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.

Cry in the Dark

There is no doubt tonight that there is a Spirit within me that is not my own.

Someone nearby is hurting. Someone I know, though not well. Someone I never gave much thought to before his life turned upside down. Before everyone knew his name. And what he did.

Now I can't get him out of my mind.

Mundane and ordinary collides with tragic and desperate. My happy existence caring for my children and husband and enjoying each day of serving God suddenly seems tainted by the grief I can almost feel as I sit here at the computer and tap out the words of my heart.

What must he feel as he sits in his room and ponders the turn his life has taken? Is there anyone in his life that can help him see the truth? Will someone show him that Jesus loves him and can erase the deepest stain of sin from the life most destroyed? Or will all that hate him condemn him to hell with their bitter pursuit of justice, and all that love him try to ease his life-threatening condition with bandaids and kisses?

Will anyone show him Jesus?

I can tell Jesus is hurting for him. He's reaching for him. One little move on the sinner's part and he would make up the distance between them in a heartbeat. After all, Jesus already paid the punishment. The sin that this individual can't take back, no matter what he does, or for as long as he lives, was paid for long ago by a Man who loves him beyond reason.

How will he know?

Will he see you in my family, Jesus? Is that how you might use us? With loving words, truth spoken in the moment of opportunity, grace imparted by your willing vessels?

Or is our assignment to pray? We are. We will, for as long as we sense the heartache. For as long as we see them every day and have to read the hopelessness and confusion in their eyes. We will pray. With all the fervor of the Spirit within that can't take His eyes off a broken man.

I have a new perspective this evening. In the shadow of a victim, a victim's family that cries out for justice and retribution, there is sometimes a sinner who would turn back time to erase the crime he commited. There is usually a family that is also devastated. And their cries are often not heard. Not recognized by human justice.

Jesus hears. His Spirit hears. And straining to hear with His ears, I can hear a faint cry in the dark.

Facing the Giants

Ever have days when you can't figure anything out?

I'm having one of those years, it seems.

I hate not knowing the answers. I come to conclusions very quickly, and it's hard for me when I don't know what to do. Or what to think. Or even what to pray.

What do you do when you see a house on fire, a house full of people you love, and you can't convince anyone around you that there is even a waft of smoke? Even the people inside are waving happily from the windows as if life couldn't be more peaceful, meanwhile to all your understanding the entire structure is about to explode in deadly flames.

First of all, you start wondering if you're going crazy. In my case, a distinct possibility, as you will discover if you dig more deeply into my blog. Be warned. But what gives me pause is that there are a few others standing beside me, uneasily asking if anyone has called the fire department.

I guess I feel a little like David. The whole of the army of the Lord sitting around in their tents playing cards while Goliath shouts curses down on Almighty God.

"Isn't anyone going to stop him?"

So far I've got no takers. No one more spiritually equipped, no one in some place of leadership has offered to take on the giant who is defying God and all His people.

So here I'm left to make the decision. Do I stand up to him even though I'm not what you would call the most qualified? And if I do that, should I arm myself to the extreme, even if the armor is too big for me? Is it really possible to defeat an armed nine foot giant with a little leather strap and a few stones and absolutely no backup?

I'm not there yet. But part of me would really like to be.

I'm just wondering which side is going to win. First of all in me, and then on the battlefield.

That They May Be One

Darkness had settled over the city, and the garden was dimly lit with starlight through the thick ancient olive trees. The sounds of cicadas and frogs and grasshoppers probably joined the chorus of snores from the mound of disciples passed out around the tree where Jesus had left them.
A fervent whisper was the only sound to disturb the peaceful night. Drops of blood mingled with sweat as a perfect, holy heart pleaded with the Father.

"I pray for those who will believe in me through [the message of these men], that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one. I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me."

Other Gospels say that the disciples all fell asleep. Apparently the words Jesus prayed so urgently still made it into the heart of John, for these verses are his record. God made sure he remembered them, because God wanted us to know how passionately He feels about this subject.

Unity. It's not a popular idea in our culture or our churches. We want individuality. We want our own way. We want to be in control. Unity requires love, and love requires sacrificing our own desires for the sake of others. Sacrifice requires humility. There's not a citizen of the world that has a natural bent toward humility.

But what of the consequences? Can we really ignore Jesus' passionate words on the very night he gave up so much for us? What does our refusal to seek unity cost our Savior?

There seem to be three types of Christians strolling the halls of our churches today. We've probably found ourselves in all three positions at one time or another. The first is the member who always has a problem with something that is happening. Always taking offense with decisions made. Always threatening or actually running away from the ones who have made him so angry and seeking another place to go where the spiritual needs he thinks he has will be met. My pastor has gone so far to say that this type of Christian is involved in the sin of spiritual adultery.That God meant for us to be rooted in a body, and that jumping out every time things don't go the way you want is the same as breaking marriage vows. While I'm not sure I'm prepared to call that completely Scriptural, I think it's a valid point.

The second type is probably the most common. Yes, this one sees things happening that bother him or her. There are things to be done and things that need attention. This person even has ideas about what he or she could personally do to help promote unity in the situations that arise. But life is busy. Everything else comes first. There just isn't any time to care too deeply about those things. Besides, isn't that what the pastors and elders are for? To run the church? Why should anyone else try to put their oar in? If it's important enough there will probably be a vote and then they will be sure to participate. If they aren't too busy, that is.

Then there is the third type. They see the same problems in the church that the other two types saw as well. But something happens in the heart of the third. They remember the words of Jesus. They can't get them out of their mind, actually. No matter how many things they try to distract themselves with, the Spirit keeps nudging. Get emotionally involved. Pray about it. Love other people enough to do something about it.

They don't always do the right thing. They stumble over words, sometimes offend without meaning to, sometimes get frustrated and feel like giving up. But in the end, they are right back in the middle of things, working.

Maybe that's all Jesus asks. Maybe He just wants us to care enough to do something.

What's been on your mind? What is going on at your church that has left a bad taste in your mouth? You have three responses. Choose wisely.

Be Still

Be still and know that I am God.

I suppose the verse was meant for different kinds of people. To some it assures them that God is there in the midst of whatever hard time they are having. And He is. There is no trial so great that God is not big enough to handle. Be still. He says gently. Know I am God over all.

Usually when God reminds me to be still it is because I am so busy doing things and rushing around and accomplishing that I've forgotten to sit still and contemplate my Savior. I have a sort of panic within me that tries to convince me that if I arrive late or if I don't finish this project today or if the breadcrumbs sit under that toaster for another five minutes life will most certainly fall apart. It's probably a response to my horror at my capacity for laziness.

Whatever it is, I'm so glad that Jesus doesn't let me get away with it. He also doesn't nag. He just reminds me, faithfully, in that beautiful still, small voice that He's waiting. "Come, be still. Know me. I am God."

