Word Poverty

 “Word poverty” was one of the first concepts I learned in my Master’s program after switching careers from journalist to special education teacher. I did not fully understand it, however, until my 5th year into teaching. And quite unexpectedly, the meaning dawned on me as I was listening to a playlist of church hymns while preparing for school. 

But before I get into that, for the uninitiated, “word poverty” has a huge role in a student’s success, both in school and in their career to come. It occurs when a child is not exposed to a wide range of vocabulary in their formative years at home. Researchers have discovered that “the size of a child’s vocabulary is an accurate predictor of academic achievement and even upward mobility over the course of a lifetime.” (Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development)

Although researchers have tied low-income households to this issue, I don’t think we can definitively say that just because someone is poor means that they will not be exposed to vocabulary. I am a single parent, and my son was exposed to many vocabulary words, as I read to him starting the day I brought him home from the hospital as a newborn. Rather, I think the researchers are tying low income to the level of education, which makes more sense. Low education = fewer opportunities for higher paying jobs = low income, but high education can still land you in a low-paying job. At any rate, I digress. The point is that I see many students in my classes dealing with the effects of word poverty.

One morning as I was preparing my room for my first class, I was listening to a YouTube channel with hymn instrumentals, and the words of each hymn came flooding into my mind. It was at that point I realized that why I, as a daughter of poor Salvation Army officers, had been “rich” in vocabulary as I grew up.

In my home, the sounds of a piano and my father’s strong “Irish tenor” voice filled the rooms. He would practice his solos for church, and the songs became embedded in my brain for as long as I can remember. I realized that morning in my classroom that these songs were written mostly in the 1800s – and some even dated to the Reformation. They reflected the language of bygone eras and the words that people regularly used in centuries past.

Let’s look at a hymn that most people might recognize … Martin Luther’s Mighty Fortress:

“A mighty Fortress is our God,

A Bulwark never failing;

Our Helper He amid the flood

Of mortal ills prevailing:

For still our ancient foe

Doth seek to work us woe;

His craft and power are great,

And, armed with cruel hate,

On earth is not his equal.”

Now think about a 5-year-old singing that song with her father in the car on her way to kindergarten. I may not have understood all of the words – and probably substituted many of them for those that I already knew – but over time, I understood it. There were countless hymns like this growing up.

There were many other sources of my vocabulary enrichment. I had to learn the Salvation Army doctrines by heart at age 11. I can still cite them from memory. As a good example, let’s just look at just one of them:

“We believe that it is the privilege of all believers to be wholly sanctified, and that their whole spirit and soul and body may be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Not only did I memorize these, but my mother explained them with large, colorful visual aids in Sunday School, kids’ church, Wednesday night kids’ activities, and summer Bible school. Repeatedly.

This doesn’t even take into account the multiple conversations to which I was privy between my parents as they drove us to visit multiple churches in western Pennsylvania or as we went back and forth to the Salvation Army for their duties. It doesn’t count how my father used to force me to debate him at the dinner table on theological and social issues to drill my independent thinking skills. 

When I realized the breadth of the words to which I was exposed, it was no wonder that I easily segued into a 30-year career as a news journalist and then as a special education teacher. In my case, the “rich” words equated to successful career pursuits.

So what does this mean for my students? Just that as I go into my 6th year of teaching, I am much more empathetic to their struggles. I have more motivation to research evidence-based practices to widen their vocabulary understanding and to impart to them the importance of embracing literacy and vocabulary retention. And I will remind them that if they did not grow up with reading at home or other activities, they still can learn many words that will enrich their lives. 

Here’s hoping there will be ripple effects from this realization.

Is the practice of yoga an invitation to demons into your life?

 “Is the practice of yoga an invitation to demons into your life?”

The question seems preposterous. This is what I was thinking when I saw a popular Instagrammer make the claim. 

For about two decades, on and off and depending on my health status, I have practiced yoga. I also am a believer in Christ. The Instagrammer made it clear in her posts that you can’t be a Christian and practice yoga at the same time. She is a new Christian, but many of her posts are on point. It was for this reason that I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath … and wrestled with the assertion. 

But, if “iron sharpens iron,” then it was important to me to look into it. 

Before joining in on the fray ensuing on her post, I decided to reflect deeply and do some research in Paul’s letters. No, yoga is not specifically mentioned in Paul’s letters. However, a similar argument about abstaining from a practice – specifically, eating meat sacrificed to idols – is. 

But before I dive in on the connection, let me give you some context on how and why yoga was prevalent in my life. 

 In my 30s, when I first started, it was simple physical stretching before and after a long run. I was a runner for about seven years during that decade of my life, and yoga allowed me to exercise on days when I needed to rest certain muscles or strengthen others. It also allowed me to prepare my leg muscles before a run and cool down after I was finished. I was in the best shape of my life, and I was addicted physically to both running and yoga.

