O is for Obsequious

I don't have enough to say about the people I've met whose names (or nicknames) begin with the letter O. Not enough to write a whole post on any of them, I should say. My memories of a woman named Ona can be summed up in the word "disciplined" while memories of someone else's Dutch grandparents ("Oma" and "Opa") could be summed up with "faithfulness."

Therefore I will omit a tribute today.

What I really need to do is to omit blogging from my daily life for a while. In fact, I am pretty sure I will be doing a reverse sort of challenge in May. For April the challenge is to blog every day except Sunday (with the exception of April 1 which happened to be the kickoff Sunday). Essentially that's four days off of blogging in April.

In May, I'll try the opposite--ONLY blogging four days. While writing these legacy posts is a wonderful exercise for expressing my heart to the world (and to the individuals I've honored), I must confess it's not easy to keep up this pace. Outrageous. Obsequious. Ostentacious. (I don't recall the meaning of obsequious, but it's fun to say.)


I'm overwhelmed and overcome sometimes by the grace of God in my life through the influence of dozens and dozens of people. I've also been off-the-charts curious (call it overactively intropsective) about what legacy I am leaving. The conclusions are obviously negative to me.

"She was ordinarily online."
"Her obliques were obsolete."
"She was overchatty and overweight."
"She was overtly obsessed with grammar, spelling, and punctuation. OCD.""She opted out of organizing and cleaning too often."
"She had a lot of personal power outages."

Lately I've been oscillating between condemnation and conviction.

Condemnation says, "You're old, obese, and obstinate. What good are you? Might as well give up on impacting anyone for good. No one really cares that much anyway. You'll be forgotten soon enough. Gain weight, lose weight, what does it matter? Serve people and they might or might not say thanks. Is it worth the effort to serve ungrateful people? Might as well do what YOU enjoy. You only go around once. Eat, drink, and be merry!"

Conviction says:

1. "Teach us to number our days, that we may may gain a heart of wisdom."
2. "Your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit; now glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are His.
3. "Serve one another and do not grow weary in doing good."
4. "For the Son of God came not to be served, but to serve."
5. "I have loved you with an everlasting love."
6. "Freely you have been given; freely give."
7. "To whom much is given, much is required."
8. "My grace is sufficient for you."
9. "If you chase after worthless idols, you forfeit the grace that could be yours."
10. "Offer yourself as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable unto God, for this is your reasonable service." (I tend to think that my duties are just unreasonable. Au contraire. (Oh, contrare.)
11. "To obey is better than sacrifice."


Pardon my omission of biblical references. The eleven quotes above are taken from scripture--God's holy oracle-- and are memorized, sans reference.

I intend to finish up my April A to Z challenge because there's half-an-alphabet's worth of people that I want to say a few (or more) words about. Then I plan to operate in other ways--more organization in the home, to be sure, but what's the highest priority? Returning to my First Love, God ,the Alpha and Omega. I've neglected time with Him. I used to so enjoy having coffee and scripture reading first thing in the morning. It was like taking a long, hot bath in grace. It's been months since I experienced that. (And going months without a bath? OY! There is a "distinkt" odor about even a servant who doesn't bathe regularly!)

Also, I want to be "visiting orphans and widows in their distress." How? By writing letters to our sponsor children, having coffee with a widowed friend of mine and glean wisdom on good marriage from her, encouraging my friend Bonnie in Africa (see link in my sidebar) as she ministers to orphans, praying more actively for our pastor and his wife who are in the process of adopting four orphaned brothers from Brazil). Orphans abandoned by father, mother, or both, because of drugs, disease, dysfunction, divorce, or death. (Obnoxious alliteration? My ap-ologies.) As the pastor pointed out, there are over 150 million orphans worldwide. Reread that sentence 150,000,000 times and see if you aren't moved. We have the privilege and onus of caring for them somehow, some way.

Oh, the overabundance that is life! Opportunities overflow. And so, fellow bloggers whom I delight in "seeing" and "hearing" daily, I am setting a different course in the upcoming month. It won't be easy. We all know that the "spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." By omitting blogging except for four days in May (on which days I might go on wild outbursts posting things I've pent up inside), I hope to leave a legacy of obedience motivated by love for the One who loves me with an everlasting love, who doesn't love me less if I never raise another finger, or doesn't love me more if I obey him with everything that is in me. If there's one thing I've learned from writing these legacies, it's this: a legacy is formed by whatever a person does over and over. I really need God's help to obey Him over and over, so that I don't forfeit the grace that could be mine.

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PS. I went back and looked up the word "obsequious." It means "eager to please or obey." God has a sense of humor, doesn't He?

Countdown

Five days till the wedding.
Four till we leave for the rehearsal and dinner.
Three till tuxes are picked up.
Two till a viewing for my dear friend's mother who passed away yesterday from lung cancer.
She was just diagnosed in December.

One. One is today, Monday. Today I have the joy of reminding my hubby to please take the big
suitcase to our son for his honeymoon. And don't forget the big box of wedding gifts that my sister sent. She manages a kitchen store in Texas, so I can only imagine what great wares are in there. I wish she could have shipped herself and family here for the big day, but she can't get away after coming here in October for my folks' anniversary party. Ditto for my other sister in Arizona. Only Jill and her hubby who live locally can attend from my side of the family (and my parents, who are over-the-top excited. I am so grateful they're both alive to witness this beautiful occasion in their first grandchild's life. My mom called today and asked what the wedding colors are because she was out shopping for a dress. I could hear the excitement in her voice.)

Today I am still on the hunt for shoes to wear with the new dress I bought for the RD. (Rehearsal dinner.) I have plenty of shoes, but most I wear with slacks and they aren't dressy enough.

Today I have a make-up consultation. I love being pampered; I just wish I didn't have to drive a half hour and deal with the parking garage at Nor-str-m for this little beauty treatment.

My hairdresser, bless her heart! I love her. I called to say I just needed a trim because it wasn't quite right after my visit last week and I couldn't figure out why. Well, she spent a half hour with me, not just a quick trim in the back, and charged nothing at all. She even said she really enjoyed getting my note in the mail. (I had forgotten cash to tip her last time, so I mailed it and she loved the surprise of finding it in her box. Amazing what little pieces of snail mail do to one's spirits!) I walked out this time feeling peppy and pretty. Oh, if only she could style my hair every day!

My husband and I had a wine-tasting date Saturday night in preparation for the big event this coming weekend. That was fun. We now know what we're going to buy in bulk.

Can I tell you that as the mother of the groom who lives two hours from "headquarters," that I feel quite "out of the loop"? I am assured by other moms like me, however, that they felt the same way. Just yesterday, for instance, I found out the menu is no longer brunchy food, but southern food. No biggie (I love, love, love southern food) but the change affects our choices of beverages we're buying, and so it's good I asked, right?