He also offers alternatives to the things I am doing. Instead of whining that my husband hasn't finished his projects, why not be thankful that he is willing to do them in the first place and do them well? Why not use the time I am waiting to practice patience? Instead of scrubbing down the house once again, maybe today I could sit out on the swing and listen to my neighbor share her struggles. Instead of searching the internet for something to buy, wouldn't my time better be spent practicing my writing skills so that maybe God will be able to use them to benefit others?

Be still. Slow down. If you're running so fast that you can't see me, how will you know who I am and what I can do?

Wedding Day

It was the day of days. The wonderful experience I had looked forward to for as long as I could remember. My wedding day.

I have to admit, I didn't spend a lot on my wedding. I didn't have much money as a preschool teacher, and my practical engineer fiance found things such as houses and cars for us to live in and drive to be of more importance than fancy weddings. I am glad he did.

My wedding was simple. It was December 30, and there was a blizzard happening outside, but within the church where I had met my beloved nearly four years previously, everything was warm. Our pastor that had helped us through the rough times during our courtship had tears streaming down his face as he helped us through our vows. My Dad stood before us and charged us with our responsibilities to each other. "Follow him." he urged me. "He will become the husband God wants him to be as you support him and cheer him on. Let him lead you. It will bring out the best in him." To Pete he said "Love her. God is giving her to you for you to cherish, to nurture into the woman that she is supposed to be. You have the greater responsibility. You can only do it with love. You can only do that by sacrificing yourself."

Over the 6+ years that we have been married, we have found my father's words (which were really God's) to be absolutely true. When we have done what he advised, we have been blessed. When we have tried to do it our way, or the "natural" way, or whatever way is popular on the talk shows, we have only met brick walls. We are two very stubborn people with lots of opinions we aren't willing to part with. We need God's help to successfully live as a happily married couple.

So why do I walk this particular avenue of memory lane this evening? Just thinking about Jesus. What does Jesus have to do with marriage?

This morning we had communion at church. As I stared at that little cup full of blood red grape juice, I could sense him there. Holding it out to me. Tears in his eyes, smile of love on his face.
"I love you." he says. "Take this cup. Drink it. Marry me."

For that is what he was saying to his disciples. What he was saying to every believer to ever live. "I want to marry you. I've paid the bride price. All you have to do is drink from this cup."
This morning, I drank from the cup. And this day, as every day, I choose to follow him. Because he loves me. Because he sacrificed himself for me.

Because any dawn of any new day could be the day. Wedding day.

Visit to a Church

When you walk into the room in the center of the house, though it's unfamiliar, it's home. You glance around at all the faces seated in a circle, see their welcoming smiles, though present are wealthy and poor, dark skinned and light, men, women and children.

Everyone bows to pray. Requests are made on each other's behalf. "I pray for Justin's brother who is very ill, that he might be made well." "Please be with our dear sister Anna who is taking the gospel to a hostile land." "Be near to Jason, Aaron and Mary and others who are in prison this night for your name." "Give us unity to love one another as you intended."

Everyone starts to sing. The words seem proverbial, and you feel as though you might almost sing along. The spirit of the hymn speaks to the Spirit within.

The leader of the group reminds everyone of Paul's words in his epistle to the Romans. "Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law. The commandments... are summed up in this one rule: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' Love does no harm to its neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law. And do this, understanding the present time. The hour has come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed."
"Jesus is coming again," he looks up and smiles at everyone. "soon! We must love each other and look to Him until He returns!"

There are several "Amens." You can feel the Spirit moving within the group, knitting them together with invisible cords composed of the oneness that is found in Christ. You know the pull of the cord that connects you to each one of these strangers seated here.

"We must pull together our resources for our brother and sister, Timothy and Julia. They have come on hard times. We can't let their children beg bread in the streets."

"They can come to live with me." someone speaks quickly, nodding. "I will care for their needs."

"Thank you, Brother." the leader smiles. "And who will take food and our encouragement to James, who is imprisoned?"

"I will. My family and I will care for him." Another man who has been quiet to this point suddenly says quietly.

"Good." the leader nods his head. "He is not sure how much longer he will be in prison. There is a game this coming Lord's Day, and he feels he might be part of it."

Several women gasp. The children give their parents uncertain glances. The men work to contain their emotions.

"Talk to me, my people." the leader's voice turns very gentle, and tears fill his eyes. "Tell me what you are thinking."

"I suppose I just never thought it would happen." His wife leans against him and says slowly, painfully. "It always seemed like we lived in such a peaceful place. The atrocities that go on in other places didn't register as real until it started happening among us. First Ruth. Then Andrew. Even little Adam was taken to the arena. It could be any one of us next."

"We must be bold to face the things that will happen." someone else suddenly spoke. "We can't live for ourselves any longer. We were not given this life to be wealthy or have all the luxuries that everyone strives for. We were put in this place to be a light for Jesus, our Messiah."

Several murmur "Praise the Lord."

"It bothers me that we have so much discord in this fellowship." A woman spoke this time, very meekly and so soft she was barely audible. "Does it really matter whether some do this or that or go here or there? Does it really matter if we feel offense over something said to us? How can any of be important when our friends and family are giving their lives for their faith?"

"She's right." the leader agreed. "We have no business pursuing petty selfishness or personal gain. We must bolster our strength and trust in the Spirit to guide us in these troubled times, until he returns."

Suddenly the leader turns to you. "Tell me, friend, about how you found the Lord. And where do you come from?"

You search for the words to explain. "I come from a land that was founded on the freedom to believe in Jesus. I learned the Word from a child. I trusted Him as a child. My church is a large building with many members."

"You mean you worship in the open? And no one protests?" Shock registered all around. You start to agree, then something stops you. Recent headlines come to mind.

"Well, it used to be that way. But there are people who've been arrested lately for taking a stand for the Bible. Students that have been suspended for speaking the Word. In fact, the persecution seems most prominent in the school system."

"What kind of people attack children?" someone wonders aloud.

"You know, I was so busy going to potlucks and singing in the choir and working in Vacation Bible School, I haven't even really given it much thought. Somehow I'm able to put out of my mind the thousands of believers that are in jail for their involvement in churches, or giving their lives to the agendas of extremists in other countries."

"We've been doing that too." the leader sighed. "Until it began to happen here. It caught us off guard."

"There's something akin to disbelief in my spirit. I just can't see how anyone would want to fight against a Savior who never did anything except love and heal and forgive."

"If you've never known what it was like to be an unbeliever, it's hard to imagine." the leader nods. "I was an unbeliever. I hated Christians. I enjoyed watching them die in the arena. Who wants to hear that our lives are full of sin and we need the intervention of Jesus Christ to save us from hell?"

"How did you ever accept it?" you ask quietly.

"When Jesus opened my eyes, and I saw that the Christians were right. He is the only way. He is the way, and the truth, and the life!"

