what if we just did?

Hint: I’m reading Acts.

Acts like things you do. Actions. Movements. Speakings. It is not a passive thing.

I read about Apollos in Acts chapter 18 today. This guy’s special. He was from Alexandria in Egypt, and he knew almost nothing about Jesus.

So: ought not Paul to be remarking what an eager learner this fellow was, or how regularly he sought out teaching an instruction? Perhaps we should be reminded that this guy was always sitting in synagogues, at the feet of Paul, always listening and soaking things up. After all, he knew ONLY about John’s baptism of Jesus.

This is where God does his usual thing, which is an unusual thing. (God is not boring. Remember that. Your life maybe won’t shock you so much after.)

Apollos is known for teaching.

But –

No, you read it right. Teaching. Now, clearly there were some missing elements of his teaching, because Acquilla and Priscilla took him to their home and taught him all that he needed to know to more fully declare the beautiful gospel.

He started teaching way before that though. Can you imagine standing before a learned crowd that studied and memorized the scriptures from the time they were children, and explainng to them the ways of your Savior? Put yourself there: wrap your toga a smidge tighter so that when you gesture wildly in joy at the things God’s done, it doesn’t slip. And explain again how with a simple *dunk* John put Jesus under the water – so reluctant to baptize the Christ! – and when Jesus stood up with water dripping from his beard and off his nose and with his tunic stuck to him all wrinkly, like any human, the voice of His Father, God himself, opened heaven like soft praise and a Dove-Spirit descended down.

Seriously, what if we did that? I know it’s scary. I know you won’t understand the Greek and Hebrew roots of scripture without deep and regular study. I know you won’t be able to contextualize every passage, understand the dual meanings of various prophesies, tear apart the insinuations of the beatitudes, etc.

Gosh, people. Does it take all that? Yes, it is beautiful and instructive and helpful and each of us should have a buddy in Bible School so that we learn better how to learn and what to learn. But does it take all that? Do you need to know each verse in order to tell people the offensive good news of the Gospel?

I don’t think so. Let me explain it differently.

Suppose I write a book. It’s a famous book. It’s the best selling book in the history of everness. That kind of famous. Now further suppose it is a life-changing book. So naturally, after I change your life, you want to help other people. (I happen to have an inflated view of my life. JK. It’s an example. Just keep reading.)

Naturally, in order to learn more about this life-changing-ness, you go to college:  you pick a school that writes books about my book and that teaches from my book and all the professors have read my book (most of them anyway.)

Or, you could phone me. Read my book, read it again, phone me again (I’m readily available. 867-5309… haaaaahahaha). Read it some more. Memorize a bit.

Really though. Do you think that the people God made – however Godly and wise and learned – can teach you more about his book than he can? But somehow, we take that arrogant view, I think. And not intentionally. But it can happen.

[This is a radical concept even to me. I kind of just discovered it as I wrote it. Somebody remind me to read this again in a while!]

You know, I have friends in Bible school and I highly commend them. For the longest time, I assumed they were better than me. They’re majoring in Biblical Studies and I’m in Literature. I majored in Literature because I love Literature. I questioned myself as to whether that was a bad thing. No, no I don’t think so. (Mostly that’s a discussion for another time.) But I tried to condone my choice by arguing that the disciples were loud, uncouth fishermen, and they understood the Gospel. If uneducated men working the “fall-back” career of the day could be disciples, couldn’t I? I get that my attitude wasn’t right about it. I felt guilty and I was trying to rationalize.

However. I think now that I found the correct answer in the incorrect way. If volatile, thunderous fishermen can be chosen ones; if self-saving wishy-washy Peter can be an agent of grace; if men who don’t understand what Jesus and the scriptures have been saying about his resurrection can be apostles; then by golly grace, so can I.

Below – Caribou Coffee asks: if you could talk to one historical character: who? Yes, you people. Yes.

So let’s do it. Lets be out there and teach. Let’s explain the grace we do know instead of waiting for more. Let’s teach what we have and share what we’ve been given. We can receive more instruction and we should wholeheartedly seek it, but we should not let it stop us.

If all you know is the baptism, teach the baptism.

been doin’ stuff. ain’t been bloggin’.

Huh.

I slacked off, I did.

Oops.

Want some photos?

Really, I don’t know how else to introduce this. “Have a slice of life! Go back pre-Christmas wid I!” Or, “I know people. Here’s their muggies.” Maybe even, “Have fun going back to school, cuz of I aint!”

