In Defense of the Good-Hearted Pot Stirrer

Pot stirrers: We are the people who like to wade in to a topic or issue, even if it's awkward, and look under stuff and address issues and expose inconsistencies and push boundaries so that it brings attention or potential change to something that might otherwise have gone unnoticed.

I'm sure some people do it because they like the attention. Some people like to start the fire, then sit back with their popcorn and enjoy the spectacle purely for entertainment. (You know who you are!) Some people are actually looking to stir up trouble and just be angry without productivity.

But some pot stirrers do it as a genuine desire to gain greater insight and productively fight the good fight. I am typically this type of pot stirrer, and I go in and out of pot-stirring phases. Right now, I want to stir all the pots. I've asked myself why, especially given that others are not pot stirrers, and still others are even agitated by all the stirring up of the perfectly calm pot.

The best I can gather is the following list. If you're a pot stirrer, maybe you'll identify with some of these. If you're not, maybe they'll help you understand all those annoying people around you who just won't leave well enough alone. Like yours truly.

10. Stagnancy Stinks

We cannot stand stagnancy. We hate it. Some people loathe change. We loathe the lack of it. Life is organic and developing, and if I am in a mental or spiritual stalemate, I lose my mind.

9. Blind Acceptance Is Lazy

Doing something 'that way' just because that's what you were told, or because that's the way it's always been done...is irresponsible. If there is a glitch in the system, why in heaven's name wouldn't we want to address it to make for smoother sailing ahead? And if there doesn't appear to be a glitch in the system, we always want to keep a wary eye open, just in case. Faults in the system can lead to all kinds of crimes against others. We hate injustice.

8. Authenticity Is Worth the Fight

Systems, cultures, and popular opinion are so very powerful. They tend to become a massive wave that moves the tide with force, carrying everything along with it. It is easy to go with the flow, and so often that is a source of strength for us, if the flow is on the right track. But if it's not, it takes a stronger pull against it to go another direction and examine why it's off course. We don't like feeling like we're being swept off course. We'd rather exert every last ounce of energy to swim out of that than relinquish our autonomy to a flawed system. We'd rather be uncomfortable and authentic.

7. We Love to Explore

We're deep diggers. We tend to philosophize. We are hungry for more information and love to ask "Why?" If everything is calm and settled, we know there's always more, so we want to see what's hiding under all that calm and find the treasure deep down below. One of my favorite proverbs says, "It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, but the glory of kings is to search it out" (Proverbs 25:2). This Bible quote doesn't mean we should all be pot stirrers. It's just one that resonates profoundly with the pot stirrer in me.

6.  Critical Thinking Is Not Obsolete, and Must Never Be 

We think critical thinking is necessary for survival. In our day and age, it's actually probably not necessary for everyone; some seem to plug along without it, and we all have our lapses. But for us, to not analyze is death. That's super dramatic. I know. :)

5.  Complacency Is Prison

What if things could be better? What if you feel like you're just sleepwalking, and it appears that loads of people around you are just sleepwalking, and you feel slightly heavy and drugged and robotic and then you suddenly snap out of it and shake your head back and forth and desperately want to wake everyone else up? That's really dramatic, too. But the pot stirrers, the boundary pushers, sometimes go there not because we're all really asleep but because we can see how the drug could easily settle in if the pot (not weed, but the friend of the kettle) doesn't get a nice, hefty swirl of the spoon. Stir it up! Yes, this one is very Matrix-y.

4.  We Are Curiouser and Curiouser... 

We're curious as all get out. It's sort of a repeat of #7, except less serious and intense. It can be light-hearted and good-natured, too. I don't know it all yet, and there's just SO MUCH TO KNOW! It's very exciting. When we don't have answers, we really want one. Stirring the pot brings interested parties out of the shadows, and maybe we'll learn something. Bonus!