"Amen!" several say with emotion.

"Dear friend, where is this place of enlightenment you are from?"

"America."

Everyone shakes their head. No one has heard of your land.

"How did you come to be in Ephesus?" someone asks curiously.

"I have no idea," you almost laugh. It is on the tip of your tongue to tell them what century you are from, but something stops you. None of these people want to hear that Jesus will tarry another 20 centuries.

"You've all taught me something today." you say instead. "The church is the church. It has been since the moment Jesus established it, and the things that you've been instructed to do and the way you've been told to live together and love one another will still work the moment He returns. My people have lost sight of that. They've made up their own rules. And things are messed up. People are isolated, and stagnant in their growth. No one is ready for the persecution that will inevitably find us. We need to get back to the basics."

"Amen, friend. May you play a part in bringing your people back to the Word. May you be faithful in prayer, faithful in tribulation, hopeful in trial. May others look to you and see the Savior and have the courage to step out from the realm of comfort and tradition, and find true life waiting for them."

Everyone who is within reach has laid a hand on you. The leader prays with such conviction that you can actually sense the Spirit's power filling all the places that were empty. You know what you need to do.

It's time to build up the church. The true church, not the fancy building. It's time to prune away the things that don't matter, and get to the heart of what God is doing.

The storm is coming. But so is Jesus.

A Supper To Remember

Elaborating on the admission I made in my last entry to being exceedingly weird, I now confess the tradition I have added to my family. Everyone practice your blank stare.

I celebrate Passover. Yes, I know. Celebrating Passover when you are Jewish is perfectly normal and expected. Celebrating the holiday when you have not a drop of Jewish blood in your body is well... weird.

But I still feel compelled to do it. It is not exactly the Passover that you might experience in a Jewish home - and my tradition is still forming itself after only two years. But I have to say, it has made me understand and appreciate this holiday week on a deeper level.

Today Hannah and I watched "The Prince of Egypt." The symbolism of the Exodus came alive to me as I watched Yachoved take her little baby to the river, sidestepping soldiers all the way, and place her son in the basket with a soft lullaby and a prayer. Just as God sent His Son into the dangerous waters of humanity. In hiding in the wilderness, Moses chased the sheep into the cave and found God waiting in the form of a ethereal fire covering a bush, and God patiently introduced himself to the Hebrew who had spent his childhood calling himself an Egyptian prince.

Moses went back to the Pharaoh as an unlikely deliverer. Something we generally never give thought to is the fact that Moses grew up in that palace. He probably intimately knew the ruler. No wonder Moses was hesitant to face him! Can you imagine that reunion? "Hey, good to see you again, brother. I'm here to take your slave force and leave Egypt."

But the most important part of the story is the theme of Passover. God prepared His people for the final plague. The death angel would come, and those not prepared would suffer the death of their firstborn. The only remedy was the sacrifice of a lamb. The blood must be shed, and painted on the doorframe across the top and on either side. Just like a cross. If a family put themselves under the protection of that slain lamb, the angel would pass over them and no harm would come to them.

My Passover jumps from this story to another. A Passover meal, shared on the Thursday night before what we know as Good Friday. A Passover meal with a Deliverer and his disciples. Wanting them to understand the significance, he picks up the matzo bread, flat and hard and easily broken. He begins to break it, sending it around the table.

"This is my body, broken for you." he says, urgency in his voice, willing them to understand. To understand why God had the Israelites leave the yeast out of their bread that night before their glorious deliverance.

He takes the cup of dark red wine. "This is the blood of the covenant, poured out for many for the forgivness of sins."

I'm the lamb. He's saying to their hearts. I'm the reason that God passed over the houses with the blood of the lamb. There must be a sacrifice. He passes the cup around, asking them to drink. They glance at each other incredulously (or maybe a blank stare?) Why is Jesus performing an engagement ritual with a group of men? When they drink, they know they are saying yes to his proposal. But they aren't exactly sure yet what that proposal entails.

Jesus is sure. He knows what's coming next. Tomorrow. Good Friday.

Is It Just Me?

The older I get, the more I realize just how weird I am.

One tends to think that they way they see the world is the way everyone sees the world, at least in the self-focused waters of youth. Now that I'm looking around at others and seeing what others are interested in and the things they talk about and do, I'm more certain than ever that I am one odd character.

And I can't lie, part of me likes that. Part of me is thrilled that when I have taken the temperament test http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes1.htm on several occasions, I have always come out a INFJ. I'm glad that I'm of a small percentage of the population. I delight in the uncommon, so I might as well delight in being uncommon.

But it can be hard. It's difficult relating to other people. It's most challenging when people misunderstand. Even husbands and relatives. I can say something, and it is heard a completely different way than I intended. I can be in a room full of people, and feel like an alien landing on earth for the first time. I am brimming with opinions and ideas and theories, but I hesitate to talk about them most of the time because I only seem to get blank stares.

Perhaps this is only my perception. It may even only be my present configuration of hormones. Maybe the things I come up with are off the wall. It's hard to judge your own self.
My consolation is that I have a Savior who understands me. I understand Him too, for He was often pegged as crazy for His ideas. I'm relieved that God can use crazy people too. Because I don't see myself fitting in much better any time soon.

The Glory of the Cross

The proconsul charged and commanded Andrew not to teach and preach such things any more; or, if he did, he should be fastened to the cross with all speed.
Andrew, abiding in his former mind very constant, answered thus concerning the punishment which he threatened: "I would not have preached the glory of the cross if I had feared the death of the cross."

...Andrew, going toward the place, and seeing afar off the cross prepared, did change neither countenance nor colour, neither did his blood shrink, neither did he fail in his speech, his body fainted not, neither was his mind molested, nor did his understanding fail him, as it is the manner of men to do, but out of the abundance of his heart his mouth did speak, and fervent charity did appear in his words as kindled sparks; he said, "Oh cross, most welcome and long looked for! With a willing mind, joyfully and desirously, I come to thee, being the scholar of Him which did hang on thee: because I have always been thy lover, and have coveted to embrace thee."

This quote comes from a old and dusty book sitting up on my shelf. As old as the printing is, the date it was written is much older. It is Foxe's Book of Martyrs. And the quote speaks of Andrew, the brother of Peter and the disciple of the Lord.

I heard some disturbing information concerning a law that is about to be passed in another country. In effect the law says that any Christian who stands up for his or her belief in the truth of the Bible in a certain matter will spend 3-5 years in prison. More than this, if you pay a visit to http://www.persecution.com/ you will hear many, many stories of the same nature all around the globe this very day.