My sweet Daughter-in-Love to be and her mom have endured many "surprises" in planning this wedding. Every major decision has had to be changed, things out of their control. It's to be expected, but their list seems unusally long. Among the ones I'm aware of:

-the cake decorator (whose hubby got military orders to move just before the wedding)
-the photographer (my brother-in-law, got cancer and had to have surgery)
-the musicians (not sure why; I just heard about this today from an "outside/inside"source)
-the caterer
-the dress alterations place (they were originally told by the shop where she bought the dress that it would be one price for the alterations, but later told, "No, that was just for the top half .The bottom half of the dress is another $150." Whaaaa?

So. please, I ask, Lord, either no more big changes, or the GRACE to flex accordingly. I would prefer the grace of stability in plans, of course.

As I said on Facebook, I have never been more excited for two people married than these two (except for myself and my Prince 25 years ago). For the past 23 months, the Sunday night when they have to part ways for another week have been increasingly painful. It broke my heart to see Dee get teary-eyed as she clung to Ben for just a few more minutes before her long drive back home. It made me nervous to think of Ben driving home tired every other Sunday night, and my husband has witnessed a glum son at work on Mondays, and an eager one on Fridays. I talked to Ben on Saturday and he had quite the to-do list as well, but mainly concentrating on getting the place ready for her to come home to. He's a good cleaner and loves order. I'm sure he'll pay attention to every detail for her happiness.

In the midst of all this, we will be mourning the loss of a precious woman who encouraged us as young parents that we were doing a good job with our kids. A woman who laughed often and loved her family deeply. But how thankful we are that she knew and loved the Lord, and that her suffering was brief.


We are so glad the glum is coming to an end and the joy taking its rightful place. It is such a picture of heaven for those of us who are the Bride of Christ. He has gone to prepare a place for us, and He will come again to take us Home. He is eagerly awaiting for us to come down that grand aisle and whisk us away to a wedding feast and everlasting life with Him. That is what this wedding on earth is reminding me to do--celebrate the covenant that Jesus has made with us! Don't forget that He is coming back. If it seems like a long time, remember there are a lot of details to take care of, and more guests who still have not RSVP'd to His invitation. And the suffering in this life can't compare to the glory that awaits us! The Bridegroom is patiently waiting for all things to be fulfilled according to His great and glorious wedding plans!

Jesus at the Intersection

Saturday afternoon, around 1:30, I was coming home with a trunk full of groceries when I approached an intersection near home. There at a popular corner stood a young man and young woman, bundled up tight against the cold wind. She was holding a cardboard sign that said "Homeless and Hungry." I was two lanes away and the light was about to change.

What's strange about this scene is that I live in an area where you just don't see homeless people on the streets. At least not within a ten-mile radius of my house that I've ever seen.
There are plenty of homeless people in our county, but for the most part they live in poorer communities.

I would have been taken aback except that I have been praying that God would show me needs in my neighborhood. Show me needs, and soften me, God. That's what I'd been praying. I had become myopic and lazy. And honestly, when I let myself "go soft" to see needs in the past, I have regretted the depth of overwheleming grief and sadness, and sometimes anger and a sense of helplessness about changing the world or making a difference at all. I have also been duped by people who "work the system" and I was leery about being duped again.

So as I sat at the light, not seeing too many roll down their windows to hand out money or food to this couple, I thought, "Would I? I mean, this county is prosperous, so these kids could just be getting movie money or something." But in the next moment, tears began to pool in my eyes. "No one in their right mind would be standing out in this freezing wind if they didn't have to." And in the third moment, still waiting for the light to turn green, the Lord spoke to me. "This is an opportunity to love Me." It wasn't about who was holding the sign, it was about Jesus and he was clearly saying, "This is your answer."

I drove home trying not to cry, with groceries that needed to be unloaded. When I walked into the house, I told my husband that I felt compelled to give this couple a hot lunch, to get them out of the cold at a fast-food joint. Was that okay with him and did he want to go? Yes, it was okay, but no, he wouldn't be going with me because he had promised our daughter he'd take her to pick up a headboard she bought off Craigslist. A bed, I thought. We all have comfy beds. Where will this young couple sleep tonight? I didn't feel guilty, I felt blessed. That's new, I thought. Always in the past I thought I should renounce prosperity and just feel guilty. But God has not given us blessings for us to feel guilty about. He has "drawn our lines in pleasant places," and I felt very thankful.

Before I left again, Paul asked if I was going to give the couple some money, and I said no, I only had a dollar on me anyway. If they were truly hungry, they would take my offer of lunch. What they needed in the moment was warmth and food, and maybe a ride to a homeless shelter. I could do that, and I wanted to.

I got back in the car and drove toward the intersection where I'd seen them ,hoping they were still there.

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To be continued...

Three-Eyed Freak and a Stop Sign Meditation

Yesterday I had a scary episode of getting very, very lost on my way home to and from the dentist's office. It was neither a new dentist nor a new route. I've been going to him for 20 years, and at least 40 times in the past 12 years since we moved to the adjacent county. The place is only 35 minutes from home, but I was coming from my son's school, so add eight. These are highways I know well, backroads I know well, and don't have to think about either coming or going.

But yesterday was different. The late afternoon sun was right in my face, and even with sunglasses, I was squinting. Rush hour used to be only bad heading away from the city, but now it doesn't matter. Stop and go traffic, regardless. I kept one eye on the clock and one eye on the road and one eye on the side mirror for changing lanes when necessary. Wait, that's three eyes! Exactly. I felt like a three-eyed freak in my confusion as I zipped right past the exit I needed.

I was a half hour late (I had phoned ahead from the school, where things got back-logged by a forgetful boy rounding up books) to say I'd probably be 10-15 minutes late, but after that I didn't talk on the phone while driving). The good dentist took us anyway, the boy first, and then me. All I wanted to do was sit and veg, so having my teeth cleaned was multi-tasking in a preferred position.

On the way home, I again got completely turned around. We were so hungry, and Joel wanted something hot but we didn't want fast food. Looking for a reasonably-priced Chinese place was futile. Rather than drive straight up 95, I veered off in search of food in an area I knew well.

Or so I thought. Don't ask me what I did wrong, but I ended up in the inner city. I'm talking blue-light districts. If you don't know what that means, think drugs, guns, hookers, cop cars, knives, pawn shops, pit bulls. My GPS was in the bottom of the console and I didn't have free hands to dig it out. Besides, I just wanted to get the heck out of there. I locked the doors and told Joel we were in bad neighborhoods and I didn't know what to do. No-left turns when I felt we should turn left. No U-ies when I thought I was going the opposite direction. I was not panicked, but I felt really confused.

I wondered, not for the first time in my life, if this is what Alzheimer's feels like. I am not kidding. How could I get from 15 miles south of home, to all the way around the beltway, again?
I mean, I left the dentist's at 5:55. An hour later, I was 10 minutes from his office, having done some sort of weird loop.