Did I mention I’ve graduated college?

Ok. Party time!

But before that, some stuff happened. Because Thanksgiving evening, the sibs were swing dancing in the living room and yeah, that’s pretty epic. Have you ever seen a mug shot of people’s feet?

Black Friday is the Official Christmas Decorating Day. Mum’s like, OCDD about it. [Ahahaaaaa bad pun. Sorreh. But not.]

But the point is, KK darlin’ and I put all the pretty red all over Bruno, and I think he actually liked it. Dad did too for about a second and a half and then it had to go. Then there’s this chile, who’s basically amazing and I love her and why can’t she come over right now and interrupt me and make me all smiley and stupid? Baby doll child, come home. An order.

{Today I move from imigraaaaant / to high society!}

Fortuosity, by Tommy Steele, on “The Happiest Millionaire”. That’s what came on spotify at the moment. Go listen to it.

Going forward. The graduated thing! Mumsy had me a surprise party! I love surprises. They got me home and I opened the door and saw the broski! He’s supposed to be at college, so that was a surprise.

“You having friends over?”

“Yeah, cuz that’s – ” but I stopped him; I saw a cake on the table and assumed it was for my sister.

“For Christa’s birthday?”

“No, that’s what you do when there’s a graduation!”

The first realizing begins to happen – snail-paced.

“A party? Why wasn’t I invited?!” #stupidstupidstupid

“Because… it was a … surprise…?”

Oh!

Wow. Some grad I make. Can’t realize when I’ve been given a surprise party! Ha. The lit major failed at Taboo. (That’s I: laugh.)

Kape, get this.

My bestie gotted me coffee, and chat time, AND a SECOND surprise party! May have been some of my best moments this year. But honestly, darling, who doesn’t like coffee and games and surprises and cake and mugs and The Hobbit Premier and all that for a surprise party present?

This is my fave. The peeps are re-doing their floor. So they painted me a graduation congratulation mural on the unfinished floor. And signed it. And yeah.So. Wassa uppa on your end, eh?

Do Them Hard Things

I had a happy moment last week.

I passed a test. The last test.

I passed the last test.

I still have some courses left, but I have finished the last test. That’s important because so many reasons. It’s college. (I love passing college tests.) I’m working so hard for a collegiate presidential signature to say I’ve learned lots of literature. I started a few years ago and put on my deadline face and worked to be done by this month.

I’m not. I missed a goal. This month came and I had fifteen credits on a spreadsheet tacked to my closet door, watching me even in my sleep. Now there’s less. There’s six. It’s not zero, but it’s not fifteen either.

(That spreadsheet there on the right? Yeah. It didn’t used to be highlighted, but now, what’s done is blue. It’s mostly blue. I’ve mostly shaken my blues. It’s a happy change.)

This spring picked me up and threw my plan a ways off and said “Let’s take a ride” and wouldn’t put me down, so we went on a ride and I couldn’t quite reach the plan, laying down there where the dust was.

We were short-staffed at work, and I took a trip, and I failed a test and things were a bit hard and unhappy for a while. Studying was difficult and it didn’t always work, and I took a test and missed it, and I cried.

Now? Now things have looked up. I made a new plan and a new goal, and I’m meeting it. I picked a new graduation and pressed on and jumped wide and hard over the hurdles without skimming my toes on their paint or knocking my knees on their heads.

There was another hard moment too, a while ago. Back before I had my plan planned onto a spreadsheet, I cried and stressed and questioned about which college? And which degree? And in-state? And why would this be so hard on my soul and my happy and my tear ducts?

That’s gone now too. It’s there upstairs being alive and remembered and I’m not inviting it back. I know I’ll cry days and I’ll question days, but I’m not bringing that old furniture downstairs to ruin my happy, promising rooms.

Now I’m being an overcomer, and I’m going to keep trying things and doing things and being afraid of things, and then looking at that feared thing all wide-eyed and stupid-happy and doing it.

Imma keep being a Cliff-Jumper.

(That there rocky spot off my finger – I stood there and shook a wee and flew, and loved it. Photo creds to Bestie, right here.)

It’s a Monday, and a hard day sometimes, and maybe it’s a Monday month for you, or year. Maybe you just hope it gets easier. It does. You will be ok. Don’t be afraid to jump, darling. So tell me:

What are you scared-silly and brave about?