Mary, Did You Know?

Mary, did you know that your baby boy

will one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy

will save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy

has come to make you new?
This child that you delivered will soon deliver you.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy

will give sight to a blind man?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy

will calm a storm with his hand?
Did you know that your baby boy

has walked where angels trod?
And when you kiss your little baby,

you've kissed the face of God.

The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again!
The lame will leap, the dumb will speak the praises of the Lamb!

Mary, did you know that your baby boy

is Lord of all creation?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy

will one day rule the nations?
Did you know that your baby boy

is heaven's perfect Lamb?
The sleeping child your holding is the great I AM.

Did I know? How could I have known? I know, you'd say I had the prophets, I had the angel, I should have figured it out. But I only realized the very basic truths at the beginning.

Did I know that he would one day walk on water? Who has an imagination that great besides Yahweh? Did I know that he would save our sons and daughters? I didn't fully realize the need until I began to have sons and daughters that weren't perfect like my eldest son. But did I know that he came to make me new, and deliver me? He was my baby. It was hard to imagine. It was painful to think of, actually. I imagined him in royal robes and palaces of splendor. I had no problem thinking of him as my king. But there was always a dark fear in the recess of my mind I could not acknowledge. I knew that it would not be a kingdom won without a great sacrifice. On his part. On my part.

Did I know that he would give sight to a blind man? I couldn't have known it. But strangely when it happened, many times, I wasn't surprised. Did I know that he would calm a storm with his hand? No. When the disciples came running to spread the news of that event, I could hardly believe such a thing was a possible. In a way, it made me feel as though I didn't know my own son. In many ways, I didn't. There was a whole other side to him that I could never have hoped to understand. He was human like me, but he was also divine. I spent a lot of time thinking about that fact. Imagining my energetic little boy running up the hill in Nazareth as he had dwelled among angels in heaven was a favorite daydream. And I never took one kiss for granted. I could sense power in every touch.

I knew he was Yahweh. I knew his fingers had created everything. But I couldn't put the knowledge into words until I saw him after he had died such a horrible death. How could life flow again through veins were they those belonging to the Lord of all the earth? And I never doubted that he would one day reign over all. He will. He could do nothing else as the great I AM.

So, I did know some things. I could never have known all, for I am weak and sinful as the rest of humanity. Why God chose me I'll never understand, but I did the best I knew how to do for him. Thankfully, Yahweh did the rest.

*"Mary, Did You Know" was written by Mark Lowry.

God is Good

He would be good even if you weren't looking at a picture of my third child, 11 weeks old and squirming and kicking with life. I learned so much from the process of trying to get pregnant, and I don't regret a moment of the suffering, but I am so glad that He created this little one.


Suffering has taken on a new definition lately. I am not one of the women who love every moment of pregnancy and feel great the whole time. I have been quite sick for a month and I probably have another month to go before I'll start to be able to enjoy eating again, and that's only if the heartburn doesn't set in as quickly as the nausea leaves. But having two other miracles around me, all day every day, is a great reminder that every moment of physical discomfort is worth it to see that baby join our family and grow to be what he or she has been created to be.


Thank You, Lord, for the wonder of being a mom. I ask for endurance to run the race well, and wisdom to lead this little life to You.

Jesus in Unexpected Places

For those of you that have been checking my blog recently, I apologize for my absence.

I've been learning some hard lessons in recent days, due to illness. To my surprise, one of my teachers has been my two-year-old son, Noah.

Two weeks ago I suffered from a migraine for which I was unable to take any medication. I spent about twelve hours in the worst pain of my life, sick to my stomach and unable to sleep. I cried out to God in those desperate moments, asking Him to deliver me or give me the strength to get through. He chose the latter.

At the worst point, as I sat on the bathroom floor, Noah suddenly appeared in the doorway. He looked at me for a moment and then spoke.

"Okay, Mommy? Okay?"

"Mommy's sick." I answered. He disappeared. I assumed he had returned to his play, but several minutes later I heard him lumbering down the stairs and running back to the bathroom door. He held out a sucker that he had retrieved from my room. I had a bag of them I'd been using for nausea.

Later he returned again with my bottle of water.

It was a simple thing, but for some reason his acts of kindness stuck in my mind. How amazing is God that He can reveal His love through a little boy barely able to communicate? How timely are His reminders that He is there, He is in control and that He will pull us through anything He allows in our lives, no matter how impossible it may seem. And not only will we make it through, we will become better for the experience. As Romans says, our suffering creates in us perseverance, character, and hope.

So if you are like me, and you've been at the bottom in some way recently, whether emotionally, physically or otherwise, don't despair. Allow God to shape you in the midst of the fire. You'll be glad in the end.

And may God bring your Noah to you to remind you of His everlasting love.

Common Courtesy

I'm sure I'm not the only one who gets tired of the constant barrage of telemarketers trying to sell me something.

I was so tired of it I put my number on the do not call list. There is something in me that despises anyone telling me what I need to buy. The minute I hear that way-too-polite voice sounding as if I'm the most important person in the world I balk at the insincerity.

Somehow they find the loopholes. One particular man has been calling regularly for the past couple of weeks. Sometimes twice a day. I've been polite, I've told him that my husband handles that area and if he would like to talk to him he is home in the evenings. I've told him over and over again.

This morning, bright and early just as I was beginning homeschool with my daughter, he called again. Asked for me. Told me that he was calling back to let me know about a deal I just couldn't miss out on. I interrupted the spiel.

"I've told you several times now that you would have to talk to my husband, and that he's home in the evenings." I scolded him in a tone that let him know I was fed up. He apologized in his most insincere voice and said that he would call back later.

"Bye." I said rather abruptly and hung up.

The nerve. I thought as I returned to teaching. Why doesn't he just get the hint? What do I have to say to make him stop calling?

That's when I started to feel guilty. Did I just treat that human being the way Christ would have? Isn't that my job as His ambassador?

Telemarketers may be annoying. But they are still people. They are doing the job they've been given to do and probably not enjoying it very much. Especially when people like me get on the line.

I'm convicted today. I must do better. I can't allow the most basic common courtesy to escape me, let alone the command to love each and every person that crosses my path. Because Jesus did no less. And I have no right to belittle someone for whom He died. What a wasted opportunity.

Jesus, forgive my lack of love this morning with the man on the phone. Help me to shine Your light into a dark world, no matter what personal inconvenience to me. Help me see people the way You do. Amen.

Traveler

It had been a strange morning so far for Pastor Robert, from the moment he opened his eyes.

Instead of waking up in his comfortable bed next to his wife, he found himself sitting on the stone steps of a huge, ornate building. Marble pillars rose high into the foggy morning sky. He shook his head, hoping to clear away the cobwebs and shake off the dream that must still possess him, but when he blinked, he was still there.

He stood up and looked around, wondering if he were the victim of some elaborate joke. An eerie feeling began to come over him as he surveyed the scene. Tattered, lifeless people lay around him on the steps. A weak cry came from the highest step. A baby lay all alone, crying helplessly and pitifully as the sunrise started to peek through the buildings all around him. He stared in horror at her. Her umbilical cord was still attached. He quickly went and took her in his arms, his breath catching in his throat at how cold she was. Surely she couldn't have survived much longer. Where was her mother?

What was this place, that left helpless souls on steps during the night to die? He took off his jacket and wrapped her in it tightly. He needed to find help for her. Where would the hospital be in this strange city?

He thought about the night before. He had been visiting some of the members of the church he pastored who were in the hospital. He had felt so despondent after watching one old man struggle to take each breath, pain evident in his clouded eyes, that he had driven to the lookout point on the hill over the city and shared his heartache and tears with the Lord. He couldn't remember driving home. He must have fallen asleep there.

And ended up here. "Here" looked suspiciously like Ancient Rome. Could he really have gone back two thousand years in time to walk the streets of one of the most powerful empires ever built? He supposed anything was possible for God.

A tiny sigh from the little one in his hands spurred him back to action. He walked as fast as he could down the side of the cobblestone street, trying to close his nose against the refuse that filled the trenches on either side. The street was largely empty in the early morning, but there were a few merchants setting up their booths and a few travelers on horseback. He saw a Roman soldier riding a magnificent steed and knew that he was indeed in Rome. He shook his head in amazement. While he received a few odd stares, probably at the sight of his clothes, he was basically ignored by all. He wondered where he should take this child. The soldier wouldn't be of help. He had no idea how to find a doctor or if the doctor would be willing or able to do anything for the sick baby.