"ARGH! Where AM I? What should I do???!!" I muttered from deep within my hollow stomach.

My son piped up sweetly, "Mom, why don't you pray?"

Really? Did he just suggest that I pray? Seriously, even though I had been muttering, "Oh, HOW do I get out of here? I just wanna go home," I hadn't truly offered a conscious prayer. So I prayed aloud, "Father, please show us which way to go and keep us safe." Simple, but peace came.

Then I told Joel to call Dad, who is great with directions. He is not so great at keeping me calm under duress. No doubt he was picturing his wife being carjacked or robbed at gunpoint and he couldn't do a thing to stop it.

He gave good directions via Joel, but at one point he demanded I get on the phone and so I did. Little did I realize the phone was upsidedown so he could barely hear me. I was saying, "I gotta drive! I can't talk." But he stayed on the line with Joel and...long story not much shorter, we got home. At 7:56, with a stop at the oh-so-tasty (not) Taco Bell.

Along the way, when I wasn't stressed that is, I thought of red lights and how I have to stop for them no matter what. I mean, as a law-abiding driver, I stop for them. But what occurred to me was that I should use the reminder from the red light to stop and pray and think of Jesus this Christmas. Just stop. Don't run through my to-do list, don't stress over what's coming, just stop and think on Jesus.

I hope not be that lost ever again, but I probably will. I just hope that it doesn't take an hour and a child to remind me to pray to the One who knows where I am and where I need to go.

Hard Times are Coming

I am not typically a doom-and-gloomer, nor am I a Pollyanna type. I think I'm somewhere in the middle, with a decided lean toward the brighter outlook of the future. I might be like that because I grew up around people who thought the world was going to end in their lifetime. The things they said scared me at first, and because those things didn't happen, I started to not believe that Jesus would return in even 500 years.

Most of the time I try to avoid people who drag me down with endless jibber-jabber about the failing economy, nuclear armaments, crumbling families, mindless and ignorant self-absorption in leisurely pursuits, religious persecution of Christians, and the like.

But I am changing. I think I am not as naive as I once was. Not as willing to say "everything's gonna be all right" as I used to be.

Don't get me wrong. Ultimately everything for all believers in Christ, is gonna be all right when all is said and done. But there will be much said and much done before that time comes. Prophecies will all be fulfilled, and all of God's promises to deliver His people. I am not convinced that God's plan is to to keep us from suffering because we are believers. No, there has never been biblical or empirical evidence to show that Christians are exempt. The opposite, in fact, is true, according to scripture.

'In this world you WILL have trouble, " Jesus said, "but I give you my peace, that where I am, there you may also be."

I am wondering how to prepare for the second coming of Christ. I think it's not far off but I have not been living with any sense of urgency lately. God is trying to get my attention. Things will not always be comfy and cozy for me like they are now, physically. Our country is led by a president who seems to be anti-American. Several times I've asked God why He let Obama get into office. I don't trust the man to lead us. I fear writing this, a fear of Big Brother taking our freedom of speech in the very near future if that speech is anti-government. Well, I am not anti-government, I am anti-socialist and anti-big government of any kind. Any entity where the power is in the hands of a few is a dangerous entity.

One needn't look too long at the news to see the anti-capitalist agenda out there.

For now I will say no more. I'm not a political blogger and, in all honesty, tire quickly of politics. I love my country, but am not enamored of lengthy conversations about our flawed system and its leaders. But I do know I need to become better informed, better prepared, and most importantly, better at interceding for the nation, the world, the Church (ie the global church), my family, and all the lost souls who have no clue that Christ, indeed , is coming back.

Father, renew my love for you and the passion to tell others that You love them, you want to forgive them, you want to have a relationship with them here and now and for all eternity. Most of all, help me remember You are coming back. You are!

Shiny New Bike Parable: C- in my Gradebook

I read this parable by Mark Driscoll after reading a Haitian missionary's response to it. The missionary's name is Heather and I follow her blog, though I don't know her personally. Her family sees the poverty in Haiti close-up every single day. She was revolted by his post.

I have read the parable now three times. On first reading, I sided with Heather. I agreed that it seems self-indulgent to keep a shiny new bike for oneself when one could give it to a missionary to reach unreached people groups with the gospel.

On second reading, however, I was starting to think, "Driscoll is right. Why can't God's children just enjoy His provisions even if they're brand spanking new, and worship Him with every gift? Why do some of us feel guilty that we have so much? When we give our own kids new gifts, do we hope they feel guilty and give their gifts away? Of course not! We delight in their smiles and gratitude and their enjoyment of said gifts."

On third reading, I could understand why Driscoll used the word "tragically" to begin his summary paragraph. It is indeed tragic to disobey God, no matter what. So you think it's selfish to keep a shiny new bike and therefore you don't keep and use His gift when He has made it clear that's what He wants? Do you know better than God? Driscoll's tangible object of a shiny new bike in the parable could be a symbol for any gift from God--a musical talent, a leadership ability, a knack for building wealth using biblical principles. One can ostensibly "give away" or "sacrifice" any of those in the name of "not wanting to look proud." A skilled Christian musician whose private life of worship demonstrates he or she has the heart of a worshiper should audition for the worship band if the Lord says ,"Now." A leader should not defer to another if God says, "You're the one for the job even though deference might masquerade as humility. Humility does not mean being wishy-washy or letting others bully you." Someone who has the God-given ability to make wealth (by earning, saving, giving, investing, and spending wisely) should not settle for status quo; that's not humility but stupidity. I used to think the ability to make wealth was a matter of good fortune and selfish ambition. I now see it as the gift that it is from God; some use it to bless His kingdom in practical ways that require money. And of course, some people use it selfishly.

Regardless of our justification for sacrificing our gifts, obedience is better in God's eyes. Who else's eyes matter, really?

First Samuel 15:22:

	But Samuel replied: "Does the LORD delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as much as in obeying the voice of the LORD? To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams.

One only needs to read about the building of God's Temple to see that God not only approves of wealth, but commands the use of it for His glory. In the case of the Temple, God did not say "sell all these jewels and use the money on the poor." He did not say, "Make clothing out of the the fine linen instead of making curtains for my house." God did not build that temple of cubic zirconias , Goodwill linens, or Craigslist castoffs. He commanded the use of precious jewels, fine woven linen, and newly carved wood. The accessories of gold were His idea. He did not apologize for building His Temple in a land filled with poverty. He used His wealth to bring glory to Himself ,and that meant using people who might think it a bold, selfish, prideful task to take part in.

God did not tell Solomon to give his bike away. God has plenty of bikes, but expects our obedience if He says "worship me with the bike I've given you." Sometimes that means "give away your possessions." Sometimes that means do the harder thing and keep that shiny new bike. Believe me, it IS harder for some people, truly it is, to keep nice things. Or to receive anything--help when they're sick, money when they're near bankruptcy, or tutoring when they don't understand a subject in school. Pride can keep us from receiving more often than from giving.