In my 40s, yoga became necessary for my health. I relied heavily on cobra pose to rebuild my abdominal strength after four different abdominal surgeries. I also no longer was a runner (my knees were shot at that point), and yoga gave me a hard workout that I craved. Also during that time, I had to escape an abusive marriage and was suffering emotionally from PTSD. I increased my yoga practice exponentially as I worked through my divorce and subsequent anxiety. 

How can I say this? Yoga allowed me to connect the physical body to the emotional turmoil. When I practiced yoga, I almost went into a state of hypnosis. I would leave each yoga session feeling both physically and emotionally drained, but in a good way. I processed a lot of my emotions as I moved through each asana. My therapist lauded my efforts and continued to encourage me to go. You might be asking, “Did you solely rely on yoga to be healed emotionally?” Of course not. I also was growing deeper in my faith walk with Jesus and felt that yoga was a tool I had been given to help work through the arduous task of becoming whole again.

At one point during this time, my mother called and said one of her friends had shared that practicing yoga was “demonic” and that I should stop immediately. Knowing how it was helping me, I waved that off and laughed. No, I told her, there was nothing “demonic” at all about what I was doing. It was purely a physical exercise.

It’s for this reason that I had huge misgivings when I saw the posts recently by the Instagrammer, because I felt that she was using her platform in a well-meaning but judgmental way. However, I did have to admit that there was one incident during this yoga period of my life that rang true with what the Instagramer was saying:

It happened about 10 years ago, when I was visiting a friend in Denver. Unlike where I live in Kentucky, Denver is a yoga-lover's paradise, with studios peppering the city. I was thrilled when I discovered that one such studio was next door to my friend’s home. During the session, though, something unsettling happened. The yoga instructor started singing and chanting. Those in attendance answered with lilting melodies and chants. I almost felt like I was sitting in church. It was, again, hypnotic and beautiful. Incense filled the room, and the rhythm of the song matched my heartbeat and breath. I felt suspended and enveloped … but highly unsettled. See, although the singing was in a foreign language, I heard the name, “Krishna.” And I realized in that moment that they were singing to a Hindu god. So for them, it really was like “church.” 

When I left, I felt as if I had participated in idol worship. I’ve never really explained this before, so bear with me. In 21st Century America, our culture is not used to the worship of idols. At least, I’m not. I have read about idol worship in the Old Testament since childhood. But I had never seen it in practice. I repented that day, but I shook off the idea that all yoga studios were encouraging idol worship. I rationalized that, in Kentucky, it still was just a place for physical exercise and stretching, nothing more. There was no singing to Krishna or prayer chants. And I continued to go to yoga studios at home, telling myself that if I ever encountered another “church-y” yoga studio, I would eschew it. 

I finally stopped practicing yoga, but not for the reasons you might think. My body couldn’t handle it anymore. Over time, my lower back started to feel worse and worse after each yoga practice. When I did not do yoga practice or stretches, the back pain went away. So I stopped it completely about 4 years ago. Every now and then, I would do a few stretches to see if I could try to return to it. But each time I tried, my back would scream at me.

Now let’s fast forward to when I started contemplating the Instagrammer’s post. When I encounter a spiritual debate among Christians, I try to take it apart and reassemble it using Scripture to see if it has any validity. I’ll walk you through my steps and then give you my final view on whether, as she claimed, yoga invites demons into your life.

For my research, I chiefly relied on two sources: 1) the extensive footnotes in my Nelson Study Bible (New King James Version) and 2) the blog, “Bible Topic Exposition.” If you would like to cross reference it, the site is: https://bibletopicexpo.wordpress.com/2015/09/16/aphrodites-diner-romans-14/. (When I quote the blog, I will put Bible Topic Exposition in parentheses after the sentence.)

Paul encountered a similar issue when 1st Century Christians were arguing about whether they should eat meat that had been sacrificed to idols. Remember that at this time, Greek and Roman gods (same mythology, different names) were worshiped throughout the Roman Empire. “It was said…anciently the worship of pagan deities could be engaged in on almost ‘every street corner.’” (Bible Topic Exposition) 

It worked this way: Suppose you are offering your sacrifice at Aphrodite’s Temple in Corinth. Next to the temple was a restaurant. (Bible Topic Exposition creatively calls it “Aphrodite’s Diner.”) Christians were struggling with whether to eat this meat. And remember, since temples were all over the place, it was highly likely that if you ate any meat, you probably had unwittingly ingested something that had been a sacrifice. They often became vegetarians to avoid the issue altogether. (Romans 14:2)

For those who were brand new Christians, this troubled their consciences greatly. For those who had been in the faith longer, it didn’t, and they typically made fun of the newbies for thinking it was a problem. 

