or a word, or a friend...(or  maybe an 80's pop album.)

 What gets you up and moving? 

How has the Lord been your strength and your song?   

Chasing Waves

A few years ago, my family enjoyed a Christmas celebration on the beach at South Padre Island.  Instead of holding the Wilks family Christmas traditions at one of our houses, my amazing in-laws decided we would all gather at a sunny-condo.   We had all the beauty, all the relaxation, all the fun of a shore-line respite without the crowds, or any vain stress over swimsuits.  Add to that Christmas memories, lots of family time, and well, awesomeness ensued.  (Plus, John and I won the cooking competition, but that's another story.)

The trip was brimming with moments that I will carry with me forever.  One image in particular, has been flashing to the front of my mind today.  Shortly after we arrived and unloaded, John and I took the older kids (then 6 and 3-ish) to experience the ocean.  (Ian was tiny, still small enough to sleep in a suitcase sized crib, or in Grandma's arms, so that is where he stayed.)  We played in the sand.  We looked for shells.  We watched the clouds move on the horizon.  We listened to the waves crash.  We ran along the tide-line.  

It was an immense time, with immense surroundings.  I think it was the sheer enormity of everything that affected Ben that evening.  He thoroughly enjoyed himself, but he would not go near the waves.  He was very careful to stay where the sand was wet, but the water would not wash his feet.  He laughed and explored and went his usual mile-a-minute-way, always respecting that invisible line..... in the beginning.

And then, the line was gone. Something snapped. The boundary that kept him out of the water disappeared.      Was it erased by the security of the moment?  Was obliterated by his curiosity?

Forever Mr. Independent,  Ben had managed to run several yards ahead before breaking free.  He was running in and out with the water trying to beat the waves back to the soaked sand where we were.   I watched him from a distance, soaking in his freedom before moving closer.

My barely six-year-old boy was taking on the waves like a champ.  He was so free, so alive, so very happy and strong.  Laughter came from deep in his belly.  Oh, and another thing... and he was talking smack to the ocean.  I couldn't hear it over the roar of the waves, until I moved closer.

 At the top of his lungs, with joy in his heart  Ben was shouting at the waves that surrounded him: "Oh yea!  Take that!  You are BIG!  But God is Bigger.  He makes me strong.  I can take you.  Knock me over-- I'll just get back up again.!!!!..."

Normally, the worrier in me would have been rearing her ugly head at the thought of my boy running off into the waves with that much gusto.  Not that day.  My heart swelled with pride and joy and shared freedom in that moment.  I knew he would be okay; better than okay actually.

Right then, before I forgot, I said a prayer that Ben and our whole family could hold on to that picture.  I wanted him--and all of us--to keep that forever.

Because there are oceans that we face  through out all of life: Oceans of doubt, oceans of depression, oceans of pressure, oceans of  sickness, oceans of every day stress.  All kinds of things threaten to engulf us,  drown us, or keep us from enjoying the fullness of all that God has in store.   They are real. They are big.  And they are scary.

One of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, says, "Faith is fear that has said it's prayers."

Facing  the waves in our life, we want to look to Jesus; to walk on the water.  Peter was so lucky that day. That must have been so amazing:  a little stroll that defied the laws of physics. What did it feel like?   And then, in the end Jesus was right there to catch him, and pull him up.  The actual hand of God stretching down to lift him out.   Again, amazing. (Matthew 14:22-28)

Never happened to me.  So far I haven't gotten to tread upon the surface of the water,  When I fight the waves I end up like Ben: fully clothed.  fully wet. fully sandy.  And fully surrounded.  Does it take any less faith for us  to continue to be fully joyful in the midst of the onslaught, than it took for Peter to remain focused on Jesus in those moments?  No.  And is it any less amazing when HE is right there with us, rescuing in the midst of the waves and bringing us back to walk with Him along the shore?  Not at all.

The floods have lifted up, O Lord,

    the floods have lifted up their voice;

    the floods lift up their roaring.

⁴ 

Mightier than the thunders of many waters,

    mightier than the waves of the sea,

     the Lord on high is mighty!       Psalm 93:3-4

holding a hand

The old cliche says the best things come in small packages.  Daniel, at six, has a body barely bigger than a two year old.  His sandy hair never finds a correct place to lay.   His eyes hold a blue hue so strong you'd swear they had been painted on by a master artist.  Daniel shares his name with a Biblical hero known for strength and bravery.  Standing up to lions and kings was child's play.  Some people I know call that a shame that  little Daniel finds it difficult to stand at all.