Christians! He didn't speak Latin, but he knew some basic Greek or Hebrew from his seminary studies. He ran down the street, searching each booth for the sign of the fish or a cross.

He was delighted when he found one.

More to come...

What is a Biblical Purist?

My prayer as I begin to write today echoes the popular song by Aaron Shust. Give me words to speak, don't let my spirit sleep, 'cause I can't think of anything worth saying.

Psalm 119: 1o5: Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.

As I was walking around my neighborhood this morning, my thoughts turned in this direction. What is the Bible? Why is so important that we define our relationship with the Word of God as Christians?

I don't know if the term "Biblical Purist" has been used before. I apologize to anyone who might have said it before I did. As far as I know it is my own. What do I mean by it? Let me explain.

I have held the belief for most of my life that all Christians were Biblical Purists. I'm saying that I thought all those who associated themselves with Christ believed the Bible, in its entirety, to be true and applicable to our lives. That they held no position below or above what God had said.

As I became an adult, and learned more of what the Bible does say, I started to question things. One example happened when I went to my in laws for the first time for Christmas and was offered champagne. I was at first repulsed by the idea. I had been taught to believe that alcohol is sinful. But after I gave it some thought and prayer and searched through Scripture, I couldn't find any reason to make it an issue. God created it. Up until recently, it was used to kill the diseases that lived in drinking water. Jesus drank it. Jesus' first miracle was the creation of wine from water at a wedding! What the Bible condemned as sinful over and over again was the abuse of alcohol, as harmful as the abuse of food, of money, or any number of things that are not inherently sinful.

The next time it was served, I accepted a glass.

These are some of the other statements that I have heard over the years: "The King James version of the Bible is the only inspired Word of God," "Drumbeats in music are sexual," or "Using 'lighter' forms of the misuse of God's name is okay as long as you don't say the really bad ones." I use these examples because they are so blatantly man-made. You only need to have a basic knowledge of history to know that the King James version was banned originally for its questionable sources. More specifically, we would have to believe that before 1611 there was no inspired Word of God if we claimed this as truth. Drumbeats in music only reveal the rhythm, and many things in life utilize rhythm. The Psalms are explicit in ordaining the use of instruments to emphasize rhythm. And when we look at the Bible, it's clear that God wishes our "yes" to be "yes" and our "no" to be "no," and even softer versions of curses such as "Gosh", "darn", "golly", "gee", etc, mean the same and are still a misuse of the holiness of God's name. Use of them must be labeled (if you are going to be a Biblical Purist) a breaking of the third commandment. (Exodus 20:7)

So am I trying to be a downer this beautiful Saturday afternoon? Absolutely not. In fact, as I prayed over this blog entry, I asked that God would show me how to say what He had put on my heart in a way that revealed His love, not my personal vendetta against false teaching. So how do I accomplish that in an entry many may have already stopped reading because of its controversial and negative material?

I'm not sure. But I do know that while taking away from or adding to the Bible is sin, and is contrary to the Bible itself, (Revelation warns against it for starters) its also something we all fall victim too. Perhaps this is a tool of the forces of evil to trip us up, as keeping us from Biblical Purism clouds our way significantly. And when man made rules are added to the Bible, walking with God suddenly or gradually becomes a drudgery, or finds us in despair as we realize we can never hope to follow all of them.

The good news from the Lord today is that you don't have to follow man made rules. Jesus said it over and over again as the Pharisees spouted off their additions to God's commands. God's way isn't burdensome. It's freeing. And more than that, those that have been covered in the blood of Christ are completely free! It's what we do with that freedom that is important. A true believer will willingly offer his freedom back to God and seek through His Word to find out what goes against the nature of God and refrain, and what moves in harmony with Him and embrace it.

So if you've held some convictions you are starting to question, you have a Savior who would love to show you His Way. He made it clear through the book He inspired His own brother James to write - "If anyone lacks wisdom, he should ask of God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him."

I'm thanking God today for His beautiful, infallible Word, and asking Him to keep me from the temptation to remove any part or make any addition to it's perfect arrangement.

Prayer Changes Things

I remember when I was little seeing a plaque that hung in my parent's bedroom in our parsonage in Oglesby, Illinois. There were three words. "Prayer changes things."

This picture is my mom, 31 years ago. If you can't tell, she's expecting. Expecting me. Well, that may not seem so amazing, until you know that she had been praying for a child for eight years prior to this picture being taken.

What does that have to do with prayer? My mom tells the story of a little old lady in the church named Mrs. Peterson. She came up to my mom one night and asked her if she could pray that she would have a baby.

Of course my mom agreed. And around nine months later I was born.

I've been thinking about prayer. I said in my post about suffering that I knew I needed to pray, and I was resisting that. Well, I did give in to the Spirit and committed myself to pray every day, not just for myself, but for five friends who, like me, are trying to conceive. I have prayed daily for 14 days so far. I have seen prayer work in four exciting ways:

1. Prayer really does change things. James 5: 16 says that "The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." This isn't because the righteous man has any ability of his own, it's only through the Spirit of God that prayer works to change hearts, change minds, change attitudes, and change circumstances. I have been overjoyed to hear the news from two of the five women I've been praying for... they are expecting. One of them, amazingly so.

2. Prayer deepens love. This is probably the biggest reason Jesus encouraged his followers to pray for their enemies. 1 John 3:18 reminds us that we should not "love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth." One of the ways to do so is to pray for others. The friends that I have been praying for have become so much more precious to me. My affection and concern for them has multiplied immensely over these past two weeks.

3. Prayer strengthens. As Galations 5:16 says, "live by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature." The opposite, I've found, is also true. Don't let the Spirit have freedom in your life by prayer and the Word, be sure you'll satisfy those sinful desires. And end up miserable. There is strength in relinquishing control to Christ. With him running the show, things get done you couldn't have dreamed of.

4. Prayer shines light on the path. Sometimes I feel like I'm wandering around in the dark, not sure where to take my next step. Prayer is essential in these moments of indecision. Proverbs 3:6 speaks of this truth. "In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight."

I urge you to give prayer a higher place in your priorities. You will find the Spirit take over and lead you so lovingly into His will that you will never want to leave His presence again.

Prayer changes things. So may we be found on our knees, bleeding our will onto the altar of His perfect and loving plan.

A Game Well Played

Apparently, I'm intimidating when I play volleyball.

At least that's what a friend told me last week when I went to our women's gym/rec night in the church gym.

Sports are not a big part of my life. I enjoy exercise, and I am very active. But competitive sports mean little to me.

Except volleyball.

Our friendly game this past week was nothing like the games I once played in high school. Only three or four of us had ever really played before. It is probably safe to say out of all of us that I had the most experience.

I started thinking about that afterward, as I watched my hand turn a lovely dark shade of grey and purple from repeatedly bumping the ball. What made me so passionate about volleyball? It's an easy answer. Mrs. Whitecotton.

She was my high school volleyball coach. From her I learned such key phrases as "Relentless pursuit" and "Sacrifice your body." She was highly unimpressed by theatric falls. She knew when we were faking it and she knew when we were seriously after the ball. She taught us to be constantly on our guard, always ready to go for it. If we dawdled or socialized on the court, we could be sure we'd be taken out of the game.

Mrs. Whitecotton's attitude paid off, at least for our volleyball team. We did well. We won a lot of games. We got good at what she taught us to do.

She reminds me a little bit of Jesus. He knows when we're faking it. He cares whether we do it with all our heart. He is always urging us to press on, relentlessly pursue, make ourselves a living sacrifice. He cares enough about us and the job he's given us to do that he will devote himself to training us, perfecting us and sending us out on that court of life.

As I put my whole heart into being a good volleyball player, I pray I'll do the same for Jesus. May I get to the end of the game exhausted and spent, but joyful as I see His smile and hear His voice.

"Well played."

The Meaning of Suffering

As I sat next to my daughter in church last Sunday, listening to Pastor talk about the impossibility of salvation apart from the working of God, I looked down at her to find her steadily drawing this picture. She had discovered that she inadvertently drew a cross in her scribbling, and had proceeded to add the head, the arms, the feet, the face, the eyes, and the blood of Christ.

"Mommy," she whispered in her softest voice. "I made Jesus on the cross."

She has no idea, but her drawing, and the simple faith of an almost-four-year-old, has been what has gotten me through the past few days. This picture, drawn on the smallest scrap of paper, has been as priceless to my soul as Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel.