I think that we as comfortable, safe Christians in our free country may have become too far removed from the dividing line the Gospel is in this world. We've become that Laodicean church in Revelation that was strongly reprimanded for their "lukewarmness." We're not hot or cold. We're nothing. We live in a bubble. And all around us the bubble is getting smaller and smaller. Am I giving myself and my children the opportunities to come to terms with that? Do I think I'm already in Heaven, and there are no more battles to be won? What made me think that God owes me all the luxuries of life and I owe Him nothing?

I have always glamorized the martyr's role in my mind. I thought of it with excitement, reveling in the thought of giving my life for Christ. But now that reality seems to be setting in, I am not so sure. I never thought of the possibility of having to go to prison. I never thought of having to watch my children make these choices. I never stopped to think of all the people that might not make the right choice. I never stopped to think that it would be hard for me to make it, because I never honestly believed that I might have to.

But even as I write these words, I see that I am thinking only in human terms. The Holy Spirit that indwelt the believers all through the ages who gave their lives for Christ lives right here, in this room, in my being. And if the time comes, even when the time comes that I am called to the stand and put on the spot of saying what the world wants to hear or what God says is truth, I trust that the Savior will be standing beside me, his hand in mine, smiling his assurance and transmitting his peace.

How else could Andrew have said what he said? How else could Andrew have died as he died?

Lord, let us truly see the glory of the cross.

Free

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery...
You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love.
Galations 5:1,13

It hit me like a bolt of lightning today, if you'll pardon the cliche. I was out walking, listening to music, caught in the funk I've been in for quite awhile. You know the funk I'm talking about. Feeling sorry for myself. Convinced that I've been right and everyone else is wrong. Wondering why in the world nothing has seemed to work even though I have been doing everything I should be doing.

All the while I couldn't see the through thick veil of my own sin to realize that I was enslaved. Not only that, I'd let myself become a slave again to the master I was set free from! Suddenly the Spirit shone through the haze. It all came rushing to me, as if I was viewing the events of the past couple of months through a completely different view.

I realized how ugly I'd become inside.

Now I know why the Bible warns so strenuously against bitterness and resentment. It can grow so quickly and quietly you don't even recognize it until it has grown out of control. I'd been hurt and felt betrayed, and knew from the Bible that I was right and this other person was wrong.
But being right never gives anyone an excuse to be wrong.

It's self defeating to even think it. My hopelessness and bad attitude was ensuring that the wonderful things I had hoped God would do couldn't happen, at least not anywhere near me. It wasn't even the other person's fault anymore. It was mine.

Repentance brought a wave of relief and life that I haven't felt in awhile. Energized, I was able to pray and praise God the rest of the two mile walk. Now I have a hope, a true hope, not a fleeting hope based on my own arguments and efforts to change the situation I am involved in. The hope is that Jesus can do all the things that we can't, when we come to the realization that it's just not within our grasp.

He can make my attitude sweet when others hurt and betray, or misuse their position. He can cause me to react with love and think the best of my brothers and sisters. He can make right all the things going wrong in the body, but only if I get out of His way, and make my heart right before Him. If there is nothing within me but hopelessness and resentment, then I will only teach others around me to be hopeless and resentful. If I am full of His Spirit in a dry and thirsty land, others will see Jesus and be changed by Him.

So I'm allowing the Spirit to make me get out of the way. And to remember that I've been set free to serve others in love. Trying to do it any other way will only lead to the desert. I've been there. I'd rather be the tree planted by the water that brings forth fruit in any season.

Make me that tree, Lord. Give your precious resurrected Spirit to bridle my selfish worldly ways.

Remind me how you made me free.

The Letter of the Law

There's no leather chaise lounge, and no distinguished looking old man with glasses taking notes. But I'm definitely revisiting some old memories.

Suddenly it's as vivid as the day it happened. It all started when *Jay had the audacity to put his hand on *Kara's knee. (What's the big deal? Well, if you'd gone to my school, you would have been shocked too. It was a separate world unto itself.)

Okay, so he broke the rules. I didn't have a problem with him being punished. I did, however, have a huge problem with ME being punished. Let me explain. It was my freshmen year of high school. Two things are important to know about that year. I found myself in a class completely made up of 14 year old boys. I was the only girl. Besides that, I was a year younger than the kids in my own class, because I started kindergarten at the age of four. So you can imagine how intimidating I found the sophmore girls to be, being two years older than me. All of my friends were in the two grades below me. Some of them had been my friends since infancy, one was even my sister. I did EVERYTHING with those girls. I hated going to my own classes and immediately met up with them during lunch and between bells.

Suddenly, it is announced that because of the public display of affection between an 8th grade girl and a 9th grade boy, from that point on no junior highers and high schoolers will be allowed to sit together at any time, especially during lunch, when the incident took place.

Please allow me a moment to recover from my disbelief. AGAIN. Does anyone see any logic in this decision, even 17 years later? I can see saying Jay isn't allowed to sit with Kara. I can even understand boys not being allowed to sit with girls. If that had been the way things were handled, I probably wouldn't even remember this. But no, it was decided that this was the way it would be. And it only affected three people. Jay, Kara, and me.

I was angry beyond words. And I didn't mind showing it. I cried and complained to my sympathetic friends, but they couldn't do anything about it. When the first horrible day came when I walked into that cafeteria and saw all my friends sitting at that table and knew I couldn't join them, I was more hurt than I had ever been before. Beyond that, I was embarrassed. Who in the world would I sit with? The dumb boys that made up my class? Forget it! Older girls who scared the life out of me? No way! In a huff and completely unable to decide what to do, I went with rebellion to cover my shame. I grabbed a chair and plunked myself down by the doorway and stared angrily at the teacher monitoring lunch. Now, if I were that teacher, I would have ignored me. Did he? Of course not. He told me to go to the principal's office. Nice.

Fortunately, I had a wonderful principal during that time. He was one of the most understanding and inspiring teachers I have ever had. I wasn't afraid of him, in fact, I practically ran to the office to share with him my unfair circumstance. I poured my heart out and stood sniffling in the doorway of his office. He didn't say anything for a few minutes. At the time I figured he was mad at me like everyone else. But now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure he felt sorry for me. And he knew why I felt I was being treated unfairly. But he didn't say he would take care of it, or make an exception for me like I thought he would.

"The problem is, you're only obeying the letter of the law." he explained. I looked at him like he had three eyes. What in the world was that supposed to mean?

Well, time went on, and I eventually realized that the sophmore girls weren't so scary, and if I sat at their table I could lean over and talk to my friends without getting in too much trouble. The trial passed, but an imprint remained. (As you can see, by this recount.) And now I'm thinking about Mr. G's words and I think I know what he meant.

I have come to the point where I can admit that I have a problem with authority figures. God has kept putting them in my pathway, from that first kindergarten teacher who sent me to the principal's office for disrupting order by offering my best friend a better place in line (Yes, I've been sent there twice), to the husband and pastors that lead me now. But thank the Lord Mr. G said those words all those years ago. If he had just smoothed my path, I would have expected life to do the same. But it was more important that I realize that obeying the rules of imperfect men is as important as obeying the perfect rules of God. By submitting to the whole law, rather than just the letter, I honor God. And that's more important than always being treated fairly.
I'm still learning. I'm looking forward to how God will use this further in my life.