They call him frail and weak.  Some whisper behind his back about how odd he is.  Some speak their derision directly to him, figuring he must not be able to understand.  Some fail to ever see him at all. Daniel wrestles with severe developmental delays.  He deals with gigantic stomach, bone, brain and neurological issues.  Something as simple as holding a book or a ball proves astronomically difficult.

Daniel's nerves lacked a component present in most that helps them fire and connect correctly.   This missing ingredient causes a  sort of perpetual short circuit.  It makes body movement difficult to control, or even muster in the first place.  After years of intensive therapy,  he is able to move, and even walk, if he holds to a trusted hand.  Without that contact, he remains locked inside his body, as a prison of brokenness.  With that connection, he enjoys a measure of freedom.  Something about that familiar touch allows those nerves to stretch and fire that much harder.  As long as he holds a loving hand. he could walk the mall,  or feel grass between his toes.   With a hand he can experience the autonomy of choosing the swings over the slide.  Without the boost from that touch  he  sits lost in himself.

We live in a culture that idolizes independence.  We champion complete autonomy and freedom  at every turn.  Our educational system strives for self-sufficiency.   Our movies applaud the self-made man.  We isolate ourselves so we can have the pleasure of accomplishing things all by ourselves.  A friend pointed out to me recently that one of the most popular songs at American funerals is "I Did It My Way".

Not only will Daniel never sing that song, he will never possess that independence we are swimming in.  He will work harder than most of us could relate to, while celebrating smaller gains than most of us would notice.  Some will pity him.  Some will mourn for him.  Some will choose to look away.  Still, others may see that by embracing a life of dependence, we too, cast off some of that brokenness.

 We often equate freedom and independence.  What is true on Forth of July, and in Armageddon movies stands ultimately false.  William Inge writes, " Christianity promises to make men free, it never promises to make them independent."   When we can stop chasing after a go-it-alone mentality we can follow the One who constantly seeks relationship.  Taking up the cross requires laying down our independence and the masks of self-sufficiency that accompany them. Walking with Christ means we hold to that trusted hand, never letting go.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
       where does my help come from?

  My help comes from the LORD,
       the Maker of heaven and earth. 

                                     Psalm 121

What is in the Center?

She picks a big book off the table. Ever so carefully, she opens it to the center. “So, Mom, did I find Psalms, or Proverbs?” It's a common question in our house these days, and one that I enjoy hearing more than I can find the words for at this moment. My almost-5- year-old princess is becoming quite fascinated with the Word. She memorizes like a sponge and takes in the stories like living water. I praise God for these answered prayers. She has also learned, that if you take your Bible and very carefully open it to the middle, you will more than likely find Psalms or Proverbs. Like a Bible scholar in training, she practices several times a day. I LOVE this pastime. I relish it. I encourage it. I pray that it expands and grows.

But I confess, sometimes I giggle. Sometimes I bite my lip to stifle the laughter that wants to escape. Because, no matter how carefully you open those pages, it is very hard to find Psalms or Proverbs in your brother's World Record Book, in the Jumbo Star Wars coloring book, or in the Anthology of Whole Grain Baking.

She gets seriously bummed and even angry when you try to explain she did not actually find the wisdom she seeking. Because, she was looking, and, by her estimation, following the way that she was taught. But she has forgotten one detail. It matters WHICH book you use.

In the beginning of this Lenten season, I wonder how often we see ourselves mirrored in my daughter's search for Psalms and Proverbs. During this preparation time, we try and make more room in our lives to search for Truth, and Wisdom. We give up little indulgences or maybe we take on disciplines in hopes of seeing, and becoming a little more like Jesus. We follow the rules and examples hoping if we do everything right we will land where we intended.

But sometimes, I wonder, if in out quest to do Lent right, we are still somehow looking in the wrong place. We have made it about the challenge of lent. We have made it about working on ourselves and exploring what we can accomplish. (Instead we should work for Kingdom purposes while He molds and shapes us.) Maybe I spend too much time in the playroom, but it seems to me that leaving Christ out of the journey of Lent is akin to attempting to find Psalms in the Guinness Book of World Records. We have part of the picture engrained but we are still looking in the wrong place. And we may end up, bummed, or annoyed or angry when we realize that introspection and self-denial in and of themselves are only a form of selfishness masquerading in robes of false piety. They cannot and will not lift up the Christ we wish to see.