I've been thinking a great deal about the family of Jesus, viewing the cross through their eyes. I've been trying to get inside their head and understand why their faith was so weak. I guess that's why God thought it timely to allow certain testings of my own faith. I've been fighting and persevering and trusting, all the while sure that my faith was strong enough to withstand the trials. My loving heavenly Father, my holy, beautiful Savior, has been gently trying to change my thinking. Anything I attempt on my own will fail. If I'm frustrated, if I'm failing, if I'm fatigued, then I am trying to do it without God's help. (Thank you, Dr. David Jeremiah, even though I was angry with you for saying it.)

Guess what? I'm fatigued, I'm frustrated, and I'm failing. I'm not sure how I'm going to keep on going, enduring infertility and migraines indefinitely. I'm not sure why I should keep writing, when my best efforts are rejected by sources that used to accept virtually everything I sent. I got a rejection for an article today in which an editor had torn apart my work, saying that I ignored basic rules of avoiding cliche terms repeatedly, that I was holding back, and that it was unfit for the magazine. At first I was angry. I even threw it away, discounting her without even reading what she had taken the time to write out. Later I felt guilty and retrieved it. She had good points. She was right. It was bad writing.

So I'm doing it in my own strength. I must stop. I must! I can feel my will slipping and my concern for sin lessening. But I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong. I know I need to pray more, but I just feel so tired of it. It shocks me to write that, but it's true. I'm tired of praying with no answer. I don't know what else to say. I wish God would reveal Himself. I don't mind going through trials, but I want them to have some sort of sense to them. I want them to unravel as cleanly as the novels I love to write. The problem should be resolved. The tension should culminate and then release.

Life isn't a novel. At least, not in the immediate sense that I want to experience. Good will eventually triumph evil, but it may or may not happen in my lifetime. While God tarries for His own excellent reasons, I am bound to suffer. Just as everyone else suffers.

It's what we do with the suffering that makes all the difference. Will we let our suffering accomplish what Jesus did? Will I?

And how do I do that? Or rather, how do I get out of His way so He can do that in me?

Beautiful (a family video)

New Beginnings

My baby began preschool today.

She was a natural. It's as if the girl was born to be a student. She sat proudly at her desk and pulled out out her pencils and crayons at the appropriate times and listened with rapt attention as I read from "Farmer Boy" and "The Baptist Catechism." (Meanwhile, 2 year old Noah did everything in his power to disrupt this new thing called school and make it a resounding failure. Ten minutes into it he filled his diaper, then he proceeded to throw toys around the room, demand his own pair of scissors and scream with displeasure all through music.)

I don't know if I'm a natural at teaching. But I really enjoyed it. (Well, aside from the toddler challenge.) I loved seeing that look in her eye that begged me to teach her more. I delighted in hearing her answers to my questions about the story of creation from Genesis, and I laughed as we made up a silly story about a day at the beach complete with towering waves and shark-killing daddies.

To sum it up, I'm glad I decided to homeschool. I haven't been sure about whether or not I was doing the right thing until today. And though I am overwhelmed at the thought of doing this five days a week, September to May, for an unspecified amount of years to come, I know that if God can get me through this day, then He'll do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. And even as I am overwhelmed, I'm just as excited. I can't wait to delve into the art of learning and relate every aspect of it to an incredible and awesome God! And since the idea of homeschool is an entirely biblical approach to educating children, I am convinced and assured that it is not my job to make this endeavor successful. The responsibility and the credit only belongs to the Lord.

I don't know what your views on education might be. I am not here to say that if you aren't homeschooling, you are wrong. My only point in writing these words is to encourage those who've considered the idea and feel that it might be the plan God has for their family. Trust. Follow. See what happens.

I'll keep you updated.

Keep Looking Up

Something resonated with me when I laid eyes on this mama monkey, holding her baby so tightly.

We were visiting the Toledo Zoo while on vacation, and that's where I met her. I imagined her feelings as she held that little one. She was afraid for the safety of her offspring, so she held on tightly. She reveled in the joy of being needed, and offered comfort without reservation.

Maybe not. Maybe she wasn't thinking about anything except what was for lunch. But that's how I feel, so that's how I interpreted her emotions.

It's almost as if you are trapped with motherhood. That as you place all of your love and devotion and time and effort and prayers and tears on the little ones that look like you and act like you, your identity reforms itself to revolve around their well being and safety. I've never known fear like the dread of something bad happening to my children. I've never known love as fierce and enduring as the love I have for my children, save my love for Christ.

And you'd think that after almost four years, more than that if you count pregnancy, I'd be tired of the worry and the trouble. I'm not. In fact, I've come full circle to the place where I can barely look at a newborn without having my heart twist in a knot of longing.

It's hard to see other mothers that seem to have it so easily. They can decide to have a baby, and nine months later they are holding that little one in their arms. I decided almost a year ago that I was ready to bear another child. Why does God disagree?

Even though my heart is starting to break with disappointment and fear of never holding another child of my own, I find the process strangely interesting. No longer is my response to demand my own way and get huffy with God for not answering my prayers the way I wanted Him to. That might have been my response at first, but He's faithful. He's showing me the way. I can tell He's in this.

It occurred to me today, as I fought the despair of realizing that my body is not even responding to the medicine intended to help me conceive. I am privileged to join in His suffering. You see, I am 328 pages into writing a novel about a city called Jerusalem, a couple thousand years ago. The stage is set for a Savior to die a gruesome death on a cross. No one understands why. Everyone is despairing the very act that God will use to give them eternal hope. No one can see the future, as we can look into the past. They had no idea the resurrection would follow.

I do know, however. I have no excuse to view suffering as the final word from God's hand of allotment. I know that He loves me beyond reason, enough to give His Son's life for my many failures. I know that the darkest day of history was followed closely by the brightest. In the same way, my finest hour is my weakest.

He is using it, too. He's using my own disappointment and suffering to bleed life into the characters that viewed His sacrifice. My wounds give me substance to tell a story, the only story there really is to tell. Praise God that He can take our most excruciating hurts and fashion them into something that helps us know who He is!

So I remain, my eyes ever looking up, my heart crying out for Him no matter the personal sacrifice to understand.

After all, who better than He knows exactly how I feel?

A Good Story

The most dreaded affliction for a writer. Writer's block.

I've had it for awhile now. I've been writing, of course, when you want to be a writer you can not under any circumstances stop writing, but where as sometimes words seem to flow from my fingertips and align themselves wonderfully on the screen, lately it's been a struggle to write every word. Even these words.

It's hard to write when you are constantly under the direction of changing hormones. I feel as a woman at this time in my life that I am sometimes rushing along the swirling rapids of inspiration and eagerness to tell a story, and other times I am fighting to stay afloat in the murkiest of quicksands.

Yet I am always thinking about writing. I am always reading. It may sound odd, but as I sit here I can hear the distant voices of wonderful characters yet to be discovered resounding silently in my mind. I think of the heroes and heroines that will grace the pages of future stories, and I yearn to know them. I desire to my deepest depths to be able to put their story down in a way that makes them real, tangent, inspiring.

That's probably the most frustrating part. I've come far enough to know what I want to write. I want to write about compelling, interesting, admirable people in an exciting and inspiring way. I want to describe things so clearly and succinctly that the words are refreshing and inspiring to read. I want the story turns to come from no where, and take the reader on a wonderful roller coaster ride of emotions, making an unforgettable impact.

If I can't write like that, then why write?

Fortunately, the best Writer of all is a personal friend. I'm looking forward to his further mentorship.

A Song Sung By a Hat

Isn't God amazing, that He can speak through the most unlikely sources? Take for instance this quote from a secular book I'm in the midst of reading. It struck me so deeply I had to stop and share it. Talk about a timely message for believers in this age! If you haven't read the book, it may seem confusing, this is a song... sung by a hat... oh, just read it.

"The houses that, like pillars four
had once held up our school,
Now turned upon each other
and, divided, sought to rule.
And for awhile it seemed the school
must meet an early end,
What with dueling and with fighting
and the clash of friend on friend
And at last there came a morning
when old Slytherin departed
and though the fighting then died out
He left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four
were whittled down to three
Have the Houses been united
as they once were meant to be.
And now the Sorting hat is here
and you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses
because that is what I'm for,
But this year I'll go further,
Listen closely to my song;
Though condemned I am to split you
Still I worry that it's wrong,
Though I must fulfill my duty
And must quarter every year
Still I wonder whether sorting
may not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
The warning history shows,
For our Hogwarts is in danger
From external, deadly foes
And we must unite inside her
Or we'll crumble from within,
I have told you, I have warned you....
Let the Sorting now begin."

