Serenade

At any high end resturaunt at this time of year, you would be serenaded with beautiful renditions of Christmas music. At dinner, every night so far this week, we have been treated to two beautiful songs by our two year old.

The first goes like this, "Glor........or......or.....oria. Anna Chelsea DAYO! Glor....or....or....oria. Anna Chelsea DAYO!"

And the second is, "Frosty the no-man was jolly happy soul in a ONE HORSE OOOOPEN SLEIGH!"

LOL!!!

All I Want for Christmas

Is my two front teeth!

Scurry

We have had a first this holiday season. Our first Nutcracker performance! Our oldest was a mouse in her dance studio's production of this holiday classic.

For weeks, she practiced scurry-ing around our house with her little hands up in front of her. When the costume came home, she insisted on modeling it for every person who graced our front door. The morning of the performance, she woke up at 6am to tell her sister, "I get to wear mascara today!" This was a very important moment for our sweet little girl and she savored every bit of it.

Here's a cute picture of our mouse...

Remember

The opportunity to remember has presented itself several times in the last two weeks.

First, on a cold Saturday afternoon, I showed my girls their baby pictures. We laughed and told stories about when they were little. They were so intrigued by the chance to hear about themselves as babies and where we were living and what our house was like then and so on. I was reminded that as crazy as our lives seem now, there was nothing harder than two babies under the age of two.

Then, as I was supposed to be cleaning the house for Thanksgiving guests, the girls dug out an OLD video tape of my high school drill team. They begged to watch it and watched two seasons worth of football games and pep rallies. They would pick me out of the line in every shot and say funny things like, "Mommy! You could really dance then!" Ha!!!

When that was over, they wanted to watch our wedding video. LOL! So, we pulled it out too. They oohed and awwhhed at the dress and flowers and begged me to fast forward through all the long talking. They loved watching us kiss and our first dance. They kept saying, "You look so young, Mommy! Daddy looks like a teenager." So funny! They especially watched my sisters as our flower girls because they will be flower girls in just a few weeks.

On Thanksgiving, we sat around a table with extended family and told stories. I expected the kids to get bored quickly and head off to playtime. Instead, my oldest sat on my lap and listened to stories about all of us growing up-from my dad's childhood to mine. As I put her to bed that night, she said, "Mommy. God has always been part of our family, right?"

How sweet and tender that question is! Yes, baby. God has always been a part of our family, even when we didn't know it. That's worth a trip down memory lane.

Grief and Allegiance

I knew from a very young age that this place is not my true home. I was a child that looked forward to going to heaven because that's where my daddy was. It seems a natural way for a child to express grief.

As I got older, I was still very comfortable with the idea that my allegiance was to the kingdom of heaven. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my life as a teenager and a young adult but I knew that I wasn't supposed to get too settled here. This was just a part of the journey, not the destination.

I don't sit well on that train of thought anymore. It's not because I am really fond of the poverty, suffering, and diasaster that mark our world. Those are just part of this existence. I'm not even that crazy about mortages, jobs, and carpool.

I want to stay here because of the people that make up my life. I want see my daughters get married and become mothers. I want to see my son become a man. I want to see all the ways that God has shaped them to become adults. I want to sit with them in the quieter years of my life and hear their stories of faith. I want to be here.

I wrestle with this idea of allegiance today as a precious family was plunged into the depths of grief this week. They know where their allegiance is and yet they must feel cheated of all those things. A mother should never bury her own son. A brother, barely a teenager, should not see his older brother and mentor in a casket. A neice shouldn't cry for a favorite uncle's lap. A sister should not have to bear such horrible news to her parents. This doesn't seem the natural order of things.

Why God? Why must it be this way? Why is death a part of life? Why do the young die before they have a chance to live their life? Why do Daddy's die and never come home to the children who miss them? Why?

How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD,
for he has been good to me.

Journey

I love fall! I love cooler weather and pumpkins and hot chocolate and sweaters and rich colors and soup and Halloween and...