Granted, I am not endorsing materialism, and I think herein lies the problem with how I first read Driscoll's parable. (Perhaps other readers got tripped up as well, especially if they only read the parable once. ) I couldn't quite tell if Driscoll is trying to help Christians learn to really appreciate what our heavenly Father has given us and worship Him with those gifts, or if, on a deeper (and supposedly hidden) level, he is showing us how to justify our consumerism.

The parable's meaning is simply unclear. Perhaps I'm obtuse . Perhaps I should read it a fourth time, put in on the proverbial back burner and come back in a week or two to analyze it.

But for now, the grade I give this parable of Driscoll's is a C-. Here's why:

1. Good writing should not have to be read more than once for clarity. A good sentence, a good paragraph, a good story or parable, should be clear on the first read. A parable, by nature, should be simple enough for a child to understand. If many fellow Christians and even non-Christians are offended by your message, it isn't necessarily the wrong message. Jesus called Himself the Rock of Offense. If , however, a reasonably intelligent adult is confused by your message, you have more work to do. Your theology, your writing, or both, need to be revised.

2. The dialogue of the Father does not sound like the gentle heavenly Father of the Bible. The tone sounds impatient and abrupt.

3. The Father does not take the son in his arms and commend him for his generosity or humility, for his tender, compassionate heart (albeit shrouded in guilt) to give away things as nice as what as he's received. Instead the Father jumps to his point: obey and worship Me.

4. The Father also puts the onus on the boy to ask for a bike for the missionary, when clearly the boy sees "an answer to prayer" at his fingertips. It would be a big "duh" for a kid to ask for a bike when he's just been handed one. Don't scold a kid for thinking like a kid.

For those four main reasons, I give Driscoll's parable a C-. It's decent writing mechanically , but not excellent in every way. It has a message, but I am unclear about the author's intent. But most of all, it didn't stir me to think of God as a generous provider, but rather as a demanding father who gives gifts accompanied by a stern lecture and a guilt trip. "If you had asked, I would have..." So the boy is left thinking, "Then it's my fault missionaries don't have bikes." No wonder he can't enjoy the shiny new bike; he hasn't prayed enough! There are still poor missionaries without bikes around the world! A better approach would be, "Son, I want you to have a this shiny new bike. I also hear a missionary in Guatemala asking me for a bike. Ask me now to provide one for him, too, and I will. That will bless all of us!"

Then let the son smile, give his dad a tight hug, and ride off on his shiny new bike, with the wind whistling in his ears, while he thinks what an awesome and generous dad he has who never runs out of good gifts and never tires of being asked to give to others also. Let the Father stand there relishing the joy of having a son who gives and takes with exuberant love, not guilt.

Sin & Broccoli ( A Repost, Edited)

"I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me." I Cor. 4:4

It's an eloquent way of saying, "Just because I don't see my sin doesn't mean I'm innocent." Being blind to my sin doesn't mean it's not there; even the fact that no one points it out doesn't mean it's invisible.

It's kind of like having broccoli between your teeth that you can't feel. Suddenly you smile and everyone else knows what you had for dinner.

God, please hand me the mirror of your Word and/or a bold person to tell me whenever I have broccoli in the teeth of my life.

This is What I Want

I want to fall in love with Jesus all over again. Don't get me wrong, I love Jesus. I do. He has forgiven me of all my sins, He has written my name in his Book of Life, and nothing can separate me from His love; I have His Word on it (Romans 8:39).

But something's been missing for far too long.

With few exceptions, I have been blase' and apathetic, content with status quo. I've had moments here and there when my heart surges with gratitude, when my mind can't take in any more of His majesty, or when I am just ready to be done with this life and enter the next with Him, forever.

But I want so much more.

I want to wake up with Him on my mind. Not wake up thinking of my aches, pains, plans, fears, or worries.

I want to journal eagerly every whisper I hear from Him. It's been a long time since I felt the nearness of His voice.

I want to hang around people who are in love with Him, who are asking, "What's God been doing in your life lately? What are you studying? What miracles or answers to prayer has he shown you?" And I don't just mean on scheduled every-other Wednesdays. While I'm grateful for those times, I long for the kind of fellowship I once experienced nearly every time the phone rang. The phone just doesn't ring that often, and I don't use it much for fellowship, either. I miss the telephone. There is a rich fellowship that can only be shared when humans talk. Not type.Not text. Talk.

I long for my Sundays to consist of meaningful content outside the music and the pulpit. I used to wish it would come from other people "off-stage"--in the ladies' room, the nursery, the Sunday School class, the hall. You know, people with fire-hot love for Jesus, who radiate light and heat.

Now I want to be that person. Or rather, be that person once again. There was a time when I was the radiant, fire-hot, zealous, eager disciple of Jesus Christ who couldn't get enough of the Bible, made every effort to talk about Him with fellow Christians, and who felt a deep sadness for people who neither had nor wanted a relationship with Christ.

I am not there yet. I am still in the wanting-to-want-it stage.

This morning I was singing a certain line over and over from Psalm 51:12

Restore to me the joy of my salvation...

I hunger and thirst for more of Him.

Arrivederci, Roma

We've decided not to go to Italy in August after all.


Yes, we--my husband and I--have agreed to delay our trip to Italy. Indefinitely.

The reasons are many, but the two biggest are seasonal and monetary. After really digging in to researching for a trip (including word-of-mouth "advertising") it appears that August would be the worst month to visit.

It is usually hot, and most of Europe goes on holiday, which means many of them go to Italy, and many Italian business owners (hoteliers, restauranteurs, shopkeepers) close their doors to get their own R&R. Some hotels are not air conditioned. I don't do heat very well; Paul doesn't do crowds very well.

Granted, a romantic getaway should involve some hot and sweaty activity. (You people! I'm talking about spelunking, and if you don't know what that is, look it up!)

We've been told that September is the ideal month. Cooler. Shops open. Less crowded. However, it's just not an option because of school starting. August was our only month when we have built-in child care, thanks to our gracious and generous daughter, who was willing to take on that responsibility after the summer classes at college are over.

Who knows? Maybe God will send us a windfall and the opportunity to take our dream vacation sometime after we've celebrated our actual 25th anniversary. But if we were to go now, we'd have to go into debt to afford the costs which are twice in August what my sister Jill paid last November. I regret having gotten my hopes up based on the amazing deal she got-- $1200 per person, airfare and hotel included!

Am I disappointed? Of course.

But--here's a more than a tidbit testimony for ya-- I have a peace in the midst of the disappointment. That part is an answer to my prayer: "Father, give me a peace to accept whatever the outcome without getting angry."

If you knew how closely disappointment and anger are in my emotional make-up, you would realize what grace has been shelled out in this decision. It was actually I who said first to Paul, "I don't think Italy in August is such a wise idea." Normally it's the other way around, Mr. Finance putting the facts to Miss Wanderlust. It was not the Typical Me begging, whining, and having a tantrum over not getting what I really wanted.