I am not saying we should abandon Lenten disciplines. I am saying we should look at the direction they point our hearts. Jesus echoes the words of the Prophet Hosea as he talks, saying, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” (Hosea 6:6, Matthew 9:12). Pious discipline for pious discipline's sake (or for the sake of the challenge) will not point us toward redemption. Disciplines that place us in a better position to spread the mercy of the Kingdom here and now will allow us to be Easter people and reflect His light.



What discipline, or what fast have you taken on in this season?

How will you actively serve the Kingdom of God in this time?

Where do you go for wisdom and strength when the Lenten season proves difficult?

Can't Hear You

One word describes my day today:  LOUD.  The alarm broke through the peace of slumber and I haven't had anything close to quiet since.  Children argued.  Babies teethed.  School was thunderous.   Volume controls seemed stuck at eleven.  Today has held nonstop noise.

After a work day described as boisterous at best.  I returned home to loud wii games, and sweet, loud children.  I set about cooking a pork roast and trying to quiet my mind; still my spirit.  Before I knew what I had done smoke alarms blared.   The pan was too hot, and lime pepper was smoking fervently.  I grabbed a towel to fan the fog and promptly set it ablaze.  Nice.  Alarms rang louder.

I put out the flames without an issue.  Next to tackle: the problem of all that noise.  By this point all three kids were crying and hiding under their favorite blankets.  I tried to be light-hearted to put them at ease.   I  stood,  singing and making jokes while I tried to find a switch on the alarm.  Have I mentioned the decibel level creeping higher by the minute?

I called my dad and screamed into the phone, "Could he please help?"  He came over and joined the cacophony of sound that surrounded us.  We had to yell to hear each other.  Broomsticks banged wall units.   Breakers surged on and off.  Fans wobbled.    Ladders clanged underfoot.  The dog ran back outside to find peace.

Finally, we discovered the trick to stopping the vicious assault on our senses; one small button at the back of the house.  We closed the windows.  We put away the brooms and ladders.  We stopped the fans. Blankets returned to beds.  The house became still again, for a few moments.  Ian fell asleep on my shoulder in record time.  Abi giggled.  I breathed it in deeply.  Ben threw his arm up and remarked, "Yea, all the sounds are gone, now we can hear!"

But let all who take refuge in you be glad;
       let them ever sing for joy.
       Spread your protection over them,
       that those who love your name may rejoice in you.

                                           Psalm 5:11

The loudness of life points to need of a refuge, a shelter.  Some days present that assault on our senses, on our faith, on our outlook.  We need that place of safety  where all we hear is the certainty of His guidence.   We need the noise to leave, so we can hear the One ever present amongst all the sound of life..

Ash Wednesday

 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;

  O Lord, hear my voice.
       Let your ears be attentive
       to my cry for mercy.

 If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins,
       O Lord, who could stand?

 But with you there is forgiveness;
       therefore you are feared.

 I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
       and in his word I put my hope.

  My soul waits for the Lord
       more than watchmen wait for the morning,
       more than watchmen wait for the morning.

 O Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
       for with the LORD is unfailing love
       and with him is full redemption.

  He himself will redeem Israel

       from all their sins.

                              Psalm 130

Today marks the beginning of Lent.  Christians are challenged to follow in an extra measure of ancient discipline in order to find newness, intimacy, or connection with the One who gave his life for us.  Some give up chocolate, meat, make-up or Facebook.  Some commit to take on new or deeper habits of prayer, study, or Christian action.  All this we do, in eager preparation and celebration of resurrection and redemption.

We wear a reminder of or brokenness not as a badge of honor, or a whip of martyrdom, but rather as a mark of humility.  We need that mercy, that forgiveness, that connection to something more, if we will stand in this world.  We say with the Psalmist. "my soul waits for You" more than the stuff I have gained, or even that which I have committed to give up.  He must become the more which we crave.  

Today, we acknowledge our finite lives because we understand we need the Infinite One.  We deny ourselves in a world that champions the concept of more so that we find rest in a world that offers the concept of simplicity.  We begin a walk through the valley, knowing the One who formed the mountains will be our guide.