Paul presented a very logical solution to this debate. I’ll just quote it here from I Cor. 8: 7-13:

“Some people are still so accustomed to idols that when they eat sacrificial food they think of it as having been sacrificed to a god, and since their conscience is weak, it is defiled. But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do.

Be careful, however, that the exercise of your rights does not become a stumbling block to the weak. For if someone with a weak conscience sees you, with all your knowledge, eating in an idol’s temple, won’t that person be emboldened to eat what is sacrificed to idols? So this weak brother or sister, for whom Christ died, is destroyed by your knowledge. When you sin against them in this way and wound their weak conscience, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother or sister to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause them to fall.”

So in a sense, my first question was answered. If a new believer who practiced yoga in the past sees this as demonically induced, then when I am in that believer’s presence, I should not practice or discuss the benefits that yoga had to me. I know that my conscience is clear from the years I practiced: I never was practicing to worship a Hindu god or goddess.

However, there was a second question: What about the incident that happened in Denver 10 years ago? With that incident, I can fully see why and how this Instagrammer came to her conclusion that you can’t practice yoga and still be a Christian. If you are going to a studio where part of the practice is chanting or praying to a Hindu god or goddess and there are physical idols in place (as was the case for me in the Denver yoga studio), yes. You are engaging with idol worship, which, by extension, is demonic. 

How do I know this? Paul also addresses that here in I Cor. 10: 19-22:

“What am I saying then? That an idol is anything, or what is offered to idols is anything? Rather, that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice they sacrifice to demons and not to God, and I do not want you to have fellowship with demons. You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons; you cannot partake of the Lord’s table and of the table of demons. Or do we provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than He?”

Whoaaaaa. 

I had never seen that verse before looking into this. But Paul himself wrote it, that yes, idol worship is actually demonic worship … which is what the Instagrammer has been preaching. 

So. Where do I sit now on this entire question?

Well, first of all, I can’t practice yoga anymore because of physical limitations. But if I could, would I?

Again, it’s not a one-size-fits-all answer. If a yoga stretch is just that – a physical STRETCH after a long walk or a long sleep or to heal an injured body part – then that’s all it is.

However, if I meet up with a new believer whose conscience would be defiled knowing I do yoga stretches to ease the pain in my lower back, I’m not going to throw that in their face. I’m going to just listen with compassion to their journey and accept that is where they are.

On the other hand, if I’m in a group of people who are doing yoga stretches … say, a mindfulness activity for teachers at my school … and someone starts chanting a prayer to a Hindu god or goddess … yes, that is idolatry. That’s dancing a little too close to the line, just like I would not use a Ouija board to engage with unseen spirits. 

I do know that the Lord Jesus healed me emotionally after my abusive marriage and that yoga was a big part of helping me process those emotions. But I also know that at that time, I didn’t have this knowledge from I Cor. 10. That has been a game changer for me.

Whatever you decide to do, I’d only suggest to keep God in the midst of your choice. Consult Him. And use wise and sober judgment. Don’t grieve the Holy Spirit by inviting something into your life that will draw a wedge between you and Him. And be mindful – and kind – to those who, in 1st Century A.D. parlance, are afraid of “eating meat sacrificed to idols.”

Worrying

 Worrying. What do we do about it? And can it ever be conquered?

Yesterday on Twitter, the trolls piled on when I asserted that worrying empties tomorrow of its strength. They accused me of "ableism" and roundly made assumptions based on what they presumed to be my background.

A few hours into this, I realized the accusations were based in a separate reality -- one that does not recognize God's provision or providence, care or love. You see, I think I corner the market on worrying. For the past decade, I've had to deal with worry as a single and divorced mom of a son who is on the autism spectrum. 

When I was newly out of my marriage, the worry was easily about money. When my son was first diagnosed with autism, the worry was about his future. When he spent time away from me a few states away with his father's family, the worry was about getting him home safely. When he was bullied at school, the worry mounted about his safety. Fast forward to 2020, and we're home 100% of the time with the pandemic. Like the rest of the world, the worry was about this unknown virus. 

I was scolded yesterday on Twitter by someone who asserted that worry is part of our "evolution" and the way our brains adapt to new circumstances.

Now, if you're approaching this from a humanist, non-believer point of view, then that person would be correct. If you've never known God in your life or depended on Him when the worry creeps in, of course, you're going to assert that worry is based in mental health and is part of the evolution of humanity. 