But most of all, I love the trees. I love the colors changing. It is such a mystery to me how it all works and why. Yes, I studied it in school and know the facts. But why? Why did God make it work this way? Why the cycle of slowly dying and falling and then blooming again? It is a delicate, deep mystery that leaves me feeling content.

I have a favorite tree this year. It is on my way home and I have been watching it for almost two weeks now. It was so slow to begin to turn. Other trees in this same yard were brillant colors of yellow and red but this one stayed green for a long time. Then one day last week I noticed that it had begun the process. But my tree didn't proceed in the normal pattern. The leaves on the tips of branches were red. In the middle, golden yellow. Inside, still spring green. The tree stayed this way for seven days! It was as if it was frozen in time.

Yesterday, I saw that overnight the yellow had creeped to the inside of the tree and the red had moved to the middle. Those inital rubies had fallen to the ground. I was sad to see that tree change. I had come to look forward to seeing it everyday on my way home.

We are that way aren't we? Even when we know something can't and shouldn't stay a certain way, we are sad when it changes. I was reminded that change is the way of life. It moves us forward at all time toward new blooms, new life.

I was also blessed by this tree that had it's own way to go about change. It didn't take the typical pattern or speed of change. It was moving just as it should have, at it's own pace and in it's own way. Beautiful!

Life is about change. Life in God is about changing to look more like Jesus all the time. That change requires the death of some parts of us and new life to grow in their place. Change occurs in each individual at their own pace and in their own way. God created each of us to walk a unique path, a journey all our own. But in the infinite wisdom, we were placed in a forest who has the same ultimate purpose: change.

Messy

I do not like messy. I can handle dirty, but not messy. For instance, it is less of a concern to me that there are dust bunnies on my wood floor than that there are books all over the floor of my office. I am not as concerned about dirty dishes in the sink as I am about countertops covered in junk mail. I don't let toothpaste in the sink worry me as much as dirty clothes covering the bathroom floor.

Sunday was messy. At 7:45pm, we headed all of our dirty children upstairs for a quick bath. It had been a day of constant ministry. Church that morning, a fundraiser lunch and afternoon of activities, and a community trunk or treat event that I had help organize. The kids were sticky from candy and hayrides. Their faces had been painted and so had their hands, when they decorated pumpkins.

We tried to walk through the living room but baby boy had scattered all the candy over the floor and we slipped and slid to the staircase. The stairs were littered with pajamas, shoes, Sunday clothes, and costumes. The kids bathroom was a picture of a perfect disaster where a toddler had thrown every bath toy onto the floor and hidden toothbrushes in the hairbow drawer. When the kids were finally in bed, and a path to the toilet cleared in case of midnight needs, I headed downstairs where I longed to crash.

Instead, I started picking up candy in the living room and then proceeded to our bedroom and bathroom. Our bathtub was full of lemonade trash (it's not as strange as it would seem) and our floor was covered with the many changes of clothes that today had required. In my exhaustion, I began to think about these things:

Ministry is messy. Getting into people's lives is messy. They have stuff and I have stuff and when all that stuff gets together, there is a mess!

I stay away from mess. It brings out the OCD side of me and I want to compulsively clean it up!

By staying away from mess, I keep myself from ministry.

Is that wrong?

Prayer

Tonight I pray for all the mothers in the world...

I pray for the mothers who watch helplessly as their children wither instead of bloom.

I pray for that mother heart that we share and the pain it must endure to survive each day. I pray for miraculous provision to come to their children. I pray for glimmers of hope. I pray for private moments to cry and release the pain. I pray for the world to notice, to act. I pray for the Kingdom to break into their life.

I pray for the men who love them, or at least live with them, to have wisdom in consoling their mother heart.

I pray for their children. I pray that as their bodies wither, their spirits bloom in the loving care of the mother.

I pray for my heart that it might grow in it's capacity to love and be loved. I pray for my children that they may bloom. I pray for perspective that acknowledges the blessings of the life we live.