- The Sorting Hat, "Harry and the Order of the Phoenix" by J.K. Rowling

"A house divided against itself cannot stand." - Matthew 12:25

Hiding Out in Life

I wonder if I'm the only one who ever feels like hiding out.

Perhaps it has to do with personality. When you are a person who is always in search of answers, always thinking deeply, sometimes causing waves around you.... well, it's just good to put a blanket over your head for awhile.

That's when I am glad for my home. My family. My responsibilities that can seem so mundane at times, suddenly seem a comfort. No one will challenge my methods of washing the dishes or doing the laundry, and my children provide a captive audience when I read to them or play with them. My husband almost always agrees with my philosophical ramblings. It's good to be married to your best friend.

In general, I'm glad for the privilege of being a wife and mom. I'm thrilled for the freedom to be able to completely focus on these tasks. I'm awed and grateful for the wonderful people that God put me with.

Life can be uncomplicated and sweet. We all need these moments to give us strength for the trials, which inevitably are many.

How has God given you rest from the journey today? Be thankful to Him for His wisdom, His grace. He is so good to us.

How Can We Sing Your Songs?

How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land? -Psalm 137:4

Worship.

What is the goal of worship? What gives our worship wings to soar above this life? What drags worship into the bog and makes it stagnant and paralyzed?

I'm going to make a bold statement that might surprise some. I'm in the bog.

Oh, I don't mean me personally. Not at this moment, at least. I am happy to be growing in the Lord and learning to have a heart of worship. He is so sweet! Whether it be a word of Scripture, a great book, a beautiful song, or a precious part of his creation, God has definitely been teaching me to worship him.

I'm talking about a part of the Body of Christ that I have been a part of for quite a few years. And as strange as this may sound in this culture of loneliness, if my brothers and sisters in Christ are in the bog, than so am I. I will be until God lifts us out, cleans us off, and raises our helpless body to the sky to soar on wings like eagles, for truly he is the only one who can stir our hearts to worship him.

But how He will do that I'm at a loss to imagine. Things have gone on for so long without being addressed that there is a festering wound. We've lost precious time and even some parts of our body. If I thought for one moment that man was in charge, my faith would falter.

But men aren't in charge. Christ is. And Christ cared so much for this body that he went and gave up his own just so we could know peace. Just so we could worship in freedom and joyful abandon. So I wait with expectant hope. God will act. Just wait and see. He won't let his beloved one die. Even if we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we'll make it.

We'll worship again.

I will praise you, O LORD, with all my heart; before the gods I will sing your praise. I will bow down toward your holy temple and will praise your name for your love and faithfulness, for you have exalted above all things your name and your word.

When I called, you answered me. You made me bold and stouthearted. May all the kings of the earth praise you, O LORD, when they hear the words of your mouth. May they sing of the ways of the LORD, for the glory of the LORD is great.

Though the Lord is on high, he looks upon the lowly, but the proud he knows from afar. Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes, with your right hand you save me, The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever -

Do not abandon the work of your hands.

-Psalm 138

The Problem of Legalism

It's a hard road to travel.

I know this well, because I've been made to live according to the many laws of legalism before. And I've watched people strain to carry heavy burdens that they don't realize are unnecessary, and are actually keeping them back from the joy of living in Christ.

I close my eyes this evening and remember. I remember being told things that scared me into submission, made me doubt the goodness and love of God, and caused me to feel hopeless and worthless in the eyes of an angry and vengeful Creator. I was made to believe that God wouldn't love me or bless me if I read another version of the Bible besides the King James, if I went to a movie, if I listened to anything except classical or traditional hymn-type music (which really bothered me as my spirit seemed to respond to something completely different as well,) if I spent time with unbelievers, if I drank even a sip of an alcoholic beverage... the list goes on and on.

Fortunately, to balance the problems with the school I attended, I had teachable, Bible believing parents that were willing to look past the traditions and laws that seemed to be considered on equal footing with Scripture. They didn't take us out of the situation, because there weren't any alternatives, but they did teach us to think biblically, and not accept man-breathed words as God's.

I used to be angry about my educational upbringing. I used to think about the people that had tried to teach me those things and feel that I had been cheated by them. But I'm realizing that they didn't do it out of spite or to ruin my life. They taught it because it was taught to them, and they never thought to think about it biblically, they only lived in fear of the promised consequences. Can I really blame them?

And even more than that, I have seen how God used this for incredible good in my life and the lives of my sisters. It is wonderful and freeing to realize that God is so much more than I was told. That no matter how deeply I question, He has always proved Himself worthy of my absolute worship. And would I have questioned if I had not been subject to legalism? I doubt it.

Now I am left with scars that I have realized have been beneficial. God wants us to use the trials we face to bring comfort to others in the same boat. I look around at some of my fellow sojourners and see their tears, their fatigue in carrying the heavy load of the sad result of "adding to the Gospel." I am compassionate. I am also excited, because I know that they only need challenge their own heart and question their own experiences and knowledge against the Scripture and God will reveal Himself!

Jesus spent a good part of His ministry on this earth calling legalists out. Putting them on the spot. Trying to get them to think deeply about why they believe what they believe. He knows that there is freedom in His love, not restriction. There is joy in living in Him, not fear. And to say that He is unable to read our hearts and must therefore judge us by our actions is severely limiting a limitless God. And it leads to heartache.

Why not call in to question some of those traditions and teachings that you've never received a concise biblical mandate for? What about those laws of your denomination or church that just don't seem to have any basis in reality? What if God thinks it's okay to challenge those in your own heart, and find out if they are really important enough to carry around with you for the rest of your life?

Don't be afraid. I've done it, as have others. We've lived to tell the story, and I've never been happier or more secure in my relationship with my awesome Savior. He grows sweeter each day, as the old song puts so succinctly!

To sum it all up in four words that hang on my kitchen wall: Sin divides; Grace unites.

More On Harry Potter

I am still in the midst of the Harry Potter books. I would like to add some of my observances to what I have already generally stated concerning this series of books and movies in another recent post. I will point out some of the many Christian parallels I have noted as well as offer some practical advice about introducing a child to Harry Potter. Be warned, if you don't like to know the story before you read it, I have included some general facts about the series to point out the parallels previously mentioned, but nothing too specific and nothing from the later books, which I haven't even read yet.

I opened to the first page and began to read. Almost immediately I was surprised by the content, which is refreshingly well written. First of all, I was not shocked by dark spells and magic that spoke of the true aspects of sorcery and witchcraft. In fact, I was hard pressed to find anything (portrayed in a positive light) that Christians have been so hard on Harry for. I was also surprised at what I did find. A boy who has been given a special gift of powers by the parents he never knew. A mother sacrificing her life for her baby boy, thus rendering him immune to the evil of the Satan figure, Voldemort, who was trying to kill him. Immediately I thought of Jesus as I considered Lily Potter. Harry had been granted life because of what his mother gave up. Love defeated evil.

Harry, imprisoned within a family that has treated him horribly, made to believe he was nothing, suddenly receives an invitation. An invitation to be part of a community he didn't even know existed. The community of his parents, the community of magic. With nothing else to look forward to, and sudden hope that life is not meant to be what Harry has so far experienced, he readily accepts the help he needs to get to Hogwarts School. I thought of the Holy Spirit, aiding a new believer as they set up their life that will be centered on Christ.

Harry quickly realizes that his problems aren't over, even as the believer's struggle continues after conversion. His frequent rule breaking and childish behavior also make it quite clear that Harry still has a long way to go in his journey. As do we. Believers who think they have arrived are incredibly disillusioned.

But Harry is not expelled by the head of Hogwarts, Dumbledore, even when the dark forces within and without cry for his removal. He is punished, frequently, yet lovingly by the teachers and by Dumbledore. He forms friendships with Ron and Hermoine, and together they grow in knowledge and develop emotionally.

But the dark forces continue to get stronger. Those who would have the world free of such a positive example as Harry Potter seek to destroy him. Harry realizes that within him a war rages, the war between good and evil. He is troubled that it does not come easily to choose right over wrong, and that temptation for evil sometimes overcomes him. But aided by his friends, his protectors, and his teachers, and most often by Dumbledore himself, Harry continues to strain toward good, and fight the evil that would threaten them all. He continues himself to increase in power as he does so.

