Wednesday, April 4, 2012

A Passionate Life




                                                                                                       SJJeffries 2011



                                                    A Passionate Life



   As a "forever" Christian, I have always considered the fact that I was born a Christian much like Jewish people are born into their religion. Christianity "flows" through my veins both culturally and spiritually.  When I was too young to be a real Christian, that is too young to decide to follow Jesus , walk down the aisle  and be baptized , I would pretend to be a Christian. I would pretend to take communion using” kool aide” and chewing gum, instead of bread and juice. Some how I knew being a Christian was more about being allowed to partake in communion than what I did or said. I reasoned that what I did or said, though important, did not matter as God was a forgiving God and whatever I did He would always forgive me.



For most of my growing up years I felt a strong "passion" for Christianity. I don't remember ever not feeling that passion and desire to be as good as I could be. Along with these feelings of passion came a natural compassion for other people, especially my parents.  I soon took these feelings to the extreme in that I tried so hard to always "please" my parents by being the perfect son. All in all my self worth  always seemed to balance on a thin string as I tried to live up to my parents expectations and the expectations of what I thought it meant to be a Christian.



Growing up my definition of "the passion of Christ or Christianity" would probably concern the passion of God and the fact that he loved me so very much that he sent Jesus to us to teach us how to be good and than hung him on a cross to suffer such a brutal death and die for us and somehow arise again to go up into heaven.  Pretty much every Easter  for many years was spent taking on the pain both of Jesus who was the sacrifice for me and of God who had to watch his son die in such a horrible way.  I remember a lot of Good Fridays, a name I never understood, business and even school would come to a halt at about two o'clock in the afternoon and all would morn the death of Jesus. In my memories and probably imagination, I think the sky would even darken a little much as we imagine it did on the first Easter.



I was a teenager before I one day looked in the mirror at myself, and made a conscious decision to make an effort to try and please myself instead of always trying to please someone else.  Realizing that my parents and my church had given me a pretty good idea of what it means to be a "good" person, it was time for me to make my own choices about my faith and what that faith meant to me.  It was than that I began to allow myself to question my faith.  I know the questions had always been  there just beneath the surface, but I had  restrained myself from asking these questions.  I soon redefined my interpretation of "the passion of Christ" to mean the passion of living my life as Christ taught us and a passionate desire to ask questions and learn what that means for me in a personal way.



Kevin and Wyatt, my pastors, taught a Sunday School series on” Living the Question”.  It was in this class that I first realized I was all ready spending my life” Living the Question” and that this was OK. It was often disheartening for me to question some of the traditions and teachings that always rang true in my heart but often did not balance with my brain.  It was alright to question and also all right that I did not expect to ever have a certain and definite  Yes or no, right or wrong answer to most questions of faith and religion.  We are taught at a very early age to think and reason for ourselves. In math, in politics, even in ethics, common sense was the rule. In matters of religion and Christianity we were expected  generally to accept all that we were taught on "blind faith".   It is such a relief to know now that I can look at my faith with eyes wide open and not fear that my faith will crumble with the first new idea or concept of what Jesus was all about.



Looking back at a life of being a Christian, I still feel inside like that child that was so eager  to be a Christian that I pretended to take communion. I still have a real passion for being a Christian. I would like to know how to pass the passion I feel on to my children, kind of like a legacy. But the truth is each person must seek out their own passions in both life as in faith.  It is these passions that make the blood flow a little quicker in our veins and reminds us that we are alive and that God is there with us as a loving God.






Wednesday, February 22, 2012










 DELIVERING SHOES FOR CHANGING FOOTPRINTS.COM



Delivering shoes for CHANGING FOOTPRINTS.COM is not a job it is a privilege and I am excited to have the opportunity.   Once or twice a month I make the trip up to the north Meridian street Changing Footprints Warehouse, usually early in the morning so I can get back to Greenfield and open my shop The Acorn Tree.

When I first started going up to the warehouse to sort and pack shoes, there were two rooms stacked to the ceiling with unsorted shoes. One of the rooms had not been disturbed for a year or so.  Other rooms were also packed with sorted and boxes shoes, ready to go out.   When I go there now there is one unsorted or "raw" room and it is pretty empty.  We still have some shoes packed but the inventory is significantly diminished.