Sunday Mornings

One of my favorite moments of the week is Sunday morning, driving to church. Quite often, it has been a marathon of insanity to get in the car, on time, to drive 25 minutes to our church. My husband leaves VERY early and so I am Super Mom on Sunday morning. Only, I'm not so super to be around sometimes! :-)

But, once we get in the car, the world begins to change for me. We have a rule that we only listen to praise music on Sunday mornings and once the music begins, no talking, only singing! One of our favorites to sing along to is Chris Tomlin's "See the Morning".

This morning, sweet baby boy sang along for the first time. The only words from the whole CD he knew were "God saves" and he sang them over and over. Sometimes, they were part of the song. Sometimes, they weren't. Who cares?!? Is there anything more important?

God saves.
God saves.
God saves.
God saves.
God saves.
God saves.
God saves.

Amen, baby boy. Preach on!

A Psalm of Praise

Bless the LORD, O my soul
And all that is within me…
All the love and fear
All the anger and peace
All the dreams and doubts
All the kindness and indifference.

Bless the LORD, O my soul
And all that is within me,
Bless His holy name.
Jehovah, Creator
Father, Mother.

Bless the LORD, O my soul
And do not forget his benefits.
He calls my life by his design and equips my mind for his purpose.
HE LOVES ME.
He delivers my heart from despair and leads my desires with his own hand
So that he proves himself faithful, over and over again.

The LORD is.
He is the beginning and the end. He is the compassionate redeemer.
He is the creative healer. He is my mighty warrior.
He is the wise avenger. He is the reliable provider.

He knows my history and my heart.
He knows my purpose and my plan.
He heals the disease of my body and soul.
He hears the cry of my mouth and heart.

Bless the LORD, Raemey, for all that he has done.
Bless the LORD, Ryleigh, for all that he intends.
Bless the LORD, Caysson, for all that he is.
Bless the LORD, Chad, for all that he provides.
Bless the LORD, Rhesa, for he is good.

Birthdays

The fall is crazy at our house. Just days after getting everyone back to school, we celebrate two birthdays. Our middle daughter turned 5 last Tuesday. This is my favorite picture of her! Notice the two missing teeth.

Our baby turns 2 on Sunday. My goodness! How can that be possible? And why do I still have a baby belly?!?

While each individual day can drag on, time marches by so fast.

Must Reads

I want to tell you about two books that I have loved in this last month. Add them to the stack on your bedside table and let me know what you think!

Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin was written in 1960 based on experiment conducted in the fall of 1959. Mr. Griffin was a white writer living in Texas when he decided to become a black man and experience life in the deep south. Through medication he turned his skin dark and then shaved his hair to take on the identity of a black man. The book chronicles his experiences in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Georgia. Mr. Griffin changed nothing else about himself for this experiment. He kept the same name, wore the same clothes and was honest about his profession to anyone who asked. What he lived was a life so completely different from his own that he was forever changed.

The book was written strictly for social and political change but I began to think theologically about it. What must it have been like for Jesus, still being God but trapped in a human body? How lonely he must have been for home! The miracle and mystery of the incarnation leave my mind twisted up and my heart full anytime I try to contemplate them. While I can choose to be fairly empathetic, I can't ingest the sacrifice of wanting to understand another so entirely that you give up yourself.

I have mentioned before reading Renovation of the Heart by Dallas Willard. I was, in effect, dared to read this one. It was a challenging read. Mr. Willard presents so much meat in his writing that you really have to slow down and digest all that is being offered. I prefer to speed read but this one forced me to take a chapter every other day so that I could think through all that was being offered on the plate.

I took from this book the simple truth that all humans are being formed spiritually. Some humans are being shaped into the image of Christ while others are being shaped into the image of evil but all are being shaped, even those who don't believe. Whether I am conscious of it or not, I am being shaped at all times spiritually. That seems elementary I suppose but the far reaching effects are astounding! Before you jump onto the fear bandwagon that claims the importance of "see no evil, hear no evil", Willard challenges Christians to engage evil so that we come to recognize it. That one should leave you chewing for a while...