But here's the thing. Each time over the past 10 years when I worried, whether it was about money, my son's future or safety, or even the pandemic, I also had to simultaneously recognize what Jesus said in Matthew 6:25-34:

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

I understand why people might assume that I'm being a "judgy church lady." They have no foundation of what God does when you actually follow these verses and put them into practice. 

See ... each time one of my worries snatched at me, I did three things. First, I recognized the worry and acknowledged the problem. Next, I prayed about it. And I don't mean a glib "Please bless me" prayer. I mean a real and deep conversation with my Creator who understood the severity of the issue. Finally, I told Him that the issue was in His hands. 

Now this may seem like an over-simplified approach to life. And I'm not going to tell you that over those years I didn't suffer from anxiety or depression. When you're a single mom, particularly if you've had to escape an abusive spouse with a small child, you must have good mental health support. I did have that support, and I did take anti-depressants when that was warranted. So I am not one of those people who will tell you to eschew science for the things that will help the chemistry of your brain to heal.

But I also believe in God's power to intervene. Each time I prayed with faith that He would solve the problem, it was solved. Sometimes, it was solved within 3 minutes of the prayer. Sometimes, it was solved over a few months. Once, it was solved in a courtroom while I prayed before I had to stand before a judge and argue for custody of my son. In all instances, when the worry ate at my soul, I countered it with prayer. In all instances, God solved the problem.

The thing about worry, though, is that if you do not have faith in God, you'll never understand this. I've had many atheists demand that I show them a "miracle" to prove God's existence, for example. If I gave them these examples of how God calmed my heart and mind with His peace and then shortly later solved the problem, they would tell me, "It doesn't count. That's not proof. That's your opinion."

Well ... but that's why worry is not an issue for me. When it becomes an issue, I bring it to the Almighty. He hears me, and He answers.

Over time in your spiritual walk with Him, you have more and more opportunities to see His faithfulness like this. When I was younger, faith was more difficult, because I didn't have the experiences to show me that He was faithful. I just had to trust Him. He never let me down. Over the years, I've discovered that faith becomes easier for me -- because He has proven Himself to me over .. and over ... and over ... and over. 

No, I'm not telling you to suck it up and look for the sunshine. I'm telling you that when you put your hand in God's and give Him the situation, it's solved for you. I don't know how it will be solved. But if you ask in faith, it will be solved.

And what about the times when I know I lack the faith and trust for this to happen?

I tell Him. The prayer becomes, "I want to be able to trust You for this situation, and I lack faith. Give me faith so that I trust you and stop worrying." 

And you know what?

He does. Every single time.

Worry can be conquered. You can't add an hour to your life by worrying. But you can add an eternity to your relationship with the One who sees you, knows you, and will become your Champion who will fight the battle for you.

Worry not for tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. 

And He's got your back. You don't have to worry about that.

He Signed Bibles

March 2010.
The exact date eludes me. But it happened nine years ago this month. I left an abusive marriage.

You know, psychologists say that if you're escaping a burning house, the first thing you grab on the way out is the most important thing in life to you.

On that day, when I made my fateful decision, I felt like my house was on fire. I was grabbing enough clothing to get my 6-year-old and I through 48 hours while I figured out what to do. I shoved things into a brown Panera paper bag left over from lunch (it was a rather large bag, but it was on the front seat of my car, and it was the easiest thing I had available. I was afraid he would come home and discover what I was doing). As I raced around my house, casting furtive eyes for the things we would need for immediate survival, the old adage was true:

The first thing I grabbed off the shelf ... before the clothes, before the paychecks, before my laptop, before medical prescriptions ... was my Bible.

My Bible was the first thing I grabbed.

I'm not telling you this to make myself sound like a saint. But looking back on that moment in time, when I was afraid for my life, when I felt like everything I loved was crashing down around me ... the survival instinct in me really did kick in.

It's still here on my shelf, the same Bible. It's worn. It has frayed edges. There are underlined passages and little notes with dates scribbled next to them to remind of answered prayers and miracles and cries to God over the past 9 years. All of it. It's more than a spiritual diary. It's a link and my connection to my belief that the Creator of the Universe knows the details of my life -- and actually cares about them.

My Bible feels like a living thing in my hands. And if you're reading this blog and have a similar relationship with God, you know what I'm talking about. It's not just dry words on a page or ancient texts. It's everything to me -- my lifeline to the One who loves me more than anyone ever can.

So let's fast forward to yesterday morning, when I pulled up my favorite social media account, Twitter. A heavy March rain was pounding on my windows, and the sun hadn't broken through darkness yet. As my cat lay purring next to me, the artificial light from the phone screen brought me out of drowsiness. And that's when the first image of my day -- the first image on Twitter -- hit me like a punch in the jaw.

A photo of two Bibles, side by side. On the covers ... ON. THE. COVERS..... someone had taken a thick, black Sharpie marker and scrawled their large, distinctive signature.

