Even after 40 years, I still have more questions than answers when it comes to church. I have a lot of hurt, too, that’s come from the hands of church leadership. Sometimes, like some of you, like Donald Miller (author of Blue Like Jazz) I might find reasons (quite easily, in fact) to not attend church very much. But my Ethiopian friend, Werku Gole, told a story that forever has kept me in church, not stuck there, but choosing to participate, to show up and carry my rock. When the communist regime was trying to flex their muscle in Ethiopia, many terrible things happened to Christians. First, all of the foreign missionaries were forced to leave the country – and take their Bibles with them. The Ethiopian believers had truly become dependent on the missionaries for all manner of instruction. Now, they had few Bibles in their own dialects (Amharic is the official language, but there are many tribal/regional languages) and a deficiency of leadership. Second, all Ethiopian Christians were supposed to denounce their silly …
He does this every year.
And I think that’s the very first secret of being an awesome-sauce Valentine.
Every year my husband, my girl’s daddy, regular-working-guy, Angelo, makes Valentine’s Day special.
He’s never bought me a Lexus with a giant bow on top or booked a Mediterranean cruise. He buys grocery store flowers and some candy and alternately a romantic/cheesy/silly/corny/sentimental card. He writes in the card and licks the sticky edge and seals it.
“It’s not my fault.” I sat in shock. It was two in the morning. After hours of trying to connect, get through, make things work. I heard those four words: It’s not my fault. From my computer! I didn’t know my new eMac could speak, let alone chant disclaimers. I hit the desk, threw the printer installation manual on the floor and walked out.