Formation

This has been a hard week. The last eight days have truly challenged me to the core. I've already told you about last Monday and the injury to middle daughter's mouth. The next day was a rare long work day for me. Wednesday was marked by another trip to the dentist. Thursday was my son's first day of school and Friday was about a broken heart and dinner guests. Saturday was lost to painting my toddler's new room, a hurricane blowing through, and a stomach bug. Sunday was engulfed in reorganizing a playroom and tending to the sick. Today was monopolized by having teeth pulled. Wow! Three of these events stand out to me because in them, I felt my soul being shaped.

Thursday was a marathon day. We had all the excitement of a first day of school (I was especially excited). But then, the girls had dance in the afternoon. After such a long week already this day stretched on forever. In the midst of mile 17 or so, my middle one responded to me with such hatred and violence that I was crushed. None of my children have ever been so angry with me. I know that you veteran moms will tell me that it is only to be expected but I was devastated. My heart broke that this child who is so like me could hate me. We weren't even fighting about something negotiable and she physically responded with anger. It took a full 24 hours for me reflect on the fact that her passion for life lends itself to ups and downs. The violence was inexcusable and was treated as such. But, she and I were both being shaped then and in the aftermath. My temper flares more readily for her than the others and she detests feeling squashed. I must constantly balance her need to be truly herself with my need to be in control. I'm trying to take that lesson to heart.

Friday was marked by our oldest coming home from first grade with heart broken by the unkind words of a classmate. His name calling and gossip left her in tears. I was so grateful for my husband's calming presence as we talked with her. Momma Bear was ready to attack. Daddy helped her seek the heart of Christ in her response. I was reminded again of my passion for these kids that I bore and my need to have that passion checked by the Spirit that is growing inside me every day. It is more important to model and impart the Way than to protect them. That lesson brings me to tears.

Finally, Sunday. The middle one woke during Saturday night, a reality that we refer to as "The Curse" in a minister's household, very sick. I stayed home with her and sent the other two with friends to church. Daddy had left very early for his longest work day of the week. I was reminded that congregational worship is at the core of my week. My soul is thirsty and the water of worshiping with the group that we call family is a unique thirst quencher. Yes, in many ways, Sunday is work day for me as well, even if the paycheck doesn't have my name on it and the job description is sketchy. But it is more than work. It is the day that I engage purposefully in being part of a community that seeks Christ. It is the day that we together profess that Christ is head of our church and our individual lives. It is the day that we put aside the struggles we face as a community and individuals to declare with one voice that Jesus is sovereign. It is the day that I am reminded of why we live this life of ministry. There is hole in my week. This is a lesson that I cherish.

In this long week, I am confident that God has been moving to create in me a heart more like Jesus'. I believe that the Spirit in me has grown to take over impulses of my human self. I know that God has been near. That is the hope that makes formation a worthwhile endeavor.

Here's is what I overheard my daughters say as they were getting ready this morning.

Older: Hurry up! We can't turn on the TV until you are dressed.

Younger: I'm trying but my PANTIES (yelled) are stuck in my skirt. Guess what? One of my new friends wears strawberry shortcake panties, too! Isn't that great?

So what is a marker of a great friendship in four year olds? Matching character panties! I was rolling on the floor laughing at this one. After I could breathe again and stopped the tears rolling down my cheeks, I wondered what markers exist for great friendships in general.

The following quote is from Dallas Willard's "Renovation of the Heart", a challenging and wonderful read.

"Love is not a feeling but a divine way of relating to others and oneself that moves through every dimension of our being and restructures our world for good.

This love reaches into every dimension of human existence: thought, feeling, body, soul, and world. Our very identity is always intermingled with others who have given us life, sustained us, walked with us and even deeply injured us."