Donald J. Trump.

I zoomed in on the Bibles and could see that one was a New International Version. The other, a "soldier's Bible," is something for which the Baptist church collects money to send to troops who are in harm's way. It's not a military version of the Bible, as I saw some people on social media surmise. Its jacket is designed with a "camouflage" cover to appeal to military members. I guess you could call it a marketing approach -- good or bad, I'm not sure, but that's really all it is.

But back to the "autographs."

You've seen people autograph their own books before. They open the front jacket and sign the title page, on the inside of the book. They put a little note to you and wish you well. I don't think I've ever seen an author sign the jacket.

Now let this sink in.

Donald J. Trump didn't write the Bible. He's not the Author. And it would be bad enough for him to autograph the inside title page of a Bible, since ... again ... he's not the Author.

But he took a black Sharpie -- something I use all the time at school now with special needs students -- and he SCRAWLED HIS NAME ACROSS THE FRONT OF THE BIBLES.

I called my mother, who is attending a Baptist church, to ask her about this, because a Baptist church gave Trump the platform for this activity. She told me that people give tithe money for these particular Bibles that were pictured so that they can be given out to anyone in need, such as the soldiers. "Those Bibles were probably sitting in a stack in the fellowship hall, and when Trump came in, people wanted autographs. So they probably spotted them, and those were the first things they grabbed," she surmised.

We don't know if that's what happened, but that's one explanation.

Either way, I thought about the people who put Bibles into Trump's hands for him to sign. I thought about people who had given their tithe money for those Bibles, supposing that the Bibles would be sent to people in foreign countries, shared with people in homeless shelters, or circulated to members of the Armed Services on deployments.

I thought about my Bible.

Would I ever hand my Bible over to someone -- even someone that I admire personally -- for them to AUTOGRAPH? Especially the COVER?

That's a rhetorical question, because if you read the first part of this story, you know there is no way on earth I would relinquish it.

I'm still processing what Trump did yesterday, but I'm also processing what the people in that church did, too. They had so little regard for the Word of God -- for God's love letter to them -- that they handed it over as if it were toilet paper and asked him to sign it.

And by signing it, Trump set himself up as their god -- their idol. Do you think it was an accident that he signed the cover, right under the words, "Holy Bible?" Let's say he did it in ignorance, like a child. Let me tell you something: Even as a child, I knew the Bible was a holy book. Even as a child, when I scribbled on anything, I never would have thought to scribble on a Bible. There is something very disturbing about someone who would put their name on the front of a Bible, as if to replace the One who authored it.

I'm not a perfect person. I freely admit to you: I don't stay in the Word as regularly as I should. The past two years have taken a toll on me spiritually. I've written about this before. But when I saw the photos of the signatures on the Bibles, I grieved. I grieved for those who have sold their souls to their "Nero," abandoning what they know to be truth. I grieved for those who never bothered to read their Bibles and cast them so dismissively away, not realizing they were handing away the most precious treasure for their souls.

And I grieved with God. Yes. I grieved with God.

The betrayal.

To hand your Bible over for an idol to autograph.

The mind reels.

"Thou shalt have no other gods before me."~ Exodus 20:3 / Deuteronomy 5:7

Church-less, In the Age of Trump

Has it been nearly a year-and-a-half since my last post?

I suppose that the Age of Trump has a lot to do with that. It's Sunday morning, a soggy-icy-rain February day, with slate skies that that reflect my soul.

We are not at church this morning.

You know, I used to be one of those people who said, "It doesn't matter what people do or say -- I hold onto my belief because I know God's goodness, and that's enough for me." Although that is still true, I find that as the Trump presidency drags on and the country careens into more and more hateful dialogue, even my relationship with God has become quiet. I still am a believer. I still know He has His hand on my life. But it's as if we're in a long road trip together, and we've hit a stretch through one of those Midwestern states ... You know what I'm talking about if you've ever been on one of these road trips ... The road stretches through an endless line of cornfields, and all you can see ahead of you is a "tunnel" through corn stalks. You sit side by side in the car, wondering when this part of the journey will be over, and there is no conversation and no desire for one. It's silent companionship, and the two of you are disconnected from the rest of the world. Just a stretch of cornfields, all around, walling you in.

That's how it feels for me.

Before the election, I had no idea how much people who claimed to be "Christians" espoused such racism, such rancor, such judgment, such hypocrisy. After the election, my eyes were opened, and I couldn't bring myself to sit next to them in pews on Sunday mornings.

My son and I found a different church, one that served the needs of the poor. Until four months ago, we were regular attendees ... but I started feeling myself pulling away emotionally from even that group. It's a long story, one that doesn't need to be hashed out here, but once again, I felt that people were not what they purported to be.