And I'm thankful for the wisdom of Mr. G, wherever he is. He taught me to love to write, and he also imprinted in me the importance of following more than the letter of the law.

*names changed
Photo taken by my dad.

Rule Breakers

Have you ever seen such an inspired work of art?

I've heard all the stories from other parents about their children coloring on the walls. My child was going to be different. I warned her far in advance that she would be in big trouble if she ever tried such a thing. Over and over and over I made it clear: We don't write on the walls or furniture.

I was right in the next room, watching Rachael Ray make dinner as I always do for about fifteen minutes at the end of the episode when she cooks. She was making turkey meatball subs. They looked pretty good.

I turned it off. Walked into the next room where I realized my daughter had gone silent. I should have known. Nothing good happens when Hannah stops talking.

At the moment she decided to break the rules and put that brown marker to the wall, she abandoned all sense of conservatism. She drew H's and people and squigglies all over two walls, the carpet on the stairs, the door, the floor and the kitchen chairs.

I came to an interesting moment in parenthood. The moment where that child is watching to see the reaction that is coming. She wanted to know if I would really punish her for what I had repeatedly told her was unacceptable behavior. Problem was, I only wanted to laugh. And take pictures. Her drawing of a person was the best one she's ever done! How could I not capture that for posterity? I couldn't really blame her, either. If I weren't the one that would have to clean up the mess and repaint those walls I already labored over far too long, I might be tempted to make it my extra large canvas as well.

Now, now, don't worry. I didn't perform in all those school plays for nothing. As far as my daughter is concerned, writing on walls and other various household surfaces warrants a good long time out and a stern lecture.

But I did laugh when she wasn't looking. And I took pictures. And now I'm sharing them with you.

And consider yourself warned. Don't use flat paint, unless painting brings you particular delight. Your little rule breaker will do it too. When you least expect it.

Miracles

My first little miracle. Waited for. Prayed for. Cried for. Pled for.

We went to visit my new little neice last Saturday. She got me thinking about what it was like to become a parent for the first time. Being the cousin of my own children, she bore resemblance to my daughter when she was a newborn. It reminded me of all the feelings that surrounded that birth over three years ago.

I had wanted nothing but to be a mother from the time I said "I do." It was a few months before my husband felt ready, but then I thought that everything would work out just the way I envisioned it. God had other things in mind.

For eighteen long and arduous months, I spent time in the class of patience, taught by the Lord Himself. I had to come to the place where I asked all those hard questions. "What if I am not able to bear children?" "What if I finally do become pregnant and then I have a miscarriage?" "What if I have to wait years and years before it is my turn to be a mother?"

I remember the excruciating pain of watching my friends at church become mothers. I felt out of place. Like everyone else had something that I was missing. It seemed like the only conversations that other women wanted to have involved the antics of their babies. I don't think there is another time in my life that I have felt so incomplete.

I prayed so much during that year and a half. I wrote a lot of my prayers, and I now have a wonderful record of the path God led me through. I have an entry in my prayer journal that was dated to just about the time Hannah would have been conceived. In it I completely let go of my own schedule and accepted what God had - whatever it would be. I surrendered the worry and the disappointment and my broken heart and truly asked Him to use me however He would choose.

Why are we so mistrustful of God? Why do we always assume that He just wants to play games with us? Why didn't I realize at the beginning of that journey that He cared as much and more as I did about the children He was planning on creating from the foundation of the universe? He knew the exact time and place that it would take to create the life that would grow into my little girl. He didn't want me to miss out on the treasure and miracle that she is. He knew that we needed her in our family.

It makes me trust Him to remember what He's done. Maybe next time I won't be so quick to despair that He doesn't care. Maybe as each one of these lessons are learned in my life, I'll be a little faster in coming to the conclusion that God is all about miracles - in His time, and His way. I know I'll always look back and say that He did it best. And I won't ever give up on prayer.

You do it best, Lord. Help me trust You.

Misfit

Am I the only one who sometimes feels like throwing a tantrum?

I know about tantrums. I am the mother of a 1 year old and a 3 year old. Just as this photo indicates, my son let me know when he was not in the mood to have his picture taken. As I look at this picture, I think I see myself a little bit.

My pastor has been speaking about the verses in Ephesians that tell us how to relate to other Christians. "Speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ. 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."

In essence, Pastor has been saying that the church, not individuals, is the principle way Christ is seen by the secular world. That means that the whole idea of our own individual importance must be sacrificed to the greater good of the whole.

But what does that mean practically? That is what I am struggling with. In my church, my jobs include singing, playing the keyboard, leading the children's choir, working in the nursery, helping with the women's ministry, and writing skits and dramas for various ministries. Are these the things that I was put in my church to do? Obviously. But is there more?

You see, my tendency is to step out from the crowd and do something different. If everyone else is nodding their heads and agreeing with everything said from the pulpit or otherwise, I am the one shaking my own and contradicting the things that don't seem Biblical or right. For instance, while everyone else reads aloud the congregational reading because they are told to by the song leader, my mouth stays closed. Not because I am trying to be uncooperative, but because to me, the reading that results sounds liturgical and forced, not a beautiful expression of praise to the God who has written such wonderful things for us. When the hymns get played the same old way and no one seems to be giving a single thought to the words we are singing, my mouth stays closed. I don't know how to sing without my whole heart. If I can't sing with all my being, I can't sing. It feels like sin.

So my question is, am I making this all about me? Am I trying to be different because it suits me, or am I trying to be different because the church needs people that will be willing to stand out and say it when something's not right?

Pastor asked if any attitudes are diminishing my personal effectiveness in our church. I honestly have no idea. I don't know if my attitudes of discontent and sadness at some of the things going on are wrong, or if they serve an important purpose. The goal is Christ's glory and the edification of the Body of Christ. I could make good arguments either way for the attitudes and actions I have possessed in recent months and years.

All I know is that there are things in my church home, as in any other, that need to change. I know it is my job to pray about them, and to speak the truth in love when the opportunity arises. Other than that, I am not exactly sure where I fit, and what my job is.

Until then, I guess I'm a misfit, looking for that spot in this Body that was meant for me.

When You Don't Know What To Do

This is my neice, Evelyn. You can't really tell by looking at this picture, but it was quite a funny moment as she came into the room before we opened Christmas presents. She had just been awakened from a nap, and was not herself. We talked to her and tried to get her to smile or say something, but she would not move or alter her expression at all. She just stood there exactly how you see her in this picture.

Okay, maybe you had to be there. Just trust me. It was funny.