I was blessed to spend the weekend with the kind of friends that have shaped my very identity in positive ways. We sustained one another and walked together in those formative college years. But even more, we have continued to walk together in these often confusing and challenging years of becoming wives, mothers, and professionals. I am a better woman because they walk with me. I am a mother who gives true life because they encourage me. I have been changed for good because of their influence on my life.

My identity carries those deep injuries, just as yours must. But, it also carries the love of these friends that reaches into the darkness of pain and shines the Light.

Thanks girls! I love you!

Today

I had a plan for what I was going to write today. I wanted to tell you about my wonderful weekend. But, all I can think about is today.

I left my house, already running late, at 8:45am to go to the grocery store. Little Man and I finally pulled out of the parking lot with groceries in tow at 10:45am. Yes. TWO hours later!!! We were late for a play date and had groceries in the back. After unloading just the cold stuff, we raced to our play date.

As we pulled into the park, late, I decided to favor simplicity. I took just my keys and our water and set out to enjoy time visiting with my sister in law and friend. Thirty minutes later, her phone rang with my husband's caller ID. He had been trying to reach me for sometime to report that our middle child had fallen at school.

I ditched Little Man and his car seat on his aunt and raced to school. I was greeted by a tear stained face, swollen lips and loose teeth. After hours of trying to find a pediatric dentist that was actually in the office today, we found out that the roots of at least one of her front teeth are severely damaged. It is just a waiting game now to see if they can heal.

We got her home, settled with ice, and my husband set off for work again. Homework started with the girls and then the phone rang. My husband's car had died. We rescued him, reclaimed Little Man and are now home.

I'm tired and the evening has yet to begin.

First Day Jitters

On Monday, our oldest joined the millions of children who marched back into the classroom to begin another of school. She was so excited and a little nervous. Here's just a sampling of our conversation while picking out the very important FDOS (first day of school) outfit:

RJ: Mommy, this is my favorite skirt. I want to wear it tomorrow.

Me: Okay, great! What shirt will go with it?

RJ: My high school musical shirt? (hopefully)

Me: No, baby. But your high school muscial shirt would look cute with this skirt.

RJ: But that's not my favorite. I want to wear my favorite on the first day.

Me: Well, then how about your Barbie T-shirt?

RJ: Is first grade too old to wear a Barbie T-shirt?


I pause here. Wow! IS FIRST GRADE TOO OLD TO WEAR A BARBIE T-SHIRT???? What else can I say to that?

Good-bye

I hate that word.

My daughters would remind me right now that we don't use the word hate in our house, but today it is the only word strong enough for how I feel.

Today I said good-bye to one of the most genuine friends I have had as an adult. I watched her load her precious children in the car and drive away from an upstairs window and my heart broke again.

A little research told me that the word is derived from saying, "God be with you". Apparently, as people wrote the phrase they abbreviated it to "Goodbye". I'm enough of a word geek that this is interesting to me but it also expresses what I truly meant through my tear choked good-byes. I meant, "May God go with you and bless you and bring you dear friends. May God be a tangible presence in your life as everything is new. May God comfort you as you mourn a past life and give you excitement as you begin a new life. May you be assured that our friendship will continue even as miles separate us. May you know that God is God, in California or Texas. May we someday watch our daughters play together again."

Maybe I don't actually hate the word because I love the idea of blessing someone with the presence of God but I hate the hole in heart today. And I hate thinking about all the tomorrows that I will miss the friend who saw me through post-partum depression, job searches, and the loneliness of life in ministry.

Here's to you, Em! I love you, girl!

A Decade

In just nine days my sweet husband and I will have been married for ten years. (I know, I should have published this yesterday so that it would say in 10 days...but, somehow I think I lost yesterday)

Wow! That's a decade! You know, like "the sixties". We've been married for 1o years. That's 3650 days and I have no idea how many minutes. (Math is not my thing!) I've been married for 1/3 of my life.