I still take my son to a youth group meeting mid-week, at his request. But Sunday morning comes along, and I feel completely alienated, flat, and empty. In short, I'm spiritually depressed. I'm hungry for the Word. I'm thirsty for a dissection of Scripture, for an exchange of prayer requests and communing, for kind words and affirmation. Church holds none of those things for me anymore. Church for me has become more isolating than if I don't even attend.

Why am I writing all of this and sharing these dismal thoughts?

I guess part of the reason is that if you're also alienated from church due to what has happened in the country and the "evangelicals" behind it ... you're not alone. I am chief among you. I want you to know that there are more "islands" of us out there in this sea of distrust and division.

The other reason is that I want to put these words in a tangible format. Because someday, all of this will be a faint memory. Someday, I'll pull up this blog entry and think to myself, "How could I even have been in that place?" I have found in life that when we are faced with a situation that seems hopeless or sad, it's temporary. But it also helps in the good times to look back on times like these for perspective, insight, and understanding of where we've been, how far we've come, and where we're going.

Which leads me to my last point ... What's next for believers in this era of Trump? I'm not talking about people who support the racist regime that has taken over the White House. I'm talking about believers who read the Scriptures and know that God says we're supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves -- and that if we claim to love God and hate another, we're liars. I'm talking to you, if you're in that category. What's next for us?

Well, for me, I'm tying a knot and holding on to my faith. I will not give up looking for a place where people practice what they preach, even in blood-red Kentucky. I will remember that there have been millions who have gone before me and felt isolated and alone in their belief. I will reflect on the prophets who lived in a sea of hypocrites ... people like Elijah. People like Jeremiah. They, too, were alone, and yet they did not give up in their hope and faith in God.

As much as it depends on Him who is able to "keep us from falling," I will do the same. I do not know what our future will bring as a country. I know that I don't trust people in churches anymore at this point. But I know I can trust the One who died for me, who forgives my sins, who knows my heart, and who will comfort me on days when the sky is slate gray, icy rain covers the tree branches ... and I sit at home alone, longing for a time to return when Sunday morning once again means being among people who know Him, too.

Detective Work: How to Put the Bible in Context

So for my birthday this year, I was gifted a DNA test at Ancestry, and like many people who have taken one, I was surprised with the results. I'd always been told by both sides of my family that we were straight 50-50 Scot-Irish. Since I was in first grade, whenever St. Patrick's Day came rolling around, I was entrenched in hunting leprechauns and telling people I had "an Irish temper."

But all that changed with those DNA results. It turned out that my DNA makeup is 71 percent British. And when I started chasing threads of family members, the way it ended up breaking down (so far) was that about three-quarters of my ancestors were from England ... and one quarter, from Scotland. In one thread, I have traced the line as far back as 1585 in Somerset, England. And I'm still doggedly untangling these threads with gusto.

Now what, you ask me, does this have to do with doing "detective work" in the Bible?

Well, just like with my ancestry hunt, I dig through the origination of Scripture verses to find out from whence they came.  And just like an ancestry DNA test, I am usually surprised that the "meaning" I originally derived from reading one single Bible verse is usually not its original meaning. Sometimes it has to do with the original language. A word may translate into modern day English with a completely different inference than it had in the original Hebrew or Greek. Or there may not even be a word in our language that fully matches the robust meaning of the original.

Other times, I discover that a cultural or modern day application I am applying to the verse does not match the era, history or cultural context in which it was written.

And then there are times like this morning, when, just like in my Ancestry family tree search, I have to go back not one, but several, preceding chapters to find the full context of where a verse fit into a bigger story that is being told.

And that brings me to Matthew 7:6. I memorized the book of Matthew when I was 16 years old, so I should have known this automatically, but it's been a few decades. I woke this morning thinking about the words of Matthew 7:6:

“Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces."

People may struggle with the original meaning of this one, and I have always applied it generally: Do not expose something that is important to you to someone who is not trustworthy, or they may, in Jesus's words, "trample" on it and then "tear you to pieces."

Seems pretty straight-forward.

But one thing that has nagged me is Jesus's strong description of the people who are doing this. He calls them dogs and pigs. Nice. If you, like me, believe He is the Son of God, why would a deity use these words to describe PEOPLE? His creation? His children? It seems a little harsh to the outsider.

So I looked at the preceding verses in the chapter, and here, He's talking about ... wait for it ... hypocrites.

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye."

Hmmm, that's interesting. The "dogs" and the "pigs" in the verse that follow are obviously people who are judging others and, in doing so, are hypocritical of their own sins.

So what was going on that prompted Him to be talking about hypocrites in the first place?