This is as far as I have come in the series. I am excited to find out what happens! And I challenge Christians not to fear Harry Potter. It is unfortunate that J.K. Rowling used some of the vernacular she did to describe the world Harry lives in, but it really is not what the story is about.

Some practical advice when considering Harry Potter's involvement in your own family. Children reading the books ideally should not be any younger than the characters themselves (the first one starting at the age of 11, the last one, 17.) As the children become teenagers and enter adolescence, their experiences become more intense and at times scary. Parents should keep a dialog going as a child moves through the series, pointing out the parallels to the Bible and discussing the occasional questionable material.

All in all, Harry is a useful addition to a believer's library, if handled correctly. And if you can't bring yourself to read him, don't make any judgments. God can be found in the most unexpected places, and our ways are not His ways. I truly believe that if we limit ourselves and our children to literature that only portrays simple and easy themes, we set ourselves up to be unprepared to face the world we live in, the faith we cling to, and the realities of good and evil.

Give the famous Harry Potter a chance. You might be surprised what you find!

Big Fish

Big Fish has seen better days.

We got Big Fish about four years ago, when my husband Pete decided that it would be wildly beneficial to Hannah to have pet fish. I wasn't convinced that her life would be changed so completely that it was worth the effort of taking care of them.

"I'll take care of them," he promised. "I'll clean the tank, feed them, and find out how to keep them alive."

Well, he does clean the tank every couple of months, I'll give him that.

Anyway, I usually do not give Big Fish or his friends (Mommy fish, Hannah fish and Noah fish) any thought further than to sprinkle their flakes over the water in the morning or add some water when enough evaporation has occured to make it sound like a waterfall in the playroom.

Until yesterday. I had no idea it was possible to feel compassion for a nasty old goldfish.

I was talking to Pete on my cell phone before I headed home from the writer's conference.

"Big Fish isn't doing so well." he informed me. "I think he's dead."

I allowed a small moment of silence in honor of the departed. "Don't flush him yet." I told Pete. "Sometimes he just checks out for awhile and then returns to normal."

When I got home, Hannah asked me to check on Big Fish, who had been forgotten during the ride home. I looked at him. He was motionless on the bottom of the aquarium. Lacy transparent fins floated aimlessly with the motion of the water. He appeared to be dead.

Then I noticed the rock. It had fallen over, pinning Big Fish to the wall and floor of the tank. He couldn't move.

That's when compassion hit me. The poor fish had been stuck all afternoon. No way of escape. As Pete set him free, I watched him swim away, suddenly weightless and free. There would have been no way for Big Fish to move a rock that was four or five times his size and weight. For Pete to right the fallen rock was effortless. Big Fish could live again.

Aren't we the same way? Burdened under a load of sin and consequences that we have no ability to move ourselves? Destined to a life pinned to the ground by a rock? Isn't it wonderful that we have a Savior named Jesus, who is fully capable of moving the rock?

Two differences. Big Fish had no way to ask us for help. If he had, he wouldn't have needed to sit under that rock an entire afternoon. We can talk to God. He'll hear.

The other difference? Big Fish didn't recover from his ordeal. We're watching him die at the bottom of the tank, barely able to take a breath, or whatever it is that fish do to obtain oxygen.

When Christ, the Way, the Truth and the Life, sets you free, you are free indeed.

The Church Office Pilot Part 2

The Church Office Pilot Part 1

Funny!

When God Says "Walk"

There are times when you just know God is speaking.

I heard Him clearly yesterday. I had the wonderful priviledge of attending my first writer's conference, American Christian Writers in Dayton, Ohio. I have been debating for quite a while whether to go to a conference. I had a few fears that were holding me back. Through the encouragement of her own experience, my friend Tanya was the one who convinced me to take the plunge.

I have known for quite awhile that God wanted me to learn to write well. That He wanted me to pursue the possibility of being a professional writer. But I don't think it registered in my mind until yesterday how far down that path I've actually come. When you get so busy doing something and you enjoy the journey so much, sometimes you look up, dumbfounded at the distance from the beginning.

At the conference I was able to meet with author Bob Hostetler, who has written quite a few books with Josh McDowell and quite a few of his own. It was so helpful to me to have his advice on my writing. He gave me some great ideas for presenting my work.

I guess more than anything, it was just great to be with other people who have the same passion that I do. Writers are not a common breed. It can sometimes feel that I am alone in a crowd. But for eight hours or so, I was in a room filled with people just like me. We prayed together. We shared our dreams and passions. We encouraged one another. And strangers became instant friends.

I haven't explained what God was saying as He spoke to me through the events of my experience with ACW. He seems to be directing me to take my writing to the next level. To act like an author. To get busy and send query letters with abandon. To relinquish some of the other things I have been doing and focus on this. To invest in the job I've been given to do.

Hello, my name is Miranda K Shisler. I'm a published author.

And God is very, very good.

Confession of a Potter Fan

You caught me. I admit it. I'm here to confess.

I have fought the trendy little series of books and movies for a long time. I wasn't going to give in to the hype. Oh, not out of grudging spirituality or opposition to the teenaged wizard with the glasses, wild mop of hair and jagged scar. My protest was just because I abhor marketing gimmicks, and greatly detest being told that a book or a movie is unbelievable, the best ever, or making the most money ever made. So what? There've been plenty of popular fads that have made a great deal of money that were completely ridiculous and not worth the time spent considering.

I must confess, Harry seems to be living up to his reputation.

Now, there are two types of people who might read these words, based on the widely differing sorts of people I associate with. Some of you so far are saying So you like Harry Potter. Join the rest of us on the planet, big deal. Others are mildly surprised at my confession and may be having a thought bordering on judgmental. It's okay. I understand. I've been there. Others have simply stopped reading and gotten down on their knees to pray for my backslidden soul. Also okay. the prayers are appreciated, God knows they are needed anyway. If not for this, then certainly for something.

But before you discount my ramblings of a potter addict as not worth the exertion made to read, or before you start weeping on behalf of a fallen sister, hear me out. I'm not a fan because it's the cool thing to do. I'm a fan after careful consideration. You ask why? There are really three basic reasons.

1. Harry Potter is an imagination-stirrer. Anyone who truly knows me will understand why this is important to me. Imagination is the icing on the cake of life. Even if the cake is made of vegetables, icing makes it edible. Okay, icing on vegetables isn't a great analogy. In fact, it's just gross.. Anyway, when you enter the world of the young wizard, his life is identifiable. Teenager with troubled past enduring his school years alongside his peers. We can all relate on some level. But join his world, and suddenly you are having conversations with paintings and eating your meals lit by a thousand floating candles and spending your gym class on the back of a flying horse-like bird. I believe in imagination. I believe wholeheartedly in stretching the limits of reality, for how could we ever imagine a boundless God if we didn't think outside our human box?

2. Harry Potter listens to his teachers. Some movies made for or about teenagers tend to paint adults as idiots. The enemy. The ones who don't understand a thing about what kids are going through and so are completely unfit to provide instruction and guidance. And let's face it, with many adults, that's the truth. But when everyone is doing their job, adults are the leaders. The experienced ones who've been through it and can gently lead the young through the path of mastering life skills. Harry's teachers and role models (save his aunt and uncle) are dedicated to the bringing up of young men and women with morality and justice. They teach them to obey the rules, or face the consequences. They teach them that there is a dark side that must be fought against, and they make no secret of the danger involved in such a mission. And that brings me to my final point.

3. Harry Potter fights evil. To those who are against the wizardry elements of the series, I challenge you with this. Granted, there are words used inaccurately to describe the magical world in which they live. At first glance, it seems to be about witchcraft. But lets all face it. If this was about true witchcraft, divination, sorcery, and all of the rest of it, it wouldn't be about a fight between good and evil. It wouldn't be about love conquering darkness. And believe me, true witches and sorcerers would not be celebrating a Christmas ball! As you move more deeply into the series, and these youngsters become young adults, you plainly see truths that are biblical in nature. Do I think that the author intended them? I have no idea. But I do know God works in ways that we tend not to give Him credit for. Each and every soul granted life and breath from the Creator was given a deep and insatiable need for God. For His goodness. For His story. I'm not surprised to see my faith appear between the lines. I'm delighted, though. Nothing gets my attention more!