Yes, it's only taken 45 years and 10 months to get to this point. (Ask me in late August how I'm doing.)


Arrivaderci, Roma. You shall remain but a dream. And a song. Perhaps I ask-a my groom-a to serenade me with thissa, on our anniversary date-a, which might be more affordable at the Bel-Loc Diner-a than in Italia, anyway-a.

Ciao, Tuscany, at least in my fantasy.

Bye-bye-uh, Venizia, temporarily. I pray for the day we can spend an afternoon...or two...or seven, enjoying your splendor and beauty.

When It's Time to Change, You've Got to Rearrange

Does anyone remember that song from "The Brady Bunch" ? The kids wanted to audition for a radio song by singing something together. But there was problem; Peter was going through puberty and his voice was changing. The change was embarrassing because his voice would crack mid-song . The solution to the embarrassment was to change songs, and they actually wrote a new song for the audition. Rather than fear the hormonal change, they emphasized it with spunk and humor.

The only lyrics that stick with me from their song are these:

"When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange."

Every time they said "change," Peter's voice would crack. (A little too predictably, but hey, it's television. Creative licensing at its best. Or not.) It made for another episode of can't-get-enough-of-the Bradys for this Greg-smitten girl.


At this juncture of my life, my "voice" is cracking, too. The way life's always been is about to change. We will be parents-of-the-groom in the spring, both vehicles (mine and my hubby's) have about 112,000 miles on them, the mold-ridden master bathroom must be remodeled for health's sake not vanity's (although we are getting a new vanity, tee hee), and our youngest son will most likely be attending a private Christian school in the fall. Oh, and yes, we want to go to Italy for our 25th. I think I've mentioned that a time or two! And we want to do something substantial for my parents' 50th.

Like my husband, I see a whole bunch of dollar signs.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


If we are to continue with our goal to live within our means, then I have to start supplementing the income. And to be honest, I am ready. I am ready for change, to get out of the house more, be in a social environment, find work that I pray is fulfilling, not just "a job," and still be able to care for my home a few days a week. (I do like being at home, and I'm not a "career-minded individual" by any means. I just want to be busier enriching other people's lives, and contribute to the family coffers now that it wouldn't mean neglecting children's needs.)


That is not the only change for which we are about to rearrange. I want to start now by giving up some computer time for higher priorities. I haven't been doing a good job of homemaking lately. I haven't gotten in better shape physically. I haven't gotten involved in serving outside my home except for Sunday School once a month and the occasional meal taken to a sick person's family or to help someone out with child care. (My parents thus far have been self-sustaining, running each other to the doctor and skipping about town...well, as much as two arthritic seventy-somethings can skip.) In short, life has been too comfortable and it has proven detrimental. This "comfort" has added to, not relieved, depression. Isolation is not good.

So for the coming several weeks, I'm rearranging my priorities. A little experiment, you could say.

I want to
-do more fun things with my nine-year-old
- tackle the nagging jobs of cleaning and organizing around the house
-scrapbook some more
-find the fixtures, paint, tile, etc, for the bathroom job
-meet with friends face-to-face, on purpose, for girl-time
-concentrate on the being the kind of wife I'd want to be married to if I were him
-look for meaningful work for the new school year
-exercise 4x/week for starters and eat better
-spend time in prayer and Bible study, not just "devotions"
-limit blogging to 2 days/week, Facebook just 30 minutes a day (yes, computer time has been in control of me, not the other way around, and that form of "socializing" is not healthy)

Soo...my voice cracks now.

Sing with me, Cindy, Marsha, Jan..

When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange.

-

-

P is for PIt

This will be short. A pit stop, really.

He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. Psalm 40:2 (NLT)

I was recalling in my journal today how many times the Lord has brought me out of "the pit." Six years ago today was one of the hardest days of my entire life. A figurative bombing of my own life's federal building. I won't go into detail, but something that I had feared six months prior happened almost as I had predicted. Whenever information is withheld from me, I go into panic mode if I feel the least bit unloved. If I feel disposable or replaceable, the feelings of foreboding bite into my very core, their sharp teeth bearing down into my soul and gripping me like a ... dare I say...a pit bull?

Although I have forgiven my offenders,I have clearly not forgotten. But I have learned lessons about myself and about other people, namely not to align too closely with humans I don't trust.

But more than that I learned that Jesus defeats the Enemy and can be trusted to lift me out of the pit. The night that that incident took place, April of 2005, I was so filled with anger and hatred that I was visited by creatures I can only describe as gremlins. They hovered near the family room ceiling, crossing swords like x's in front of themselves, mocking and jeering, telling me I had no right to call myself a Christian and that I deserved what I got, and look what God had done to me now! Still, in the midst of the lies, in the midst of shaking in fetal position on the couch, I cried out, "Help me, Jesus. Tell them to get out of here! Help me, Jesus." And within moments, the voices and the gremlin faces vanished. I eventually calmed down, and was "spent" from agony and crying; the evil left the room. The name of Jesus, though I hated what had been done IN His name (supposedly), was my strong tower. Jesus rescued me. He had rescued me many times before, and many times since, but this day every year reminds me of His saving grace. It's not a one-time deal to "get saved." It's daily a saving from myself and the lies of the Enemy and the evil in the world if I get too close to it.

I don't like to talk about the experience, and honestly it took me two years and a lot of hard counsel to get to the point of forgiving those who had offended me, and to confess my part in the ordeal as well. After that, the ground was "more steady as I walked along."

In some ways I feel I am almost there again, almost at the bottom of yet another pit. I am in a fight right now to believe Truth, and to love my Passover Lamb, Jesus. He will deliver me out of this pit. I am sure of it.

Word for the Year: Peace

Back in late September, I sensed the Lord spoke something to me very clearly: "Suffering is coming, but I'll be with you."

I stiff-armed the "suffering" half of the message because I was trying hard to be upbeat. The summer had been difficult enough, what with accepting our school closing and being without half my children for eight weeks.

But then came pain like I hadn't known in eight years. Pain that doubled me over and nearly sent me to the ER. Pain that forced me to have an MRI to determine the severity of the cause. Pain that convinced me to have the source surgically removed. (The surgery is next week.)

Back in the fall, things weren't going well in several relationships either, so I felt alone in many ways. Some relationships have improved, others worsened. Sometimes you just have to distance yourself from people who continually cause pain. And you have to let go of the expectation that people who claim to love you will call and ask how you're doing.