In some ways, I can't believe that is right. In other ways, I can't really remember life before we were married. I remember events from before we were married but it seems that I have always fallen asleep next to this man and eaten breakfast with him. He is my best friend and my completion. We just go together, like chocolate chip cookies and milk! There is no one else on earth that I would rather spend a lifetime getting to know better and trying to understand more. There is no other man on earth that I could feel so safe with. There is no other father that I would want my children to have.

GFP- i love you baby! Happy Anniversary!

PS- what are you doing on 8-8-18? I know this great beach...

Firefly Lane

I just finished a great book! Firefly Lane by Kristin Hannah is chick lit with a purpose. It is the story of two friends through four decades of life. It explores the question of a woman's search for purpose both in the the work world and at home.

I confess, it has some rough edges of language from time to time but the characters are so real. They breathe life at you from every paragraph. I laughed and balled (the end is soooo sad).

It was a great read that I picked up on a whim on the new release shelf at the library. I devoured the whole thing in under 8 hours of ignoring my family.

There is plenty of girl talk about fashion and makeup, some of it from every decade! The descriptions of the clothes and makeup from the seventies and early eighties are worth the read alone! There is also reference to great music (I still love the eighties!) and discussion about living life for what is really all about.

I'd love to hear if you enjoy it too!

Tired

There are days when you are just tired. Your body is begging for more sleep and muscles seem to turn to jello. And then there are seasons when your soul is tired. Your heart has been mourning for too long and your mind refuses to focus.

Today, the two have collided. Our weekend was a marathon of meaningful and fun activities and my body is tired! Yesterday, it was announced at church that another of our friends is leaving. I already knew but my children didn't. When the announcement was made, my middle daughter began to cry. I had no idea that she would process the information so personally and so quickly. Her tears prompted my own and feelings of abandonment were strong.

My husband and I began this journey of ministry together almost ten years ago. We are just now creating a rhythm of dealing with the pain and joy of it together in a healthy way. Now, we have to help our children do the same thing. I suppose that I naively believed that ministry couldn't hurt them in the same ways that it hurts us, as adults. But twice in the last two months, my middle child has said goodbye to friends because their parents have left the church staff and begun the quiet move toward a life outside of our own.

Her pain is unbearable to my already fragile soul.

And so today, I'm just tired. My heart is tired of hurting and body is responding in kind. We are having a pajama day to savor the healing qualities of rest.

Volume

So, I've had trouble coming up with a post for this week. I have had several ideas at one time or another but never wrote them down when I had them and then forgot them. I hate it when that happens! But last night, on the way to small group, my children provided me with rich material again...

Summer is a long season for a stay at home mom. There is no school, no mother's day out, fewer playdates and it is really too hot to send the kids outside for long periods of time.

One of the symptoms of this summer illness is that siblings get a little sick of each other. My girls are the best of friends and the worst of enemies in any given moment! They stay up late whispering across thier room to each other and giggling. And they scream at each other for taking a precious toy or writing in the other's diary.

Last night, we are in the minivan (can I just say again that we cannot live without our minivan?!) driving to our weekly small group meeting. The younger is writing in the air...yes, the air, with her finger. The older is screaming that the younger is writing on her rainbow. But, they are both writing in the air. After the first three screaming matches about this encroachment, the hilarity of it left me. They were getting on my last nerve.

As any other mother of young children, I want to teach them to resolve conflict in a healthy and constructive way. So, I turned the music on so loud that they both had to cover their ears! :-) After their jaws began to close, I turned it down to listening level and marveled that immediately they began singing praises together. In fact, their daddy would love to hear that there was even some harmony trying to work itself out from the back seat as we all belted out "How Can I Keep from Singing?"

That got me wondering about our church. We are in a painful time when lots of people seem to just be getting on each other's nerves. Maybe we should just turn up the praise a little...

Saving Submission

On Sunday at our church we talked about submission. Now before you throw your computer off of your lap or yell at the monitor, let me clarify.