3. Doctrine Is Very Seldom a Settled Matter

Speaking of not knowing everything... We're not wed to any doctrine. We think it's dangerous. There are only one or two things of which I've allowed my faith to be certain. Beyond that, until mankind knows everything, our opinions are not certainly accurate. Being open to new perspectives and viewpoints is wisdom. God's ways are higher than our ways. Get. Rid. Of. Your. Box. <--Sorry to be so bossy, sort of. Keep your box if you like. Your choice.

2. We Want Goodness and Truth to Win

And we want to be part of the fight. We are principled perhaps to a fault. We have to be careful that this part of our drive doesn't contradict and smush up #3.

1. We Want to Share the Wonder

...Because it's all so wonderful! We really think everyone should be thinking about whatever this oh-so-desperately-important issue is that is currently nagging us. Because they should be. Why isn't that obvious to everyone? ;)

So go easy on your fellow pot-stirrers. They're fighting the good fight! In the end, they stir the pot to serve up greater understanding.

And fellow pot stirrers, good luck with that fine line between fierce, motivated passion over here and palatable delivery to build a bridge over there; knowing when to speak here and when to remain silent ("Oh-dear-Lord-someone-please-hold-me-back-I'm-about-to-explode!") over there. That bit is tough for me. And if you can find another pot stirrer who's ready to get dirty and dig and hash it out--while not taking it too personally (because it's all way bigger than we are)--that's the best! High five.

The Nasty (Inconvenient) Mess of the Unraveled Human

John 13:35

There is this person I love who'd become the single most important voice of spiritual matters in my life. He would always say, "Life is messy! And I'm not afraid of your mess." It was exactly how I felt about life and others having the freedom to be genuine around me, so those comforting words resonated deeply within me.

The thing that really made me stroke my beard in contemplation, though, was how over time, I began to see in this person's behavior that he actually was a little put off by the mess of humanity and life sometimes. He would tolerate it, but there was a real need to stop it fast, to make uncomfortable jokes, to figure out the cause--or make one up to feel safe and tidy--and sweep it up, even if just under the rug. I think a lot of us can be that way. Messes are typically unsightly and difficult to always keep under control. They can sometimes be embarrassing. Some people understand this and with grace do not shrink away from them. Some people just say they do. I trust this person's heart and know that his approach was not intentional, but it was my experience when it mattered. He is still one of the most remarkable people I know, and I am grateful for his role in my life, which is part of what created so much confusion for me. Nobody is perfect.

It's no secret that my son has Type 1 diabetes. It's the insulin-dependent one. Most people are like I was before I knew a thing about it: They just know that there is the OK diabetes and the "bad, scary one." Levi has the latter, but we're not scared. I get scared sometimes, but I don't live there. But the day he got diagnosed was one of the scariest days of my life. And the weeks and months following were some of the scariest, most stressful weeks and months. The learning curve and exceptional degree of constant monitoring were taxing physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Here's what people need in the tough messes life throws out, whether they created the mess for themselves or not (Ready? Here goes.):

Grace.

Support.

Listening ear.

Reassurance.

Help with routine tasks like meals, errands, and child care.

Listen, most people already know the risks and bad statistics of their particular issue, the poor choices they made (if that's applicable), and the litany of approaches to take to make it better or easier. They usually don't need facts. Here's the deal about organic life as a real person: When a wrench is thrown in, it's not the robotic list of logical stats and equations that "fixes everything." People are much too gloriously complicated and rich for that. And some people are in a mess that can't actually be fixed (God help us all!!), so they're learning to adapt, and here's a concept to blow your mind--fixing might not be the immediate need.  They might never get to fixing if they can't first address the overwhelming pain/grief/remorse/stress/worry/sadness/whatever.  So even though we're all fixers, fixing is not always the bottom line. The bottom line is helping others make it through the next day, even the next hour, without completely losing their sh*t and falling apart. The bottom line is love, trite as it sounds.

