Vivi Dropped Her Basket (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

Vivi had a secret.

In the novel, Devine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, we meet a group of older women who have been friends since early childhood. Despite their flaws, they still care deeply for each other. A war has erupted between one of the sisterhood, Vivi, and her adult daughter, Sidda. Like many family conflicts, it stems from equal parts truth and misunderstanding.

Hoping to reconcile mother and daughter, the other members of the Ya Ya Sisterhood kidnap Sidda from her life in New York City and spirit her away to Louisiana. Because she needs to understand just why her mother is so difficult a person, they must reveal to Sidda her mother's deepest, darkest secret. And so, they tell her.

Vivi dropped her basket.

That’s the phrase Vivi used to describe a time when she had a mental and emotional breakdown as a young mother, brutally beat her children, and was then hospitalized for her subsequent attempted suicide.

Vivi dropped her basket.

Life can be tough. Some of us fare better than others. Some of us are, for reasons known and unknown, stronger than others when it comes to our mental and emotional health. And, even when we appear strong to those around us, we can be coming apart on the inside.

Any of us can be fragile. Even those of us who follow Jesus. We are not immune.

The Twila Paris song, The Warrior is a Child, is about that fragility among believers: "People say that I'm amazing, strong beyond my years. But they don't see inside of me, I'm hiding all the tears ... I drop my sword and cry for just a while, 'cause deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child." (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uRNFf3ykQvM)

Elijah, a true warrior for the Lord, was this almost superhuman prophet of the Old Testament. He performed amazing feats in the name of the Lord. People were in awe of his power and authority. To his peers, he seemed the ideal warrior for the Lord.

And yet.

Elijah dropped his basket.

That's the story we find in this week's Lectionary passage from 1 Kings. This great warrior for God, on the heels of a mighty victory ... just loses it. In fear, he runs out into the wilderness; so depressed, he begs God to take his life. Do you see God’s response?

Rest and sustenance.

And then ... more rest and sustenance.

Why? Because God knew Elijah needed both before he could begin the journey back; a journey that included an audience with God.

Keep that in mind as we face the struggles that affect us in this life. No matter how strong we've been, no matter how amazing our most recent mountaintop experience, no matter the number of victories we've achieved, any of us can drop our basket.

Like Elijah, we can depend on God to be in it with us, to hear what we have to say, and, if we can receive it, to ensure we receive the rest and sustenance we need for our journey.

But there’s something else here: we might, instead, be the person God has sent to deliver the rest and sustenance to one who has dropped their basket.

Just like the Ya Ya Sisterhood.

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PHOTO: Steve Orr - Waco, Texas - August, 2018

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A slightly different version of this reflection appeared in June 2016.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 14 (19) (August 12, 2018)
https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu//

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33
Psalm 130
1 Kings 19:4-8
Psalm 34:1-8
Ephesians 4:25-5:2
John 6:35, 41-51
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Once again, we meet Friday morning for DaySpring’s Lectionary Breakfast at the Waco “Egg and I” restaurant. Join us at 8:00 for a great hour of food and fellowship. We’re usually in the function room (down the outside, near the back). But if you can’t find us, ask.

Blessings,
Steve

The Friendly Home (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I had my first lesson on orphans in the Third Grade; when I struck up a conversation with Bill. We stood around on the playground of Andrew Jackson Elementary, sensing that recess was coming to a close. We knew we would soon be told to line up, so most of us gathered near the big wood and glass doors that led back into the building.

Bill had carroty red hair, cut in a burr, and more freckles on his face than I had ever seen in my brief life. He was shorter than most of the people in our class, girls included, and that was made obvious by the expanse of blue jean double-rolled into a huge cuff where his stubby legs met his feet.

I don't recall what conversational path brought me to the question that day, but I clearly remember what happened when I asked Bill, "And where is YOUR house?"

Everyone stopped talking.

And Bill looked stricken.

Is it just me or did anyone else feel that you were woefully uninformed as you made your way through school? I often had this feeling that OTHER children's parents must tell them things. It seemed I was always the one to ask the awkward question or speak the unspeakable. I sometimes felt as if I had been dressed in oversized rubber boots and sent to walk through delicate flowers.

So, while Bill walk away, Becky turned to me and, with as much exasperation as a Third Grade girl can muster, whisper-hissed, "He lives at The Friendly Home."

"The Friendly Home" meant nothing to me, but I had the sense to wait until I got home to ask about it. It was at supper that I learned we had an orphanage there in my hometown of Paducah, Kentucky, and that some of the children who lived there attended our school.

Based on my reading of "Little Orphan Annie" stories, I thought orphans were children who did not have parents. It was some years before I learned the term could have a much broader meaning than I had gleaned from reading the Sunday funnies. Quite by accident I later learned that children living at The Friendly Home might, in fact, actually HAVE one or more parents. This was much more difficult for my parents to explain to me.

In time, of course, I did come to understand that circumstances arise from which the best solution is to separate parents and their children, as horrible as that sounds. But the circumstance that struck me as the saddest was when parents voluntarily abandoned their children. I just could not grasp how someone could "give up" their child. Still later in life, I came to understand that sometimes parents "give up" their children without ever physically separating for them; that "abandonment" can happen when parents stop caring about their children even though they continue to live in the same home.

With all of this as background, I was a bit shocked to read in one of this week's Lectionary passages that, "Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close." (Psalms 27:10 NLT).

But, that's great news, right? It is wonderfully comforting to know that God wants us even when others don't. So, where is the shock?

It is in the phrase at the very beginning of the Psalm: "Of David."

David? Shepherd David? Songwriter David? Giant-killer David? KING David?! Why would David write about being abandoned by his parents? There is nothing in scripture to suggest David was an orphan or that he ever lived in an orphanage. Quite the opposite; father, mother, and several siblings. So where does he get the basis for verse 10?

I think I know. David was the least in his family, in more ways than one; he was the youngest, and, based on his father's response when the prophet Samuel asked Jesse to present his sons, the last thing on his father's mind. His brothers also treated David as someone of little value in the "real" world. Yes, I think that, even though he lived at home in his youth, David understood abandonment.

You can be an orphan without living at The Friendly Home.

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http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu

READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Second Sunday in Lent (February 24, 2013)
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
Psalm 27
Philippians 3:17-4:1
Luke 13:31-35 or Luke 9:28-36, (37-43a)

We're just starting into the season of Lent. Join us one of these Friday mornings (8:00 a.m.) at "The Egg and I" in Waco for some delicious breakfast and some equally tasty conversation about the scriptures.

Enjoy the week!
Steve