But sometimes I feel like Evelyn. Normally, I tend to be a very decisive person who can make quick judgments. But there are times when I am clueless. More often than I'd like to admit, especially to my poor husband who feels that he is never allowed to be right, ever. But here in my private little journal on display for the world to see, I will admit it. I often don't know what to do. I often regret the things I say and the judgments I make. I agonize over what to say, how to say it, why I should say it, and when I should say it. I labor over actions, whether to do them or refrain.

So you can imagine my relief to know that the God of the universe does not expect me to have all the answers. I don't have to figure everything out, because He already has. My only job is to trust Him, and follow each step I am shown on the dark pathway that is the future.

Even more than this, I am so thankful for a husband to follow. I am so grateful to God for providing me with someone to be in control, whether I may seem appreciative or not. No, he is not a perfect leader. And I have a habit of letting him know that. But he is my leader, and I need him. I need direction in a world that doesn't always make much sense. I need to be able to rest at the end of the day and say "It's okay. God and Pete will figure this out."

And they will. And I will be happy to come along beside him and do the things that God calls our family to do.

Thank You, Lord, for a husband to lead the way. Make me a blessing to him and not a hindrance.

Inspiration

I've been thinking about inspiration. What gives us our good ideas? What is the source of the strength that makes us able to carry those ideas to fruition?

The picture I chose today is my son on his first carousel ride. Talk about inspiration! The look of pure wonder on his face was priceless. May we be like children in our view of God's world!

I remember as a child in an ultra-conservative school setting being told that only the writers of the Bible were truly inspired by God. I believed it, because I believed that the Bible was God-breathed and without error. And I still believe that there is no mistake in the pages of the Bible God has put together for our benefit. (Reasons for belief in this truth go far beyond simple trust. The Bible has an excellent track record.) But I think the people who instructed me were taking a truth to the extreme. Of course the things that we write and draw and think and create are not perfect, because we are fallible. But though we are an imperfect tool, God is still perfection, and His part in our inspired moments is still as sincere as God can only be.

I think the difference is in us. When God inspired the Bible authors, He took it a step further and enabled them to write and think above themselves. He literally breathed the words through them. In our inspiration, He lets us take what He thinks and put it in our own imperfect words. And I am pretty sure that God inspires every living being. It's what we do with that inspiration that makes the difference.

The only way to tap into the divine nature of God's inspiration is to be under His complete control. Then you suddenly realize all the things that He's doing through you that you know you couldn't have done by yourself. I know, because I've seen Him do it in my life more than once. When I get to the end of a project and look back, I can hardly remember writing the words myself.

There's one more important step to understanding God's inspiration in our lives. Since we are easily decieved as human beings, we have to go back to the Bible and compare what we have come up with to what God has already established. To disagree with God is to miss the mark of what inspiration is supposed to be about.

May the wonderful things we do as a result of the inspiration of our Almighty God be pleasing in His sight!

"Whatever you do... do it all for the glory of God." 1 Corinthians 10:31

Isn't God Amazing?

What a wonderful God we serve!

I am pleased to say that my third Christmas children's musical went off Sunday night without a hitch. Which amazes me because there were so many hitches right up to that point! I was worried that this one might flop. God took something that just didn't seem to be coming together and made it beautiful.

I am so grateful to God that He uses me in such ways. I'm thankful that I have talent enough to write some ideas on paper and come up with a few song lyrics. Then God takes that very rough beginning and adds all sorts of people with different abilities and starts to chisel away at the very basic offering I had first given up to him. When it is all said and done, it's easy for me to say that the glory belongs to Him. But what a powerful work to be a part of!

And I'm thankful for all the things I learned along the way. Facts about Christmas I never knew that have spurred much thought and insight into the holiday. The ability to get along with people that I don't naturally mesh well with, and in fact, in the end say that I would do it all again because God made it work. What a precious feeling to march down that center aisle with all those precious kids at the completion of the play and hardly be able to contain myself before we get to the foyer and I grab them and hug them so tightly they can hardly breathe. And what a special blessing to realize they are hugging me back just as tightly.

I can't wait to do the next one. All the trouble and the agonizing is worth every single minute. I'm so excited about what God will do next. Being His child is a journey filled with excitement and anticipation. The very feeling that causes us to run down the stairs on Christmas morning, all making a beeline for that tree and the presents surrounding it, is the same wonderful feeling that comes with being a Christian in the center of God's will.

Try it. It's a blast!

A Mother's Love

I saw the movie "The Nativity Story" last night.

Mary has always fascinated me. I would have so many questions for her were I given the chance to interview her. What was it like? What could possibly go through the mind of a young teenaged girl when suddenly an angel appears and alters the entire scope of your life? I remember what I was like at thirteen. How did she have the presence of mind to answer so calmly and assuredly? It could only have been God's power working through her.

I also feel intensely for Mary. I look at my own amazing little ones, and see their beautiful personalities unfolding and their minds working and imagine all the things that they are going to do with their lives. How painful it would be to know what Mary had to know about Jesus. Yes, He was God's Son in the flesh, come to save her from sin and unite her to Yahweh, and I'm sure she understood that the task of salvation was not going to be a pleasant or easy one. But He was her son, too. She walked with him when he had a tummy ache in the middle of the night and she bandaged his scrapes when he was an ambitious toddler climbing everything in sight. She laughed at his childish jokes and her heart swelled with pride the first time he recited his Torah lesson.

How terrible to realize that her son's path inevitably led to a cross.

But really, are we no different? Should we not also pray for our children to find the path that leads them to what God intends for them to do? For some it is an easier path for others, and I cannot help but hope that my children will never have to choose between faith and life. But should I not hope in that moment they would know what to choose?

That's why Mary is a hero of mine. I want to be a mother that loves God enough to teach my children to do the same, at any cost. A mother that doesn't stand in the way of the path God has chosen for her children. A mother who prays for the strength to lead her little ones to the throne of God and show them all that He truly is.

God give us that strength.

God Did It

What a humbling and amazing thing it is to be a child of God.

Maturing as I am, it is mystifying to me to see the ways of the Creator. How He could bend His majesty low enough to even see me, let alone be intimately involved in the workings of my heart. How He can see every tear, feel every hurt, celebrate every triumph with me, because of what He did through the power of Jesus.

My third novel is completed. There is still much to do before it is ready to be submitted to agents and editors, but the most creative part of the process is done. Where did the inspiration to write those 60,000 words come from? Certainly not from me. Laziness would have prevented it were it not for the Spirit, urging me on, telling the same story through my pen that He has been telling since the creation of the world. And when I stand back and read it, though there is the critical eye that catches all the shortcomings of grammar and style, there is the eye of wonder that sees the hand of God, His seal on the message of the cross, the message of grace and love because of Christ.