I hurry in and quickly load up the boxes that Carol had staged for delivery. Six or eight boxes to go to Horizon House and nine designated for Wheeler's Woman's Mission.  I wish I had my grandson Jackson with me, as he always enjoys the days he gets to help deliver. The last time he helped when we got to the Wheeler's Men's Mission, several men came out to assist in carting the boxes into the storeroom. Before they could blink Jackson had rolled several cartloads in by himself. He was seven at the time, looking up to these men almost to say "get out of my way, Mr."

As many delivers as I have made, mostly in and around downtown Indianapolis, I never get tired of the trip down Meridian street from 96th street.  It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful and magnificent the homes are on North Meriden.  You pass mansion after mansion that I am sure represent a lot of "old “money in Indianapolis.  When I finally get to the Governor’s Mansion, I think how could all this wealth exist and still not have enough to solve the problem of homelessness in our town.

Thirty or Forty years ago if I had made this trip there would be an even sharper contrast between North Meridan and the inter city.  Now down town Indy looks pretty good. Even the shelters are nice clean buildings. 

But the journey always leaves me a little contemplative and a little weepie and sad.  That is not to say when I leave the shelters I don't leave with joy and hope. The joy that fills my heart when I see firsthand the work that is being done and the hope that someday no one will need to sleep on the street whatever their situation.

Shoes are such a basic need in our society. I am some times embarrassedto think about how many pairs of shoes Joyce and I own between us.  I basically wear two pair of shoes, one black one brown. Except of course in the summer when I add sandals.  Joyce on the other hand has a very large collection of shoes and boots.

Changing Footprints is a small but growing organization. We have hopes and dreams of providing shoes for all the needs in our area as well and try to make a dent in the needs around the world.  But that takes shoes and shoes come from people and people are the ones who have to open their closets and their hearts and find a way of helping someone else.

Warren Central High School, one of the largest Indiana schools has agree to do a shoe drive. Several other groups and organizations have got on the band wagon to help. CHANGING FOOTPRINTS needs your support.  In the midst of trying to continue our mission we are also raising money to rehab an old glove factory/warehouse in Rushville to house our organization. Any support, money or material would make the organization grow faster and continue and spread our mission.


Tuesday, February 7, 2012

The Plane Ride Home




                              stephen Jeffries

 ThePlane Ride Home





On  my recent trip back home to Indiana from California, I was in the air on Southwest Airlines at the approximate time I should have been sitting in a church pew.  Because I was the last one on the plane. I sat in the far back behind the wing and for once I had no neighbors fighting for my armrest and leg room.  As soon as I sat down by the window I was amazed how bright and sunny it was as we flew over the beautiful California terrain. I was again in awe at the patchwork of beauty that we call earth. The fields, the mountains , the scattered bodies of water, remined me once again that I am blessed, we are blessed and the earth is a blessed place to be.

It was a glorious sunlite day as we skimmed above the smattering white clouds. Above the clouds I was facinated with the shadows cast down by the clouds. I have flown many times but don't recall seeing this.

I ordered a cranberry with vodka as a special treat. I don't normaly drink liquour in the morning and especially never on Sunday.  Communion?? Hummmm??

Suddenly the pilot came across the intercom and almost yelled for the flight attendants to find a seat immediately.  I could sense a bit of fear in the voice and soon the plane began to wobble and shake like a logwagon.

As I continued to look out the window at the beautiful day, I was perplexed but more astonded that I felt not fear. Even as the nose of the plane began to point down a little I did not feel fear. My first though as I smiled out the window was will Joyce be able to survive on what little life insurance I have. I was carrying home a check from working in California. I wondered if Bloomsters would rewrite that check for Joyce. Oh yes I even questioned if Joyce would get back the five dollars I spent on the drink I did not receive.

Now was this weird. Maybe but I had no white knucles holding on to the seat. Was it the beautiful time I had in  California or the fact that I continue to realize how bless I am to have family and friends that I care about. I do know that in that moment I had absolutely no control of what would happen and I was ok with that.

The plane rattled for a long time but it did finally subside and the pilot admitted it was current from the Sierra Range that had unexpectly caught him off guard and caused the hovoc.
It was a perfect flight after that and yes I finally got my vodka . As I drank a little and ate a bite of cream cheese danish I remembered.....and I praised and I worshiped  and after all is'nt that what "communion" is all about.