Those days at the ER with my son were sleepless, powerless, frightening days that showed me a strength I never knew I had, and a strength in my son that convinced me we were going to kick butt at this. I relied on God in the truest, purest sense, because there was nothing in my vast and well stocked reserve of strength and determination that was anywhere near up to this task.

The responses from those who loved us were the next phase of shock for me. Most people were amazing in their sympathy that didn't coddle and their words of encouragement. But two responses stood out to me as significant. They represented that tremendous arc of possibilities on life's massive swinging pendulum.

The first one was from the man of spiritual authority who said he didn't mind messes. He asked few questions, almost never checked in on how we were doing, and--maybe sit down for this--told us what we had done wrong to allow this curse to come upon our son. See, we believe in a spiritual realm where our actions or inactions can open and close doors to spiritual things, bad or good, in our lives. I have no qualms with that. And there was a period of ignorance, not malicious sin, in which we overlooked something important and later quickly remedied it. So be careful out there that you are sure you know everything and are perfect and never have confusion or trouble, because you might be visited with a terrible curse for not always having it together!! And it won't even be you that gets hit directly; oh no, it'll be your kid. And you can just watch it in that grief and horror (that you constantly shove down) for the rest of your life. How's that for comfort? How's that for "helping someone through their mess?" How's that for complete and utter bollocks from any person claiming to represent Christ?  ..... Thought so.

The second response was from a dear friend, maternal to the core, not pretending to have it all together and living her life in whatever way she could to show love and encourage others with acceptance right there in the trenches where it mattered. When I didn't even know I needed it, she was there, asking to help with our other child, asking if she could fix meals, and here's what really blew my mind. We were inundated with medical information, terminology, supplies, and routines that basically took all of our time for the first month or so. We were calculating carbs and insulin doses and giving shots multiple times a day and getting up throughout the night to prick fingers and check blood glucose levels. Not only did this friend help out with our basic needs and creature comforts and general emotional stability, she said, "Teach me everything." She jumped in and learned how to check blood, how to read the meter, how to count carbs and read labels and measure exact portion sizes and detect a low blood sugar and how to treat it and how to measure insulin and pinch the arm fat just so to give a shot. She became several things. She became a fellow nurse to help with the care so that we were not isolated. She became, therefore, a safe place for my son, a babysitter we could trust with his medical condition when we desperately needed a break from the caregiving and sleepless nights and wave after wave of concern. She became another man in the trenches to fight alongside us. She hugged. She prayed. She spoke words of strength when she, too, was confused and scared for this boy she loved. She didn't give a flying flip about our mess. It didn't scare her away.

I have never in my life seen anything like it. And few knew how much time and energy and devotion she was spending on helping us get through the next day, get through this mess that didn't ask us permission. Few to this day know, so there are no public accolades for her. Because she's not running around spouting platitudes about how she doesn't mind messes. She's way too busy jumping into them to grab people's hands and trudge through with them. She's patting crying heads on her shoulder, shedding her own genuine tears.

If there is anyone on this planet that I respect and want to emulate, it is that woman.

I think we try to have it all together because it's orderly and peaceful and puts us in a position to help others when they need it. This is good and right. But it can become all too easy to feel we have to always project that image (Facebook life is not real life, right?) until everything starts to feel very plastic and rote and drained of life's vigor. When that happens in life, something's gone terribly wrong. Life is for the living after all.  When that happens in our relationship with God, it is a dark place; it's what happens with religious activity rather than relationship (Pharisees 101). But life is organic, and yes, it is messy.  And that is OK!  We don't have to run from it or keep messes hidden, because no matter who you are, if you're alive, they'll hit you.  And for mercy's sake, when they hit someone near to you, you don't have to fix them. Or be scared of them. We're all in this thing together.

So here's the kicker. Despite the pain of feeling betrayed by someone who didn't respond well, I recognize that this person was not trying to be inappropriate or cause pain. That was a messy moment for him in his own life. If I'm all about showing grace, it is my privilege to acknowledge that even those who don't always respond well, who don't know everything, can misrepresent themselves and even their God. We're all still going to be OK. Grace, grace, grace. It has to start somewhere.