My hard-working children's choir is getting ready to perform their Christmas program. It is so fulfilling to stand back and watch it all fall together through God's power, how so many different people can come together and piece all the parts as one, and it becomes a beautiful thing. How in the world does that happen, except by the mysterious grace of God? Why does it happen, except to bring Him glory?

Thank You, Father. The work You have done is beyond understanding. You do all things well. May I never see myself as the author of all that You are doing in this world. May I give credit where credit is due. And please continue to expand the limits of our imaginations, by doing things that we couldn't conceive as possible.

The Thirty Blues

There are a few birthdays in life that have significance. Everyone likes to turn three, as my daughter just did, and my nephew didn't mind turning two six days earlier. (This picture is of their joint celebration, which they will probably have to get used to since their birthdays are so close together.) There's the age of thirteen, when you can finally call yourself a teenager, and the age of eighteen, when you are considered an adult, and for some reason twenty-one seems to be a turning point in many of our lives.

I sort of mind the thought of turning thirty tomorrow.

I know I'm not going to be a different person. I know that the thirties are considered the best years of your life by many people, as my mom told me last night. But today, being 29, I feel like I am still attached in some small way to youth. Tomorrow, being thirty, will I lose my youth forever?

I can already feel just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to aging. There are microscopic wrinkles around my eyes. There's just a hint of stiffness in my joints when I sit for too long in an awkward position. And for the first time in my life, my exceptional memory skills seem to be slipping just a bit.

But why is it such a horrible thing to age? Why do I want to hold on to youth forever? My twenties brought me a wonderful, loving husband, a daughter and a son, a beautiful home, and the life as a wife, mom and homemaker that I have always dreamed of. I finished my first two novels in my twenties. I was published for the first time in my twenties. It was a great ten years. Why can't I trust that God will do even more amazing things in the next ten?

I don't think that I'm against moving on. I like change. I like to do new things, learn new things, and experience the world in ways I never have before. I think I'm just realizing that the childhood I loved is fading to a distant memory. I can never have those carefree days back. The twenties were a link to them. But now they need to be put to rest, and I need to move on. That's okay. I'm glad that God has done it this way. He's taught me a lot in the past twenty nine years and 364 days. I wouldn't want to have to go back and relearn it all.

And thirty is a whole lot closer to seeing Jesus. I think that's the best reason to relax and enjoy the passage.

Playing By the Rules

I don't have a problem with God's rules. At least not when I'm being spiritual. I should say, I break God's rules like everyone else, but I agree that the principles God sets forth work absolutely and are there for our benefit.

Rules that people come up with make me crazy. Always have. I got in trouble in school as early as kindergarten for questioning rules. I continued to be admonished on a regular basis for standing up to the injustice of certain rules during the thirteen years I spent in Christian school.
So here I am, an adult, a wife, a mother. And I still struggle with rules. I abhor being placed in a box by someone else, especially when everything within me says to go the opposite way.

I am a writer, trying to be published, because you can't really be taken seriously as a writer unless someone else reads what you've written. And I've had nonfiction published by one source on a regular basis. But not before I was rejected by them and learned to write exactly what they wanted to read.

So I read all the books I can find on writing. I take notes. I listen to what other writers have to say. And most of it makes me a better writer, and I am thankful for all the information that is available.

But sometimes the way that the publishing world works causes the rebellion to seep into my spirit. I read today that readers expect certain genres to follow basic guidelines. Romances should have light plot and heavy description. Suspense should have little character emotion and much plot and adventure, etc. Is this really what readers want? I'm a reader, and I'm often frustrated by the lack of plot in romances and the lack of emotion in suspense novels, and so on. Am I the only one? It's a relief to me to sit down and write a suspense novel where you really know what the protagonist is thinking. Or a romantic story that actually has some sort of plot attached to it. I don't like to be told how my story should go. I believe that every writer should be able to decide how the story develops and comes to culmination. I value constructive criticism (I didn't always) and I am not at all against changing parts of my stories that aren't clear or right. That's a no-brainer. But when it comes to writing within genres and following the market, I am not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be. I believe that genres are there to be mixed, not strictly adhered to. Unfortunately, buyer's markets seem to say differently. So if an author choose to write fiction the way he or she wants to, he or she may not be accepted by a publisher. Which means they will never be read and never truly be a "writer" in the eyes of society.

Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I guess I'll leave that in God's hands. I want to grow as a writer, but I also think I should stick to the beliefs I have about writing. Writers wouldn't be writers if they couldn't think for themselves. And the world would be exceedingly boring if no one ever took the risk to do something outside of the realm of normal expected format.

My theme today? Stand out. Be different.

Lost and Found

Why do I have a picture of a shoe? Funny story. I tend to think somewhat of an amazing story. You know how it is, two kids, shopping, making sure you are coming home with all your purchases and your children as well? Yeah, almost impossible. So I wasn't too surprised when I got home from the grocery store to find that my son now only possessed one shoe. Not only that, but my son has gigantic feet and must wear wide width and have the top knotch unlaced in order to get them on. Even so, we have worked up a sweat trying to put shoes on that child. I remembered then, turning around and seeing it in the front of the cart. By the time I put the cart in the return, it had completely slipped my mind.

I was near tears when I remembered an hour later as I was putting groceries away. How were we going to replace those shoes? His first little shoes,the shoes he learned to walk in... the shoes that actually fit his feet? I pleaded with God to let it still be where I left it. Surely it would be. It was a Thursday morning, the store had not been that busy, and they never gather those carts, do they?

But when I buckled my small children back into their carseats and made the trek back to the store, I could have burst into tears if it wouldn't have upset my daughter. The carts were gone. I went to the men working on retrieving those carts and pleadingly asked if they had seen a little boy's shoe. They checked all the carts. No shoe. I searched the ground around the cart return, I looked all through the car. It was absolutely nowhere to be found.

My husband called the store several times in the next couple of days, and twice we went to customer service in hopes that it had been found.

"Sorry." the lady behind the counter shrugged. "I only have one Winnie the Pooh shoe here."
That was not our shoe. Our shoe had a basketball, a baseball and a soccer ball that lit up when he walked.

"Thank you." I said, discouraged. Somehow deep inside I had believed that God would answer our prayers, and allow us to find that shoe. I sighed, and began the search for a new pair of shoes.

My search proved fruitless. There just aren't shoes that size. I tried on about ten pairs, and none of them would fit over those fat little feet. My son had no shoes.

I didn't know what else to do. I had explored every option, I had found dead ends at every possible solution.

On a very bad day, suffering with a migraine and grouchy with my husband, I went into the playroom to clean up the mess created with what looked like a tornado that must have swept through our home. I saw the remaining shoe on the floor under a myriad of toys. I sniffed unhappily, remembering the dilemma. Then my eyes darted to the shelf. The same shoe. No, a different shoe - the other shoe! I had to look at both of them several times, pick them up in my hands, and generally recover from the shock before I accepted the fact that I now had two shoes again. Sitting in the playroom.

