One
of the most memorable interview moments I ever saw was that of Maria
Shriver Kennedy Schwarzenegger.This time, she was not in the interviewer
chair but instead on the receiving end of her good friend Oprah's
questions. She was talking about her parents, specifically her father,
Sargent Shriver. She was telling about one of her most valued
possessions, a crumpled piece of paper, she kept with her at all times
at the insistence of her father. In it was a love letter, not the kind
you and I typically think of when we hear the words "love letter", but
instead words of affirmation from her parents about her attributes, her
identity, what was good and lovable about her. She kept it with her
always because, in the paraphrased words of her father, 'The world will
tell you every day what you have done wrong, where your faults lie, and
that you are not enough. It will beat you down and try to get you to
focus on what you are not.' He wanted her to have something to redirect
her attention, to keep her on a course of hopeful truth about her
purpose and her true identity, a beloved child.
This week,
dignitaries, heads of state and miners in Soweto alike will pause
to remember the life of Nelson Mandela. Media will cover events live and
streaming and inundate the waves with facts and perhaps some folklore
about this storied individual. What we choose to believe and receive
about his life and contribution is no doubt, slanted by our own
experience, values, politics and choices. In the days since his passing I
have seen many lovely tributes to this man, pictures and quotes,
stories and news reel from the pre-apartheid era. It didnt take long
however, for the cynics to emerge, at first glance, respectful and
objective but before long came the prickly questioning, followed by
outright accusatory character assassinations. Over the years I have seen
a number of pieces on this man and his life's remarkable journey and
yes, these have been peppered with reports of adultery, political gain
and missteps of one nature or another.
Never once in all of
that footage do I recall the term "perfect" being associated with this
man. Good yes, revolutionary certainly, perfect, no. And so, when the
news came last Thursday that he was no longer with us, I paused along
with the rest of the world to reflect on what impact, if any his being
here had on my life. I'm still processing that.
My parents
arrived, coincidentally last Thursday to spend the winter with us on the
Gulf Coast. Last night after working the previous 3, I woke up and
walked into my living room to see my mom, Luke, and Nolin cuddling on
the couch watching some made for tv movie and eating all sorts of bad
things. I did the eye rolling smile and silently thanked God for this
scene. I am so grateful that my kids are getting this amazing
opportunity to share dinner conversation, dish washing, a bathroom,
cheesy movies and precious, precious time with their grandparents. They
are being rooted and nurtured in the bosom of their family, largely
unware of the rare and resounding opportunity before them. I also like
when my mom hugs me before I walk out the door and into God knows what
at work. She is there when I come home too, after I'm beat up and
sitting still long enough to question my mettle as a nurse after a
frenzied shift. Was I enough? And she tells me I was, without ever
uttering a word and hands me a cup of coffee.
I have to
believe I'm not alone in still needing this affirmation at age 44, or
I'm as crazy as we have all always suspected. The world is supposed to
hurl fiery darts, I get that. However, when harsh criticism comes
whizzing by my head, into my inbox, onto my fb page from the hand of
fellow believers, I have to stop and scratch my head. Is this the
business I'm supposed to be about? The best use of my time and energy?
Its in those moments that I get it. I get why my unbelieving friends
stand off, arms crossed with a look that says, "And ...exactly how is
this any different from the rest of the world? THIS is what you call
good news?" Let me an offer an apology. Of course, I'm the pope,
senator and executive director of exactly nothing so I cannot really
speak for everyone. What I AM charged with, is defending the gospel and
so I shall try.
I pray that something, anything in my
life bears witness to the fact that I know Jesus. In the timely words of
Buddy the Elf, "I know him!!!" And I know what he wants me to do on
this historic occasion. "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever
is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever can be
admired... think on these things." Philippians 4:8. In my humble
estimation, walking out of prison after being wrongfully held and abused
for 27 long years and speaking forgiveness and reconciliation to my
captors is pretty doggone lovely. It also just happens to be the
essence of the gospel I am charged with defending.
If
you'll permit me an evangelical moment here, there is good news. Your
father left you a crumpled note to keep in your wallet. He wanted you to
know how very much you are loved and thought of. "The Lord your God is
with you. He is mighty enough to save you. He willtake great delight in
you. The quietness of his love will calm you down. He will sing with
joy because of you." Zephaniah 3:17. Talk
about a love letter, that's a keeper. And thank you, Nelson Mandela for
an imperfect and impactful life. One worth pausing to celebrate.