For that, I had to go backwards ... all the way back to the end of chapter 4 and the beginning of chapter 5. This was beginning to feel like tracing my family tree on Ancestry.

At the end of 4, we read that large crowds were following Jesus:

"Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people. News about him spread all over Syria, and people brought to him all who were ill with various diseases, those suffering severe pain, the demon-possessed,those having seizures, and the paralyzed; and he healed them. Large crowds from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea and the region across the Jordan followed him."

And then at the beginning of chapter 5, we finally get to what was going on when he said the verses about hypocrites being dogs and pigs:

"Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them."

This was the beginning of the famous "Sermon on the Mount," and I have always ascribed it to the Beatitudes (the "Blessed are the .... fill in the blank ... you remember those). But that sermon goes on for a long time ... all the way to the end of chapter 7, where it wraps up the sermon:

"When Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were amazed at his teaching, because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law."

OK, so now we know that these verses about hypocrites were within the Sermon of the Mount. And we don't really know what prompted them, but in the rest of chapter 7, Jesus continues to go after the religious leaders of the day -- the people who were Pharisees. He also goes after "false prophets" and "false disciples." But in the verses that precede that rant, he's addressing the crowd in general, explaining how God will bless them and telling them not to worry about tomorrow, etc.

What happened between chapter 6 and 7 to make Him change tack and address a separate audience?

Unfortunately, Matthew doesn't tell us. Matthew, the writer of this Gospel, was a tax collector who was one of Jesus's 12 disciples. So we know that he was there when Jesus said these things, and we know that if he had wanted to, he could have taken us into the back scene of what was happening in that crowd when Jesus ranted at the religious leaders. Because Matthew didn't do that, at this point, our detective work has to only go into supposition. 

Maybe Jesus spotted a group of them in the crowd laughing at what He was saying. Maybe He saw someone in the crowd who He knew had been spiritually hurt by a hypocritical religious leader and was offering them solace. We may never know, but the important realization over this exercise is that He was angry enough at religious hypocrisy to call the offenders "dogs" and "pigs" -- and to issue a warning to His listeners that they should not give them "anything that is sacred." 

So the work here showed me that Jesus was not speaking in generalities. He was addressing a certain group in society and warning the rest of us that it was okay to avoid them -- as well as telling us what would happen to us if we didn't. That's an important finding, because suppose you go to a church with a charismatic pastor, and everyone is telling you to hang on that pastor's words. But you discover the pastor is a hypocrite (for whatever reason) ... and that may be time to change churches, depending on the discovery.

As you ponder and apply this verse to your own life, by having the full context of to whom it was originally directed and the circumstances under which it was said, you can proceed confidently with a decision to ... say .... pull away from a Bible study when members reveal who they really are. The repercussions of continuing to "throw pearls" at hypocrites are enormous -- they "may turn on you and tear you to pieces." Now you have a firm and full understanding of what Jesus meant and why He said it. 

I know this may have seemed complicated (and long!), and if you've followed me this far, thank you for your patience. 

One other thing I would note about deciphering the Bible as you apply it to your life is that prayer is your other key element in making large decisions. For example, last November, I made a decision to move to a new church after an incident at a Bible study. It was not out of hate or anger or hurt, as much as it was that I was being guided by Matthew 7:6. But it also was because I prayed about it. I told God about the struggle and cried a lot over it. The next day, through an unexpected (and miraculous) series of events, He led me and my son to our current church. We have found a community of sincere and loving believers ... without a hypocritical bone in their bodies.

Next time you are curious about the meaning of a verse -- or struggling with a life decision and pondering a verse as your possible solution -- don't just leave your searching with the verse, standing alone. Dig backwards. 

As you can see with my own family tree search on Ancestry, I was able to crack up some family mysteries -- and frankly, I'm not done. I have discovered some patterns of behavior in my family that I believe are tied to a history of ancestral slave ownership. And I've also unearthed the lines going across the Atlantic and through the centuries. 

How much more can be said of Scripture, when we delve into the context of what was going on at the time something was written, why it was going on, the original meaning of the words and the culture surrounding it?

The Mystery of Meekness

The word "meekness" has always mystified me. It's one of those words in the Bible that has eaten at me for years. I have chased the original language and examined various ways in which Jesus used it, like you would a Rubik's cube. I've always been bothered by it. To me, it has always conveyed weakness -- a mamby-pamby Savior who took the "turn the other cheek" message to an extreme that made me very uncomfortable with His masculinity.

Until recently, the closest I have come to understanding "meekness" is through Matthew 11:29, "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me. For I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." For me, I conjure an image of a giant oxen, strong and serene, a gentle beast that could harm a human easily but that submits to service in plowing a field. 