The last thing I needed to combat physical pain was the fear of forthcoming suffering. I have a lot of fears, and am at war with anxiety much of the time. It's strange; I sort of "grew into" this sin, because as a child I was carefree and happy. As a teenager my biggest fear was getting a pimple or forgetting my cheerleading socks on game day. As a college student, I feared getting less than an A in any class of my major, or less than a B in any non-major class. As a newlywed, I became a little more tenuous; was my cooking good enough? Did my husband regret getting married to someone so flawed? When the baby came along, forget it. My self-confidence went kaput. I felt guilty practically from the day I found out I was pregnant. Mother Guilt looms larger than a 9-month preggo belly and sticks around till...I dunno...at least till after college graduation (because none of my four has reached that milestone yet).

In the middle of all this, I had the gall to say I wasn't a worrier. I poo-pooed others for worry, thinking things like, "Are you crazy? You worry about something THAT small in the whole scheme of things?" or "Just get over it. It's only money." Or, of shy people I'd think, "That's stupid to be anxiety-ridden over meeting new people. Don't be so self-conscious that you're not others-conscious. Shyness is selfishness."

Fast forward to about the year 2001. Suddenly I began to experience anxiety, not just depression. Little things I would've counted as trivial concerns suddenly became larger than life, like those dumb inflatable chimpanzees at a new car dealer's lot. Claustrophobia kept me from sharing an elevator with more than four people. Lying flat on my back put me into panic mode. Driving made me nervous (not altogether irrational since I'd been in two accidents, not my fault, in the year 2000). Feeling like I was always forgetting something made me fear early-onset Alzheimer's. Choosing the wrong word in a conversation made my face turn red. Stupid, huh?

Fears mounted to large scale. Fear of paralysis. Losing a child. Losing Paul. Infidelity. A house fire. Drowning (which really did nearly happen in 2000 at Rehoboth Beach, with two of my kids when we were pulled out by undertow).

A decade is too long to contend with anxiety and fear. What am I truly believing about God when I quake inside, when I try to avoid situations in which I have no control? Am I deceived into thinking I even HAVE control? Do I believe He loves me like a good father? My own father gave me every proof by example that God is a good Father, so why have I doubted so many times?

It's probably that I want to share control--to let God give me the "feel good" stuff while I stay on guard against anything uncomfortable. At the core, I believe I don't deserve to suffer. That's my #1 problem.

------------More later---------------------

Reading Reviews 2010, Part 2

To continue my post from yesterday, here are two more books I read this past year. Both receive my personal five-star rating.


Because He Loves Me (Fitzpatrick) --I knew I had to read this book after taking copious notes while attending a 2-day conference at our sister church a year ago. Elyse Fitzpatrick is not what I'd call your "typical" women's conference speaker (she's hard hitting but not condemning, uses personal anecdotes with self-deprecating humor, and skips the triteness that sometimes gets sloshy coming from women afraid to "tell it like it is." )

This book is not just for women. Being a person who struggles with feeling unloved and as if I have to "do more and try harder" to measure up to God and certain humans, this book helped put me on a path to liberty. I'm not there yet, but God used this book and conference to reinforce scriptural truth to me. He loves me because He does. He loved me first. He loves me regardless what I do. He loved me before He created me.

This book helped me think more of God's thoughts and what it means to be hidden in Christ. I can still picture Elyse's hand motions when explaining the phrase " hidden in Christ." She put her left hand in front of her, palm facing her, and then tucked her right hand behind that (so audience couldn't see right hand). The left hand was Christ, the right was every follower of His. When God looks at Christ, I am "clothed in His righteousness" and hidden in Him. He treats me just like He treats His Son. I could say more, but this book was pivotal in my spiritual growth. It catapulted me into seriously believing God loves me for His sake, and I benefit exponentially! Why couldn't I "get" that before? *****


Organizing for Life: Declutter Your Mind to Declutter Your World (Felton). I have read countless books on home management, time management, organizing, decorating, and topics of that ilk. Many have spurred me on temporarily through systems and suggestions, but this book revolutionized my thinking because it dealt with heart issues. Make no mistake, dealing with these issues got ugly. Coming to terms with why I "struggle" with housekeeping. The main one? Rebellion. I won't get into it, but basically it comes down to one primary truth: we all want control in our life. Some people (not just women) find control in cleaning and organizing everything in sight. Others find control by not doing that if they feel the other partner has the upper hand by being a "neat freak". It's like anorexia; not eating is a form of control.

The secondary truth I came away with from this book was that good housekeepers prefer beauty over practicality. They want their home to be first and foremost nice to look at. That feeling doesn't necessarily come from simply having everything in its place. You can have an organized home that's dull and lifeless, but if you strive for beauty, order will be part of that. I was also reminded that God is a God of beauty. I grew up hearing He is a God of order (and, the unspoken corrolary, rooted in my Mennonite and Baptist heritage, "beauty is frivolous.") He indeed is a God of order, but one look at nature reveals beauty first! He loves to change the colors of the sky every day and night, He loves to put blue feathers on some birds, and accessorizes some animals with spots, and installs showy "lightbulbs" in certain bugs. He made the human body a thing of beautiful shape and line, not just marvelous DNA and symmetry. He didn't just design nature to function practically and in orderly fashion, although how perfectly He created beauty as well, and saw that it was good. If He says so, who am I to squabble?

How freeing to confess my rebellion, and then to sense God's approval in our spending some money to make a pretty family room (my decade-old dream) in 2010 so that I'd feel "at home" in my own space. I plan to reread this book rather soon as a refresher course since I've not arrived yet as a domestic diva. But I'm loving the beauty as well as more order in my home, thanks to Felton's quintessential book on the subject.*****

Living in this Tension

Our dog is confusing the heck outta me!

Last night she was too weak to get up and greet Sarah's friends who came back here at 11 pm after a trip to New York. I had changed Molly's bandage and it was really bloody. The boys carried her outside on a blanket and she just stayed on her tummy--didn't get up to pee, didn't mess the blanket, didn't rally at the sight of anything moving in the night air. They brought her back in.

I buried my face in her neck and sobbed. For the 443rd time this week I told her what a good dog she is, how much I love her, how she's been a handpicked gift from God.

I went to bed with a shattered heart, dreading the morning. Woke up dreading what I'd find downstairs. Scared to go to the kitchen alone.

But she was on her tummy and wagged her tail to greet me. Still too weak to rise, and needing a change of bandage, she stayed put. Steve woke soon and helped me do the nurse work. Before Paul left for work, he spoke tenderly and rubbed her head. That's not typical for Paul, so I really thought, "This is it. Even he knows her time is really short."

I cooked six egg whites and she devoured them. On her side. She drank water. On her side. She couldn't stand without help.

But at noon, Ben and Sarah carried her outside and she walked around a little and peed. Then she headed for the van. She loves her car rides. So we decided to take her for a ride. Went through the drive thru where Steve works. Gave her a bite of chicken sandwich and some fries.
Came home and parked the van. But every time Ben tried to lift her from the back seat, she pulled away. She wanted to stay there. Maybe another car ride? Maybe her way of saying she'd rather die outside than in? Maybe to die alone while looking out windows?

At any rate, I thought her eyes were saying, "It's my time. Please..."