This much I know: When everything is so stringently raveled up tight, there's a certain freedom that comes when it starts to unravel a bit. New perspective brightens our outlook. We start to loosen up, to remember. We reevaluate priorities and dreams. Maybe we get outside more, read aloud with our kids more, turn up the music and dance more, stop caring so much about who else has a fuller schedule or what we might be doing wrong if we haven't reached this or that career milestone. Because who cares? This whole situation in my life, and similar situations that followed for a few years, have actually shaken my faith to its very core. I mean really shaken, guys. And even that is OK. Because there's another spiritual voice in my life that truly isn't intimidated by my messes: God. So yeah, life's messy. We can deal.

And show massive amounts of love.

From "Welcome to Paradox," Day One: Jerusalem

Has it really been a year since I've posted anything? One year and 9 10 days, to be exact. Well, since it's like an anniversary of sorts, how about I throw something out there?

I started college as a political science major. It beats in my veins. Though I laid that passion down years ago, it still courses through me and is ready for a resurrection. I'm also philosophical about it (and I don't think there's any other way to be, by the way). Without mentioning the craziness over in the Middle East (oops), I have been inspired by it to revisit something I wrote 8 years ago about a trip I took 7 years before that. It's a light travel piece, but it helps me ease back into blog posting rather lazily. If at all. Because, let's be honest, I'm looking to get paid for this schtuff. But it also explains a bit of the turmoil and history over there. If you've been wondering, here's an abbreviated version. The points are purposely not editorialized, though you know I have myriad thoughts on what this all means in application.

Dome of the Rock, Jerusalem

Originally published in "Champlain Anthologies: Best Student Travel Writing," 2008.

Reprinted with permission from the Champlain College Publishing Initiative.

Day One: Jerusalem

I stood atop the Mount of Olives, feeling surreal. A slope of gravestones in the distance led up the other side of the valley floor to the ancient city wall. This stone wall stretched for miles from left to right, trees rising in deep green just on the other side of it. Jerusalem bustled with modern-day activity beyond that, packed with hundreds of square and rectangular buildings of various sizes, leading to the horizon that met the dirty blue sky in an uneven line. A saturation of sandy beige touched everything within our view, everything but the trees.

In the middle of it all, the largest structure in sight loomed above everything else. Just beyond the trees, a muted, indigo-blue octagonal building stood atop the Temple Mount, perhaps the most controversial couple of acres in the world. A bright golden dome sat atop the octagon, standing twice as tall as the base structure and measuring about 60 feet across and 100 feet high. It glowed regally, proudly, in the sunlight. It was the Dome of the Rock.

Everyone in my group had found different spots to sit along the low stone wall surrounding the parking lot, gathering in small groups for panoramic photos. I found an empty area to sit with the sun warm on my arms, wondering what the deal was with this golden dome and what it would be like on the inside in a few hours.

When a few hours came, though, we never got to go inside. Visiting hours were not always consistent, and during prayer times, the time we showed up, only Muslims were allowed entry. I even remembered to wear my long skirt and bring the sleeved shirt that I'd tied around my waist to throw over my shoulders before we entered.

We had approached the complex of mosques on Temple Mount from the north and walked up the 20 or 30 steps to the top platform with the Dome of the Rock, a Muslim shrine. A sort of gateway with four arched openings and three narrow columns topped each of the eight sets of stairs spaced symmetrically around the complex. Walking under the stone arch of the Graceful Arcade at the top of our stairs, we entered the expanse of parched stone tiles that wove throughout all of the buildings. We all stared and murmured to our friends, pointing out every colorful detail.

Our leader's whistle turned all of our heads to him in unison, and he began with a question. "So who can tell me what they know about all the fighting that's going on over here right now?"

I had some thoughts, but we all just blinked at him.