But even then, that didn't fully explain "meekness" to me. Someone once told me that "meekness" is defined as "gentle strength," and I tried to wrap my brain around that. I guess the way I solved that definition by imagining Yoda teaching Luke in the Sky Wars trilogy.

And yet. I still didn't feel like I understood meekness. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth," Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount. What in the world? What did it mean? How could I possibly be "blessed" by being, in my mind, spineless? Because even though I had sort of solved this, I still had this nagging thought that meekness was not something to be admired -- and that those who were meek were those to be pitied.

Well, three months ago, it finally happened. I finally found a real-life example of meekness, and ironically, it came in the form of my 13-year-old dog, Achilles. 

Achilles is an American Eskimo, and I've had him since he was a puppy. I've watched him change over the years, and like every dog lover, I have worried about how he moves a little more slowly, sleeps a little longer, eats a little less than before. 

But then in November, my teenage son and I decided to get a kitten from the local animal shelter. My son named her, "Rose," and like every kitten, she's a little tiger in training.

And Rose loves Achilles.

Loves him.

Follows him everywhere, from room to room. Waits to eat her food until he ambles up to his own food bowl and starts eating first. Curls up next to him in a tight ball and purrs her heart out. Sometimes she even walks on his head or bats his big doggy paw with her tiny claws. He never flinches or moves and tolerates all of it.

I started thinking, "I guess poor Achilles is finally an old man. He never snaps at Rose and even acts like she's not even there. I wonder if Achilles is senile."

One day, Achilles was standing by the back door, waiting to be let out. Rose was perched on a kitchen chair, craning her neck at the door, because she knew he was going to get to go outside. Rose is an indoor kitten, but she waits by the door for Achilles to return and meows until he's back.

I opened the door for Achilles. And suddenly without warning, Achilles transformed into the dog he used to be. He charged across the back yard like a ferocious hunter, barking and growling and snarling -- and running as fast as he did when he was a much younger dog. Achilles had spotted a squirrel, which went racing up the nearest tree. It surprised me, because I hadn't seen so much life in Achilles in a while.

But it also surprised Rose.

Rose leaped off of the chair and raced into my bedroom and hid under my bed. When Achilles came back inside, she did not greet him at the door. She edged out of the room cautiously, studying him from afar at the door while he chowed down on a dog treat. 

Achilles then ambled back to his favorite spot on a living room chair and put his big furry head down and peered around. Where was his buddy Rose? She crept into the room and jumped on an ottoman and approached him. He then turned on his side and exposed his tummy to her, and she laid down next to him.

Suddenly, I had it.

Meekness.

Gentle strength.

Blessed are the "meek."

Achilles was "meek" with Rose, not because he was afraid of her, not because he was old and senile, not because he couldn't move like he used to, not because he had lost his fierce edge that dogs have when they chase a squirrel or protect you from a home intruder.

He was meek because he had chosen to be. He recognized that Rose was a creature that depended on him for companionship. She has nothing to offer him. Sometimes she eats his food. She pesters him. She can't be in a room without him. I actually think she drives him a little crazy.

But this old dog accepts this little cat and in his own sweet way has welcomed her into the home. At any moment, from what I observed that day with the squirrel chasing incident, he could choose to tear her in half. He could choose to bite her and snap at her and even kill her. 

But he's meek. He is exhibiting "gentle strength."

Now what does this have to do with us, and what did Jesus mean when He said, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth?"

Just this: If you are a believer and you are walking with Christ, you already possess His strength. You know the heart of God, because you have accepted His forgiveness and mercy. You know the companionship of His Spirit, because He offers that to us when we genuinely follow Him. 

In Him, you are strong. Face it. You are.

Now there are also hurting people all around you -- non-believers, those who are disillusioned by fake Christians, those who have been cast out by society and deemed worthless, those who just need a little compassion and kindness.

It's time to be meek with them.

It's time in this crucial period of history to exhibit gentle strength to all who come in contact with us. You have something -- a peace that passes all human understanding -- that they are seeking. Like Rose does with Achilles, they might pester you, bother you, pepper you with questions, insult you, take things from you (Rose loves to hide Achilles's dog toys under the couch), chide you, judge you ... the list is endless.

But blessed are the meek.

You could probably easily rip them apart, just like Achilles could rip Rose apart at any moment. You could say unkind things, quip hasty judgments at them, show impatience at their lack of understanding, throw your hands up and say you can't be bothered.

But blessed are the meek.

Your job as a believer is to exhibit gentle strength, so that others may know Him as you do.

The mystery of meekness. It eluded me for years, and now I feel like I finally get it. 

Blessed are the meek.

Today, embrace meekness. Own it. And offer that gentle strength to others who are dying to know Him.