Bonnie, Evie, and Emmy came over and took turns crawling into the van to pet her and to share our grief. Friends who care about your pets are the best. I told Bonnie I appreciated their company but hoped they'd understand we wanted to be alone with Molly when we went to the park. She completely understood. No apologies needed.


I called the vet and asked if it was okay to give her a whole chicken sandwich. He said, lovingly and yet with expert knowledge, "Is she still bleeding?" Yes, I said. "Then we can say it's not an autoimmune disease. It's a vascular bed problem. With her anemia, she probably doesn't have much absorption. Her intestines lack the lining to break down a lot of food--but by golly, at this stage, if my dog wanted a whole McDonald's cheeseburger, I'd give it to her. But maybe an eighth of it every few hours."

So, through tears, I thanked him for his compassion and advice. Then I called Steve home from work. I figured he'd want to be his siblings for the goodbye ride to the park.


We drove and drove to find a really private spot away from traffic, under trees, a soft place for her to walk. Ben lifted her out, and straightaway she peed on the ground. Then she pooped. (Sorry for TMI, but she hadn't defacated since at least Sunday and I was worried she'd go septic.) There was no blood in any "specimen." What a relief!

Then she proceeded to walk around like a young dog. You'd never know she had an ace bandage.
Her face was bright and happy. She wagged her tail and explored the land. Sniffed leaves. Sniffed rocks. Steve videotaped her youthful romping. It reminded me of what heaven might be like.

Then, when we felt she shouldn't put any more pressure on that bad leg, or tire her any further,
we guided her back to the van. I was a distance from the van so couldn't see what was happening. I figured Ben was lifting her back into her comfy seat.

But no, Molly had hopped up into the van all by herself!
Where did she get the strength? The motivation? The energy? All I could do was say, "Amazing! Thank you, God! I am so confused, but I'll take it!"

And when she got home, she laid down again in the kitchen. Then she got up and went to the family room where Sarah was sleeping. Steve put a blanket under her bad leg, but it has not bled. I don't understand. I don't have to change the bandage. What is going on? Are the meds working and this IS indeed NOT cancer? Does she have an autoimmune disease that's controllable and will meds be able to prolong her life well? Or is it a glimpse of heaven carved out to give us hope, to comfort us? I don't know. The tension is hard to live with, but I will gladly release my dog to a park-like heaven full of trees and leaves and squirrels and birds and whatever else I picture God creating for those He loves--those with two legs or four, or with wings. It's a beautiful thought to dwell on while living in this tension.

Sitting on a Barbed Wire Fence

I am a comfortable middle-aged woman living in a comfortable house in a comfortable, middle class neighborhood. I have a comfortable middle-of-the-road view on too many things--some that matter and some that don't. I go to a comfortable church in the middle of the comfortable county and wear comfortable clothes and engage in comfortable activities.

You'd think I'd be satisfied. But I'm not. I'm not content with the status quo. I feel a restlessness growing within my soul, a sense that I have--for far too long--ignored the parts of scripture that I'm just not comfortable with. Or I've been okay with waiting for others to take the initiative and invite me to join them in opportunities to get out of the lukewarm kettle of water I'm in.

For example, every week I go to church, but seldom do I make the effort to get to know people whose faces I don't recognize. Our congregation is almost 450 people strong, and some weeks I don't even see people I'm trying to see. But there are folks I've never met. I fear that they've been around for seven months (or seven years!) and I haven't noticed or bothered to get to know them. My fear of embarrassment holds me back. Pride is ugly. Humility would say, "So what? Show yourself friendly. Don't wait for someone to befriend you. You know how that feels. Be different. Get over yourself."

Three times a month I go to some kind of church-based, small group meeting where we talk about our walk as Christians, or we discuss the Sunday sermon, or express what's going on in our lives, where we need to improve ("grow"), how we identify with each other, and sometimes we pray at length. It's a good group and we do need each other. But lately I have been examining how many
needs OUTSIDE the group I'm aware of (or callously disregarding), how many hurting lives I'm touching rather than merely talking about. Not sure of any except those of other Christians, perhaps. (I am tempted to say "we aren't noticing" or "we aren't doing" or "we are myopic," but I am not responsible for "we." I can't change the group, or even one other person. Just me. If I am hearing God's voice, I don't need to wait for others to initiate or join me. I need to obey regardless.)

I feel I'm sitting right now on a barbed-wire fence. Itching, somewhat annoyed, kind of scared, afraid to move, but more afraid not to. If I move, the barb will put a hole in my jeans and maybe cut my hands; it could really hurt. But if I stay here and don't move, my muscles will atrophy and the fence will rust under me and I could die in my spiritual paralysis.

The devil wants me to stay put and be comfortable because I'm rather ineffective for the Lord as long as I'm just sittin' and hearin', not gettin' up and doin'. It won't be long before I lose my balance. For too long the "balance" has been comfortable. The balance, for me, has really been imbalance. I never leave my comfortable world. I go to a Christian church, have Christian friends, homeschool my youngest child in a Christian family and teach in a Christian co-op. Even when I worked, it was in a Christian school. I have not made choices to leave the Christian bubble at all. To my shame, I am spiritually fat and weak for lack of exercise.

I think God is starting to affect my equilibrium so that I tip and tilt and finally tumble--heart, mind, soul, and body--off the barbed wire fence and into His service in more ways than are comfortable. Uncomfortable service. Uncomfortable sacrifice. Uncomfortable living. Living that requires more faith, more hard work, and in two words, more love.

I want to love more, not just be loved more.
I want to serve more, not just be served more.
I want the will to get over myself and see the needs of the hurting and try to do something--anything--to help relieve their suffering.
I want help through prayer in this, and accountability. I am tempted to say I want a leader in this, but the truth is, that would be an easy excuse to procrastinate. I can't sit on any fences for other people; I can only make a choice about what to do with the barbed wire fence I'm being asked to get off.

God, help me to choose, today, like removing one finger at a time from this death-grip I have on my fence, one person to love more and serve more. Help me be a better servant in my home where the mundane services go unappreciated and unnoticed unless I fail to do them. Help me to do more than think about orphans, the homeless, the widows, the imprisoned, the enslaved, the cold, the lonely, the hungry. Cause me to pray more and do more to show "the least of these" Your love. Let me loosen my grip on the barbed wire fence, and plunge headlong into the rough pasture below. My soul is in green pastures, yes--you've been so kind to give me more comforts than I can count, but I have enjoyed them rather selfishly for too long. I want to feel for those who aren't living in comfortable green pastures, and then go beyond feeling to doing.

Blog Break Again

My real life is not in order and hasn't been for awhile. So farewell for a time, blog friends.

I'm also pulling away from Facebook, too, for a bit. If you want to communicate, then use email or the phone,

See you when me and my surrounds are more stable.

But first, let me leave you with a link to another blog I found that is hilarious, poignant, transparent, and well-written: It's Almost Naptime!