I will make several disclaimers, to the great relief of some of you. I am not condoning every word that comes from these books or movies, however well done they are. There are a few uses of bad language that took away from the story. (Not many, but still.) And if if the author had asked me first, I would have advised her not to use the words that so many associate with evil practices. She should have come up with a whole new system to describe the world of her imagination. I also do not necessarily think that these movies are for children. They are intense, and at times scary, especially as the characters mature and approach their later teen years. Harry's story is not full of sunshine and teddy bears. He's been through hell. Kids need to be prepared to deal with those things, and if they are too young, they aren't ready.

But those things aside, I think the bigger picture and the overall message is a positive one. Don't be a Potter hater until you give him a chance. And please, comment away on my thoughts in this post! Criticism is welcome as much as agreement.

Gatekeeper

Yes, there is the world. There are the schedules and the survival and the forbearance of all that sort of thing. There will always be clothes to wash, always be meals to prepare, always be someone to care for and something that needs to be bought or sold or repaired or replaced.

But for some, there is another world. Another realm, just as real as the first, just as tangible as the air you breathe at this very moment. Only some see it well. They are the gatekeepers. They are the fortunate, happy souls who lead the way from the sometimes gripping harshness of this reality into the ethereal portal of the imagination.

Ah, I have lost some. Some that hoped I might have found an escape from the drudgery that sometimes makes up a life. Imagination? What possible benefit could there be in trying to exist in a place created completely of the mind?

But those who doubt have never visited. Have never rode a sky splashed in purple and orange on the wings of a dream. Have never sat beside a soul from another time and place and learned of all that has changed, and so much that has not changed in the human race over the many years we have been stationed on this planet.

A word of caution to the doubters. No one can make you believe in fairy tales, can make you talk to animals or your reflection in a glass. None can cause you to think on your dreams long after sleep has left you, but only you. There are those gatekeepers, who can dedicate their lives to the vision of helping you see the world that goes deeper than your flesh, but if you consider them crazy, if you discount all their findings and ignore their stories, you will never see more than the hardships, and you will never understand further than your letters and numbers.

What purpose does it serve to sneak under the veil of time and space and join a gatekeeper on the mission of their heart? To battle the forces of evil alongside the brave heroes that call to our spirit with their courage and integrity? To steal away into the dark night with foes to face, adventure to be had, love to be kindled and fought for and sacrificed in honor of? What of it? Why is it important?

God. How can we not understand so complex and exciting our Creator if we can only except the devestation our rebellion has caused, and overlook all the beauty and life that He left with us, so we might see Him?

Truly consider this truth. Allow your mind to imagine. If you cannot, let a gatekeeper guide your way. See life. See truth. See the theme woven through every great story and line of poetry that has ever been penned or spoken or put to a screen to inspire.

And see God for all He really is, not what men have made Him out to be. It's a promise, if you look closely, you will see Him in most unexpected places. He will wear the most unexpected faces, and say the most unexpected things. And then you will understand.

He is the ultimate Gatekeeper.

Top Ten

Yes, I realize I just finished a post. But as I was straightening up and getting ready to jump in bed and snuggle up to my husband and go to sleep, I discovered I have more to say. And one of two things happen if I try to go to bed when there are things that must be said. Either I can't sleep, or I forget what it was I wanted to say the next morning.

So, here I am again. Wanting to make a top ten list of the moments of my life that have made the biggest impression on my walk with Christ. I know, you didn't ask. But I'm going to enlighten you regardless. These are in chronological order.

1. Six years old. It was a Sunday night and one of my friends had been baptized that night by my father. I wanted to know why. (Actually, I think part of it was that I wanted to know how I could get baptized because it looked like a lot of fun.) Mom and Dad explained that when someone is baptized, they are telling everyone that Jesus has taken away their sins and given them a home in Heaven. I knew I was a sinner, and I was relieved to know that there was a way to get those marks off my record. I also knew that I would like to live with Jesus in Heaven. So I prayed, right there in my top bunk, for Jesus to come into my heart. And He did. Hasn't left even for a moment since. (I was able to be baptized a few months after that, to my great delight.)

2. Nine or ten years old. Camp Manitoumi. During a chapel service I heard more than the fun camp songs and thought of more than going for the polar bear swim or spending my dollars at the canteen. Suddenly I wanted to know why I believed what I believed. I wanted to know why I could trust that the Bible was accurate. I went forward. I asked. And I don't even remember the answer that the counselor gave. I only remember asking the question, and not really feeling like it was answered.

3. Thirteen years old. The space between ten and thirteen was the most difficult time of my life. I had an awkward transition to adolescence. I was a mess, emotionally and otherwise. I very clearly remember sitting in Mrs. Foster's ninth grade English class. She was talking about Romeo and Juliet. I was thinking about what I was going to do about my horrible life. Then He spoke. I had been told all my life that God never spoke like that, but I'm sorry, He did. He said "Follow Me." I instinctively knew what He meant. "Give up all the other pursuits you're running after. Give up trying to fit in, trying to look good, trying to experience everything. Instead of following around your friends into whatever places they might lead you, be the leader. Lead others to Me." So I prayed right there in English when I should have been thinking about Romeo and Juliet's twisted love saga, and I told God He could have all of me. No matter what. I'd follow to a mud hut in Africa with bugs and snakes if that's what He asked me to do. Life instantly changed.

4. Eighteen years old. (I skipped a great deal of wonderful moments between thirteen and eighteen. High school was a great time for me.) This memory is captured in the picture above. I was in Rome, Italy, with the chorale from my college. Leading us in song was Doc, and wonderful and extremely gifted musician who taught me how to worship God in the most skilled way I could. How can say enough about what that trip to Rome meant to me? How can I put into words what it felt like to descend into the very dungeon that Paul and Peter spent their last moments within? To enter the very Coliseum where my brothers and sisters gave their lives and hear their voices, speaking so loudly in that desolate and crumbling arena? What do I say to communicate the joy it was to sing to a group of people that didn't even speak my language, and have them see Jesus in us? Come to know Him, just through the smiles on our faces and the love in our voices? There in Italy I realized how much didn't matter. And how much did. In Rome I found my life verses. I want to know Christ.

5. Nineteen years old. There was a move to Ohio that I was not very excited about. A job I hadn't ever seen myself at. Health problems that descended upon me with painful surprise. Through it all I looked up. I prayed for help. I fell a lot. And one night I'd had enough. I needed friends. I needed to grow spiritually. So I went to a singles Bible study. I walked in the door. I saw a few familiar faces from church. I saw an unfamiliar face. Someone introduced me, and I shook his hand. I probably looked like an idiot, standing there with my mouth wide open in surprise. Because God spoke. Again. Like He isn't supposed to speak. "This is the one. This is your husband."

6. Twenty-four years old. (Yes, I am serious.) I stood outside the door in the foyer. My heart thumped in anticipation. Moments dragged by like hours. Finally the music swelled. I entered the church on the arm of my father. I met Pete at the alter. I said I do, he said I do, and we were married. Just like God had promised five years earlier.

7. Twenty-six years old. I'd had a rough couple of years. The stress of being newly married coupled with the stress of dealing with infertility taught me a great deal about patience, and waiting on the Lord. Trusting Him in life's most uncertain moments. The day that I hadn't been sure would ever arrive came, just at the right time. God's time. Hannah Ruth, my baby girl, joined the world. Followed two years later by her brother Noah. Talk about defining moments. My world instantly shifted.

8. Twenty-seven years old. After I gave birth to my daughter, I felt like my brain had experienced a jump start like never before. Ideas flooded my head, and instead of fluttering right back out, they stuck. So much so that when I tried to write them down, they came rushing out of me and lined up on the computer screen more neatly than I could have possibly imagined. Then He spoke again, the third time in that way I had been taught was impossible. He only spoke one word, but I knew what He meant. "Write." So that's what I've been doing for the past three years. Writing. And writing. There's been a lot of times I've wondered why exactly He asked me to do so, because I didn't really seem to be changing the world. But I can see the difference in where I was when I began this journey, and where I am now. I've come a ways. I know I've got a ways to go. But I have learned that when God tells you to do something, there's a reason.

9. Twenty-eight years old. I was first published in October of 2005, in "Horizons" by Regular Baptist Press. Three more articles have followed in the past two years.