I asked my husband if he had found it. He had not. It was as if the shoe had materialized into our playroom. How on earth that shoe reappeared will always be a great mystery to our family. But one thing is definitely true, it's back.

I don't know why God cares so much about a shoe, but it appears that He does. Maybe it's not so much the shoe, but the people that needed the shoe. Maybe God knows what we need and we have no need to ever worry. Maybe it will always be okay, because if He cares about a missing shoe, imagine how much he cares about a broken heart, a loss, a disappointment. Imagine how much He really does care.

So the next time you are searching for a missing shoe, remember my story. That God really does care about the littlest details. And He always will.

Excuses

It's easy to be sidetracked from what's important. It's hard to stay focused. At least for me.
What is it about human nature that makes us so lazy? We spend our time and energy finding new ways to make life easier on ourselves. Am I the only one that has spent time searching everywhere for a stray remote instead of simply walking to the television and turning it on? Is there anyone else that cleans the outer layer of their home at the expense of the inner? I'm talking about the closets and drawers and basements and garages that are stuffed to the brim with junk, hidden away behind neat rooms and seemingly organized possessions. (I hope I'm not the only one with this disease.)

What is the solution to laziness? I think it has to start with an end to the excuses. Yes, there are days when fatigue or sickness plays a part. Yes, sometimes children need more attention, and sometimes there are too many other responsibilities standing in the way. But more often than not, I know I have no excuse. No excuse for sitting on the couch mindlessly flipping channels when there are three novels in progress sitting on my computer, waiting to be finished and polished and sent off to prospective agents or publishers. No excuse for internet hopping when it's been quite a few days since those bathrooms were cleaned. No excuse for me to pass up that garage door that has three very small areas yet to be painted before it is a completed project.
The solution lies in what the Bible has said all along. "Whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might." That means even when I don't feel like it. Even when I would rather stare at the wall. Even when I can't reach down within me and muster up an ounce of motivation, I am still expected to do whatever it is that needs to be done with all my might.

Easier said than done. But in the end, totally worth the fight.

Come Soon

I think I hear something. I don't know if it's always been there; I've only been alive for 29.9 years. But there's definitely a sound.

I've been studying Revelation in a class at church, and I've been surprised at the things I've been learning. I thought I knew everything there was to know about end times. But it seems that every time I approach the subject God has something new to add. Is it just me, or is this a church-wide revelation? Are we being given keys to understanding things that Christians for thousands of years haven't been able to make heads or tails of? I'm starting to believe so.
Before this class, I had never thought about the fact that those seven churches mentioned in Revelation 3 might be the seven periods of church history that we have just come through. Some might say that is reading into the text, but if it is, it's kind of uncanny how well the idea fits. How astonishingly obvious the idea becomes when you start with Ephesus thinking of that first Jewish church and end up in Laodicea thinking about the modern church!

What does it all mean? I don't know. Surely nothing more than it has meant for two thousand years. But perhaps His Spirit is allowing us to see just a bit further into the crack that is our future. Not dates and times, of course, because Jesus said we don't need to know those. But if the time is drawing near, if the season is approaching, and we are paying attention, might we not begin to notice a change in the weather?

I do love and see more clearly now that I have had children the example Jesus used to explain his coming. It is like a birth. You wait forever for the child to come. When nine months is upon you, you are sure that little one is never going to leave your womb, and you are destined to be pregnant forever. But suddenly, out of nowhere, come the contractions. Birth pains, Jesus called them. Like wars, talks of wars, earthquakes, natural disasters, and famines. They will continue to get stronger and stronger, steadier and more regular. But He said don't be afraid. Don't worry about the contractions. When I was in labor it wasn't my contractions that had all the nurses and doctors scrambling for gowns and gloves and instruments, it was my dilation.

Jesus told us what the "dilation" is. It's the Gospel. Keep an eye on that. When it's gone out to the whole world, spread the entire 10 cm of civilization, then the time has come.

And though I think we still might have some work to do, I would venture to say that the number of unreached people in the world is a small number compared to what it was prior to the onset of the age of technology. That's an exciting thought, isn't it?

Anyone else hear a trumpet sound?

Where Were You?

I will be the first to admit that my life is not tragic or filled with devastating sorrow. I have never lost someone very close to me. I have never had a brush with death that I was aware of. I do not live day to day in endless, unbearable pain. So I do not claim to know the secrets of trusting God through the valleys of those challenges. I have an excellent imagination, and I can imagine the pain that those situations cause, but I have not personally walked through the fire myself.

There is one continuing trial that God has seen fit to allow in my life. The one thing that causes me to drop to my knees in defeat, look around with tears running down my face, and wonder where God went.

It happened yesterday, so it is fresh in my mind. It doesn't happen more than once every few months, usually. I have migraines. Now I have lost many of you. So what? Lots of people have migraines. They're headaches. What's the big deal? Why do people make so much out of something that isn't dangerous and doesn't last that long?

Let me take you on a little journey through a migraine attack. They are all different, and they vary considerably from person to person as well, so I can only speak for yesterday. It began in the evening, suddenly, from just a vague pressure in my head to a sharp, burning pain in the front and back of my neck and both sides and top of my head, all within the space of about an hour. Everything became very loud and bright and blurry. My husband talking in a normal voice seemed akin to a jet taking off. Imagine what my three year old screeching must have sounded like.

After we managed to get the children to bed and my husband went to work, I took two naproxen. Most of the time, this will do the trick, but every once in awhile, it doesn't work. This was to be one of those times. An hour later I was in the worst pain I could think of, starting to feel sick to my stomach, and I knew that I was going to lose the medicine I had taken, which I did. I then took a Phenergan, which is a drug to ease nausea. I lost that a couple hours later. I mananged to fall asleep with the relief the vomiting provided for about two hours, but when I woke up, the pain was unbearable. This is the worst place I've ever been. Pacing the floor, completely alone, sick, drugged, in pain, and wondering why God would allow this. And why He felt so far away.

Finally, my husband came home, I was able to take a strong narcotic that I have reserved for times such as this, and it allowed me to sleep through the rest of the horrible pain. But it was those hours, pacing, alone and in pain, that challenged me the most. What could I possibly learn from feeling so far away from God?

That's when something Jesus said while He was hanging on the cross comes to mind. "Why have you forsaken me?" That sounds a lot like my "Where were You?" And it draws me to Him. No, it's not the same context, and the theological answer to His question wasn't the same as the answer to mine, but He understands. He knows what it feels like to feel like God's not there. And He assures me that He is there, even if feelings don't show it.

So, once again, it's about sharing in the suffering of Christ. It's about Him, even when I thought it was about me. And when it becomes all about Him, then it becomes okay.

Because He was there, even when I thought He wasn't.