"Come on, guys. This is not a trick question..." he pleaded with us.

"The Palestinians and the Israelis are fighting over a piece of land," some kid I didn't know spoke up from the back with an unsure pitch to his voice.

"The Gaza Strip. That's right. But it's not just about the land. It's steeped in traditions, the religions, of these people, the Jewish faith in Israel and the Muslim faith in Palestine, both fighting over their own version of peace. Look where you're standing. It's a hotbed of passionate debate." He moved his arm in a sweep that indicated the building behind him.

Tiny, square tiles--turquoise, rust, cream, indigo, and brown--covered the upper facade of the octagonal structure with a giant mosaic of geometrical designs and symmetrical patterns spreading all around the building. Eight columns stood, four to the right and four to the left, on either side of the heavy, fifteen-foot wooden door that arched at the top. The gold dome loomed above us, majestic.

"This is where both the first and the second holy Jewish temples were built during early Bible times. The first was built by Solomon nearly a thousand years BC and was destroyed by the Babylonians around 580 BC. It was rebuilt only to be destroyed again, this time by the Romans, around 70 AD. The dates aren't that important, but think about this..." He raised a finger in the air. "To the Jews, this is Mount Moriah, the center of the world, the place where Adam was created and gave sacrifices, where Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac, where Noah built after the flood, and where Jacob saw the ladder in his prophetic dream, to name a few. It's the place the Jews always went to offer sacrifices to their God. To them, it is holy and is the place that their faith always intersects."

"Yeah, so what is a giant Muslim mosque doing in the middle of this obviously Jewish nation? I don't get it," a tall girl in the back asked behind her mirrored surfer glasses, slouching like a bored model in her little, pink t-shirt and baggy pants.

"It's actually not a mosque; it's a shrine, the oldest one in Islam and," he paused and looked at the rest of us, "the only one in pretty much its original state."

The guy from Virginia who always had answers chimed in. "They have the story written in this pamphlet I picked up outside Capernaum."

"All right. Enlighten us, Steve," our leader put his hands in his pockets and nodded.

"So the Jews think this exact spot is holy, like you said.  The rock inside the mosque..."

"Shrine," our leader interjected.

"Shrine. ...the rock in there is where it all happened. But it's also where it all happened for the Muslims, their world center. It's where they believe Muhammad ascended to heaven, and they believe it has his footprint in it along with the hand print of Gabriel who held down the rock when Muhammad left."

"I still don't get it." The mirrored surfer glasses flashed at our leader, and the whole crowd looked at him quizzically.

Smart Guy started in quickly, drawing our attention back to him. "Essentially, when Muhammad died, the guys who led Islam--it says they're Caliphs--wanted to build political headquarters in Jerusalem. Christians and Jews think they picked the ascension passage from the Quran and built this place to attach that story to Jerusalem in order to compete with the Christians and Jews. They really didn't have any connection with Jerusalem until then, or not that can be proven, because the Quran passage is really vague."

"Pretty good," our leader jumped in while Smart Guy took a breath. "So really, Jews and Christians have their religious claims and want to tear down the Dome of the Rock and rebuild their own Temple. The Muslims consider it holy ground in their faith as well, so if the Jews or Christians actually did anything, there would be a great, big, nasty religious war."

"So how come they're worried about the Gaza Strip?" the short girl in front of me asked quietly.

"Exactly! Both sides want Jerusalem for their own. The Gaza Strip is the bit in the middle. The Palestinians want it and want Jerusalem. The Israelis want it and want to keep Jerusalem. Truth is, there's been bad blood between these peoples since the very beginning."

"So how on earth do we think we're going to solve this through politics?" The short girl crinkled her forehead and frowned.

My thoughts rushed and spilled over themselves. We all looked at our leader, then I looked up at the shining gold-plated dome.

"Well now, that's the million dollar question, isn't it?" He quickly raised his eyebrows twice at us, and before Smart Guy could say anything, walked off to leave us with our thoughts.