10. Thirty. It was this past year that I became a fan of the books of Francine Rivers. In fact, she's my number one example to follow for my own fiction. But only the power of God could help an everyday woman write a series like the "Mark of the Lion" books that she authored. Never before had I seen so clearly what it means to be a believer. What it means to be part of the body of Christ. How suprisingly fulfilling and joyful it can be to emerge from the dungeon to an arena filled with bloodied sand and see a mistreated and starved lion eyeing you. Coming toward you. Attacking you. For the sake of Christ. (Read it. You'll see.)

My list so far. It's satisfying to write it down. If you haven't, why not make your own list and see what God's been doing for you these years you've been alive?

I can't wait to see what the next ten will be. Hopefully one of them will be my feet stepping off a plane onto the land of Israel. But even if it isn't, I know I won't be disappointed with the path He takes me down. Why would I? I never have before.

Contact

Remember those friends that you spent every day with at school? The ones you couldn't imagine your life without? The ones you thought you'd never lose contact with?

Then you lose contact.

It has always bothered me. The people that I weathered childhood and adolescence with have disappeared from my life, with the exception of two, who were really more like sisters anyway.

It has been thirteen years since I graduated from high school. Suddenly, especially with the handy little addition of "facebook" to aid in the reunion, people are flying back into my life.

I love it! I love seeing how people have grown up. I love seeing them with pictures of their children and marveling at how much they look like them. I revel in knowing that even though I might not have been part of their life for a long time past, God was still right there with them. He's not only still working on me, but He's still very much involved in the growing process of all those people I loved back then.

It's refreshing. It's God. How amazing His hand! How limitless His power! How faithful His presence, through the roughest spots of life.

I'm praising Him today, for friendships renewed.

To Train Up a Child

It wasn't a very good day.

I'm sure every parent that reads this will nod with understand and instantly relate.

It started out at storytime at our local library. When I opened that door and saw the sea of small kids covering that floor, I should have thought twice. But Hannah was already up in the front row, listening to the story, before I could even decide whether I wanted to stay. So Noah and I made our way to the middle of the floor and sat down.

When it was over, I caught sight of Hannah in the rush of children to get their hand stamps and coloring page. So I sat with Noah and waited for her to get to the front of the mob. A minute or two passed and the crowd began to thin. That's when I realized that Hannah was not among them. Growing very concerned, of course, I went to one of the employees and asked if they had seen where she went. They hadn't, so I rushed out of the room followed by the employee who said she would immediately page her.

"She's only three!" I said desperately.

"Maybe if she hears her name she'll come back." she suggested.

I was highly doubtful. I barrelled down the aisle of the children's area, with not a clue what I was going to do other than panic. That's when I saw her. In her own little world, waltzing back into the children's area, shepherded by another mom who had seen her walking out to the front door and brought her back.

The child I alone was responsible for had walked away from me and had been at the mercy of a complete stranger. Never have I had a moment in parenthood more alarming than this one.

What was I to do? Blame her for her absent mindedness and independence? How could I, when she got them from me? Somehow I knew deep down that it wasn't her fault. It was mine.

The day went downhill from there. I don't wish to relive it, but let's just say that I have been screamed at and hit by two thirty-five pound children more than I have since I was a child myself fighting with my sisters. I had a couple moments where I was severely tempted to join the screaming match and get a few of my own punches in.

Now that the house is quiet and the children I thought of as wonderful blessings before I woke up today are sound asleep, my thoughts have somewhat fallen into focus. I came home from prayer meeting after a encouraging conversation with a friend very curious about the Bible's take on discipline. What am I doing wrong? What does God say about the training up of children? What do all those verses about the "rod" of discipline mean?

I found some interesting facts in my research. And I'm going to give my take on it. You can take my word for it or go on your own search for the truth. But I think we as parents need to truly understand God's heart when it comes to raising our children. We have such a tendency to do whatever we've learned from tradition or whatever is most convenient for us, and not take into account the ones we are supposed to be benefiting in the first place.

First of all, I will immediately say that as a child, I was spanked. And as the Bible promised, I did not die. I benefited from the clear boundaries set up by my parents. I'm not sorry for the way they raised me. I don't feel victimized. I feel blessed that they cared enough to teach me to do right.

Second of all, I'm not against spanking. I'm not getting up on a politically correct soapbox to say that everyone who spanks their children are child abusers. I am however, concerned about the way that people have made some assumptions about what the (King James Version) Bible means when it admonishes us to "beat (our children) with the rod."

Please hear me out, if you are ready to discount everything I've said and stop reading. Yes, I completely and unashamedly believe that the Bible is without error, is literal, and is absolutely relevant to every aspect of our lives. But you also have to look at the Bible in its entirety to see what it is saying. Every word works together to make a complete picture. You can't leave anything out or it won't make sense.

The word that King James translates "beat" is the Hebrew word "naka." It is a word that has many different meanings. When you put them all together, you come up with something closer to "punish" as the NIV says or "correct" according to the NIV reader's. Some of the other versions have come up with "strike, whip, or physically discipline." While that is part of what this word means, you still have to think about what else was said. What about the rod? We tend to think that the verse is saying "Grab a big stick and hit that bad little kid with it." Not at all! The rod in the Bible, especially in the books of poetry means a shepherd staff. Do shepherds indiscrimanantly beat their erring sheep with their staff to get them to do what they want? No. A shepherd uses his rod in many different ways to guide his sheep. Sometimes, it's a tap on the shoulder when they're straying too far. Other times, it's a lifeline to catch a sheep who has fallen into a pit. It is used in so many loving and instructive ways that the sheep come to view that staff as a comfort to them. To let them know that the shepherd cares so much that he isn't going to let them do anything that would bring harm to them.

Does that mean that spanking isn't biblical? Not at all. It can and has been used as an effective tool of discipline that does bring comfort to a child and prolong his life. But it has also been used as a reliever of frustration and a means of convenience. I think that if we truly look closely at the Bible's entire view of raising up godly children we see that the point of discipline is to not let a child get away with anything that will bring them harm.

Think about it. A rod. Unbending. Unweakening. It's a resolve of a parent who says "I'm going to make sure this little one learns to follow God no matter what the sacrifice is to me, because that's how much I love him/her." For some children, spanking is a very effective tool. For others, spanking doesn't mean much. I have a child like that. Spank her until your hand tingles, she doesn't mind. She thinks it's kind of funny. But sit her in time-out, or take away a priviledge or special toy, now she knows I mean business.

There's another aspect to consider in all of this. We can agree to disagree if I have not convinced you of the bigger picture of parent-child discipline. Yet we live in a very touchy society. It is already very politically incorrect to spank. There is a very fine line between legal corporal punishment and child abuse, and there are always attempts on the table to make it completely illegal.

What do we do then? Do we make this our crusade? Do we stand up and defy the government if they say we aren't allowed to spank our kids? Do we really want to see our children taken away from us all for our somewhat vague interpretation of a verse from the Bible?

I can only speak for myself. I'd rather explore the idea of the unbending staff of discipline. I worked for six years in a day care center with 1-5 year olds. I never once spanked a single one of the children that I cared for, but we did not have chaos. We did have the respect of those children. And we did lovingly guide them with discipline and correction.

I hope I haven't caused great offense to some of my friends and acquaintances that might read this. It is not my intention at all. And I must say that the people I have known that did greatly believe in spanking have not done it harshly or to cause injury, but because they truly love and want the best for the children they have been blessed with.

Whatever we do, may we do it with unbending strength, with absolute love, and with constant prayer and gentle instruction. And may we be open to allowing God to further our understanding of His Word in this area, and follow His heart as our Great Shepherd leads us with his ever-comforting staff of discipline.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:4

With Jesus

I would like to introduce you to my Grandma. Her name is Nellie Mae Hubble. She is turning 82 next month.

This picture is from our family reunion a few weeks ago. I made these posters filled with pictures with my Grandma in mind. You see, when any of us think about Grandma, the first thing that comes to mind is how much she loves pictures. She loves capturing happy moments with the people she cares about and reliving those times again and again.

Grandma has been losing her memory for a few years now. She has difficulty remembering recent events, and a very hard time remembering what was said two minutes ago. That made me really sad at first, because I've been pretty close to my Grandma and I missed our long talks. Then I pulled out these pictures. She pointed to picture after picture and we relived the stories. She told me about her best friend Bobbi in high school. She told me about what she thought of her handsome young soldier when she met Grandpa. (He interjected that he missed how it felt to BE a handsome young soldier.) She told me that her father-in-law was the nicest person you could ever meet. She told me stories about my mom and her sister when they were babies. She remembered the years when her nine grandchildren were growing up, wreaking havoc all over her house and property. (I remember those too, very fondly!)