My Family Room Makeover (at last!)

Before:
Well, REALLY before (as in, before this picture was taken) we didn't have the chocolate sofa or recliner (Bassett, clearance) or new carpet (by Luna). We had a lot of small pieces that made the room look cluttered and old: broken TV cabinet, stained and dated berber carpet, too many lamps in an effort to brighten it up, and few hints at our passion for the nations. I had never liked the ways we tried to store Joel's toys, either, which are mostly Legos, and so overall, I hated the room. I'll be honest. Many a time I acted like a real baby about it rather than being grateful.

The only things I liked about the room before were the color and the view to the outside. To me, this room felt like an itchy wool sweater in the winter: it functioned, but made me feel lousy. I didn't want to be in it.

























At the same time, I fell in love with a certain entertainment center from Five Star. With patience, prayer, and a conversation with the shop owner , we were able to get the lowest price on it a solid month before the price was scheduled to drop that low.

I love everything about it: the fact that it is one large piece that 1) is in cherry wood (my fave) 2) has double lights on both ends, 3) stores away the TV, game system, Legos, and much more 4) has adjustable glass shelves that I am using to display mementos from around the world, reminding us of the people and places we've loved.






Keepsakes


Paul's proud Polish dad played this accordion. He also served as an army medic in WWII (newspaper dated Dec. 8, 1941).





Paul found this comfy (for me) reading chair at By Design, my new favorite consignment shop that brings in wares from model homes and private consignors--almost all of which I'd call "my style"!



The inspiration piece for the room was an old world map I saw at Five Star Consignments for $50, but I asked the Lord for something comparable at a much lower cost. Lo and behold, I found this framed world map at Goodwill the next day! And it was only $10 !
















I scoured the loft at By Design and found a Bassett end table (below) which was exactly what I wanted in every detail . God knows and cares about my littlest desires! Dark wood with an inlay top, a drawer, a shelf, and the same height as the arm of the chair, and under $100. (It was $50!)

Yes, proper size lamps are still much needed, but I am being patient for those last accessories. So far the right ones at the right price have not appeared. Meanwhile, this little one came from the Smith family, so it reminds me of them in Belgium.







































The view from the kitchen:
















After: a place I long to be. A place that feels like home to me.

Mother's Day Creations

Perhaps nothing made my art students more elated than hearing me say, "Today we're going to paint!"

I would lean into the "ugly cabinet" (a long, old, unpainted thing that Cheryl and I couldn't find a better name for) and pull out a big Rubbermaid tote containing their art smocks. Old cotton shirts splattered with dry paint from previous fun projects, rolled up and ready to go again. I miss those smocks. Each one represents a student and the creativity that emerged, their voices chatting away as they mixed colors and applied tempera and talked about life from their young perspectives.

The highlight of painting this year (or at least for me, a mom) was seeing the Mother's Day pot that each student painted. Every child, it seems, loves to make something for Mom. All I did was buy the pots, gather supplies, and spread out some dropcloths. Well, I did end up making a pink pot with dots for a girl who was sick that week and wouldn't have time to create a gift pot on her own. I also picked purple dianthus from my garden .It was going great guns in May, and so God provided flowers for the kids' pots without anyone spending a dime.

As I sat on my porch and handled each painted pot, filling them with soil, I marveled at the variety of personalities. One child saw the importance of putting the date on his. Another's careful lettering was of utmost concern. Still another thought his patriotic mom would appreciate red, white, and blue stripes. Kids are so thoughtful. Some are truly confident, "My mom is gonna LOVE this!" or "I can't wait till she she sees this!" and some wonder ,"Do you think she'll like this? I kind of messed up on this part." (That made me choke up. How often do I wonder, "Will God like me? I kind of messed up today." And then I realize, of COURSE. I'm His child! In the middle of trying to please him, I do "mess up" and yet He is immeasurably pleased not so much by the things I do as by the relationship we have and my "can't wait!" desire to be with Him.)

Securing the roots into the soil, I pondered the growth and potential of each of my students, the grace of God in their lives . I have been humbled by their quickness to forgive. To recognize their own sin. To pray for one another and the people that are on their hearts. To encourage each other. To want to excel, not settle. To give, not hoard. To be thankful ,not grumbling . I learned an incredible lot from them .

Turning a Corner Because He Loves Me

I think spiritually and emotionally exhaustion turns out to be a good thing. You have to choose whether you want to stay there fighting for your own way or give in to God's way. You look at the situation and say, "Am I going to blame it all on the Enemy, other people, circumstances, God, or the
environment?" You realize there is a mix of yuck in your life and you are largely to blame for it.

Yes, there is an Enemy who is trying to devour us and make us devour others in our path. Yes, there are the sins of other people which definitely play a role in the hurt and sadness you feel. Yes, most times our circumstances leave much to be desired. Come to think of it, the month of May was not much better for me than April--worse, actually--but I realized, "Okay, you want to go into June like this, too, or get down to the business of forgiving, healing, praying, and moving on?" I realized my anger which fueled a battle against God, who is able to do all things so why not do them my way?, was a losing battle. I am dealing with the disconnect between my stated beliefs and my practical beliefs.

Reading the book called Because He Loves Me is really helping me. I went to Elyse Fitzpatrick's 2-day seminar a couple weekends ago and can't say enough good about it. I almost didn't go. To my shame, I thought the title sounded lame. Lovey-dovey and infantile. 70s hippie groove karma, it's-all-good propaganda. But the Lord said, "You need to go, Zo. You don't understand love." He said it so gently, but so firmly, I knew I had to go, no matter how I felt about the title.

Amyway, I have been reading the book every morning and journaling--or should I say almost copying the book verbatim (something I said I'd never do)?-- because it is that good. It is that necessary. I poo-pooed the word gospel as cliche, if you want to know the truth .Thought it overused in my circles. Wondered if those who use it really think about it .Question is, do I?
How often does the gospel (shorthand for incarnation, sinless life, death, burial, bodily resurrection, ascension, and future return of Jesus Christ) really intersect with my daily life?
Does it matter to me? Really? Is it transforming me? Can anyone see a difference between the way I was and the way I am? Truly? Or am I merely a Christian who prays in crisis, separates big sins from small sins, thinks I can self-atone by doing better with my lists of self-improvement, is essentially better than certain people but certainly worse than others whose joy, diligence, and obedience put mine to shame?

That's where I've been camping. Lots of downs in my camp, but I'm seeing myself more now as God does. I think. I don't know. I am taking baby steps in my understanding of His great love.
Can I ever just fully believe that He does, no matter what, love me? EVen if I never do another blessed thing for Him? Can you believe it for yourself?

Describe that Place

Describe the place where you do, or would, like to go for worship and prayer in or around your home, to be alone with God. What makes it your favorite place for "solitude" (I put this in quotes because not everyone gets to be alone when they want.) What changes would you make to improve upon that place?