I realized that just because my beautiful little Grandma has lost her short term memory doesn't mean that there's no longer any way to communicate with her. Even if it becomes hazy who I am, she'll still remember me. She might talk about me as if I weren't there, but just the fact that she talks about me in her stories lets me know that she loves me. That she is proud of me.

I must say that it pains me quite a bit to think about losing my granny. I think next to my mom she is the second most important female influence in my life. I have some of her in me, too. I'm stubborn, sometimes to the point of being ridiculous. I'm sentimental. I take so many pictures I could probably make a film of the last 3 or 4 years of my life from them. I treasure those pictures too, just like Grandma. I think when I'm 82, should the Lord tarry, and my granddaughter makes me a poster filled with memories, I'll cry, just like my grandma.

I'm also pretty envious of my grandparents. They've lived a life well. They've learned from mistakes, they've risen over hurdles, and they've arrived to see that their descendants are following Jesus. That has to be a relief. And when I think of how close they are to seeing His face, I almost can't breathe. My little Grandma, who taught me how to play Scrabble like a pro and yelled at me when I watched too much TV and snuck away from me and my sister in the store and hid in the clothes racks until we found her... my Grandma is going to see Jesus. Going to look into His eyes. Going to hold His hands with the same hands she holds mine! My big strong Grandpa who let me ride his mower in the field and taught me to play basketball and let me stick my head out of the window in the car and videotaped every idiotic idea I came up with for a play or a concert... my grandpa is going to embrace the Lord he decided to follow so many years ago. And Jesus is going to make my grandpa feel like a handsome young soldier again.

It's bringing tears to my eyes to imagine it. Then another thought comes to mind. I am going to spend eternity with my grandparents, seeing them in their youth and vigor, seeing them in their spunky and spontaneous personalities. God is going to make them whole forever. Grandpa won't have prostate cancer and only be able to dream of playing tennis and basketball. Grandma won't have to take strong memory medication and strain to recall the most simple things. I won't ever have to see them stumble across the floor with a walker or a cane again.

They will be 100% new.

That's the power of the cross. Sin and death thought they won. In the light of eternity, because of Jesus, we'll be laughing in the face of death forever. Sin will be a distant memory.

And we will be with Jesus.

The Enigma of Christian Unity

I've been thinking more about the quest for unity in the Body of Christ. I claim no special knowledge or prophecies, I only think about it a great deal. And pray about it. For some reason, it's really important to me to get to the bottom of this mystery.

The anonymous response in my post "That They May Be One" several days ago made some points that set off a brainstorm in my head. I don't take the comments of others lightly, even if I disagree. That's why I encourage any readers to respond. You don't have to tell me who you are. Just tell me what you think.

Anyway, what the person said made sense in a lot of ways. The things we focus on in our churches sometimes seem futile. They can definitely take precious time and attention away from other pursuits that might be God's plan for us, especially the spread of the Gospel through our actions and words to our friends and neighbors who have yet to trust Him. I know myself that Sunday night is the time when all my neighbors seem to be out in their yards and relaxed enough to converse and share. Do I really say anything important to them by rarely ever being there at that opportune time? Am I passing up valuable moments I may never get back?

But obviously, Jesus was concerned about our unity. Obviously, Christians NEED to be connected to one another. We can't grow in our faith or encourage new believers if we are not a part of each other's lives. That's why Paul warned us against "forsaking the assembling of ourselves together."

Then again, "not forsaking the assembling" can become an idol to a church. When we blindly pursue the same tradition and comfortable zone of driving to the building, sitting in the pews, singing the songs and listening to the sermon, then drive home as everyone is retiring to their homes, I would be so bold as to suggest we have made our church an idol.

Where is the answer? Where is the path that God would have the church of this age tread upon? And will His people be bold enough to pursue His Spirit to uncharted territory? Will we trust Him if He strips us of all our comforts and traditions? Will we stay if He asks us to grow in our relationships, past the polite greetings in the lobby, past the squeaky clean smiles we take care to present to our fellow believers? Can God convince the survivors of church idolatry to give up the pretense and really love other people, in all of the truth of our failures and struggles with sin?

To find God's answer in all of this, we will have to give up what's wrong with church. That's going to be a problem for many Christians. For a generation that has believed that church was ours to fashion to our own liking, change is going to be brutal. Imagine singing to worship God instead of to please ourselves and our preferences, or to prevent as many waves as possible. Preaching focused on what God really said rather than what we like to think He meant because it makes us feel better or serves our purposes. Loving someone who has revealed to you a devestating problem with sin. Letting others in on your own private struggle with that bad habit. What if God would have us pursue the positive trends of our culture, like helping the needy, living a healthy lifestyle, and accepting people as they are so that we can show them what they can be in Christ, instead of potluck dinners and the like that teach us to indulge in unhealthy behavior, judging the poor and the sinful as unreachable and detestable, and witnessing only on our terms in the way that we feel most comfortable?

No wonder Christianity has earned a few sneers. It didn't have to be that way. And God will not allow His people in the long run to trample HIS way in favor of their own. We are not in a good position if we think we can do it apart from His Spirit.

So who's ready for an adventure? Who's ready to set out in the darkness of this world, armed ONLY with the flashlight of God's Word and the presence of His Spirit to guide us? Who's ready to lose the baggage and find the heart of the Gospel during our days here on earth?

Every great movement takes a leader. Will you volunteer for the position to get back to the basics in your community of believers?

From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.

-Ephesians 4:16

A Page of History

The pages are stretched out here on my carpet. Twelve sheets to be exact, taped together and covered with scribblings.

The scribblings probably wouldn't mean much to anyone else. But to me, they ARE me. These are the names of the people that made me, with the life-giving ability of procreation that God set up in the Garden of Eden.

The Gilbert clan that stretches back to the 1520 when William Gilbert was born in England. The Robertsons from Scotland. The Cables from the mountains of Tennessee. The Hegeman, Hendricks and Margits clans from the Netherlands. The Konradt and Worther families of Germany.

I don't know why I am so fascinated with these people. Maybe it is the frustrating mystery, that they will always be a part of me, and they will live on through my children and my children's children, even thought their body has long since returned to dust. Yet I will never know who they were. I know that there was a Eliza Jane Morehouse that lived from 1842-1898. She was married to Benjamin Doughty. Her parents were Lemuel and Jane, and her son's name was Lewis Edward Doughty, my great-great grandfather. He was only twenty when she died. Why did she die at 56? What was her life like? Did she love Jesus? Did she have hopes and dreams or was her life only full of misery and trial? What I wouldn't give for a time machine to take me to her so that I could understand who she was! Hannah Grannis only lived for 27 years. Did she die in childbirth when she left this life in 1692? Did her death break her little nine year old daughter Sarah's heart? Then there is Jan and Geerten Bloedtgoet from the Netherlands. He lived 100 years and she lived 92. They died the same year in 1690. What imprinted in their absent spirits as they walked the earth for so many years of medieval history? And how did they manage to live so long without modern medicine and safety precautions?

I wish I knew why the line of my family ends so suddenly, across the entire span in the early to mid 1500's. Have I just not uncovered yet the secrets that lay further beneath the surface? Did the darkness of the years before the great immigration to America prevent them from keeping records?

I must rely on my imagination. I can only guess at who my ancestors were. Based on the fact that almost all of them are from the Netherlands, Germany or England, my people were most likely warring in Germania or on Viking ships when Jesus was sacrificing himself on that cross in Jerusalem. Who first came with the good news? How did they respond?

I don't know if anyone else ever has thoughts such as these. I'm glad God understands my need to know. He put the genealogy of Jesus all the way from Adam to Joseph in the Book He wrote. I'm glad He did, too. Geneaologies tie things together. They make life tangent. They make you trust the Creator just a bit more.

I'm glad for these names, though they can never tell me who these people really were. I'm glad that they were people created and loved by God. And I'm glad that somewhere in those bloodlines, or perhaps before they ever started, someone believed in Christ.

What an amazing God, that can take hundreds of people and make one. And that one can produce another hundred.

That's cool.

*The picture at the top is my great-grandfather William Parsons. He's a hero. When he was 39 years old, he saw some runaway horses in a circus parade headed directly toward his four young children, one of them my grandpa. He sacrificed his own life to save every last one of them.