We are in a series on Abraham and talked about how Abraham let Lot choose his land first. Our conversation focused on “submitting to one another out of reverence to Christ” not “wives submit to your husbands”. Both are important conversations to be had but I want to talk about submission in general before we drag gender into it.

Here is where I landed on things: the word submission leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It has been misused against me and in instruction of me for all of my life. I relate submission to be being a limp noodle. You are in submission to someone when they dominate you. You may know more about a topic or decision but you defer to another’s opinion either for the sake of avoiding conflict or for fear of their reaction. That is the submission that I have been taught in the past. Who would want to do that?

And why would Christ call us to a life of fear?

Maybe I’ve misunderstood. On Sunday, I started wrestling with the idea of submission as controlled power. Choosing the way of another not because they are better than you or smarter than you or stronger than you. Laying down my own will not because I am afraid of conflict or strong reaction. Submitting my choice to another to show love. Allowing what may not be best for me, right now, so that what is best for another can shine through.

That seems more like what Christ would call his followers to.

What do you think?

Updates

So, I'm not capable of deep thoughts tonight. Why?

1. I'm hungry, even though I already ate dinner, and Hawaii is only 35 days away. No ice cream tonight!

2. I'm in that miserable pre-peeling stage after a bad sunburn. I am itching sooo bad!

3. I'm too busy enjoying our air conditioning that is working again. In Texas, in almost July, air conditioning is a necessity, not a luxury!

4. Work is hard right now. There is so much to do and no confidence to do it.

5. Did I mention that Hawaii is only 35 days away? Maybe I should explain that...in 35 days my sweet husband and I leave to celebrate our tenth anniversary in Hawaii. I could happily leave today and stay for 35 days! Kauai, our destination island, is one of my favorite places in the whole world and we haven't been there since our honeymoon.

OO! Here's a good idea to talk about: I have been dreaming about a vow renewal ceremony on the beach, at sunset on our anniversary. I would love to hear your creative input on ways to make it memorable and meaningful. Whatcha' think?

Wonder

Last week we took the family to San Antonio. It was a week of relaxing and just being together but the best part was going to Sea World. We rushed in the gates at 10am and headed straight to a show called "Viva". Dolphins and Beluga whales swam with synchronized swimmers and amazing divers all set to music. We were all mesmerized.

I found myself a little teary-eyed as I watched the dolphins and whales with their trainers. Complete trust and deep relationship existed betweeen an animal and a human. Part of my soul connected to this idea that God meant it to be like that. Animals were meant to trust humans as their protectors; humans were meant to treasure the gift of wildlife as a huge responsibility.

I am very disconnected from nature most of time. I'm not really the outdoorsy type. Outdoors is hot, messy and involves bugs. None of those are really my forte. But just maybe I've been missing out on more than grass stains and mosquito bites. Maybe I've been missing out on connecting with another way that God reveals Himself.

I'm not sure where this idea will really flesh out in my life. I still do not like heat or bugs but I do need to be connecting with God in all the ways that He would reveal himself to me. What do you think?

The Gift of a Godly Woman?

Recently the women’s ministry of our church set out to put women to work in the congregation according to their spiritual giftedness. When asked on a survey to list their spiritual gifts, 90% didn’t answer. I was stunned! Did they not know their own giftedness? Were they embarrassed by their gifts? In conversations that followed this survey, women made the most astounding statements regarding their own spiritual giftedness. One woman stated that she had been taught that only men had spiritual gifts; women had talents. Another woman stated that she didn’t have any spiritual gifts; she just did whatever needed to be done. Yet another stated that she was afraid to tell people her gift because it wasn’t “lady-like”.

Each of these women pursues the same question from a different point of view: are godly women a gift to their congregations? Experience teaches unforgettable lessons and these women have been very good students. They discovered that they were a liability, not an asset, in their giftedness. Consequently, these women have shut down their attempts to use their gifts completely.

The Pattern
Our home was once just a house to me. It was a foundation with walls and floors. The furniture inside belonged to someone else as did the experiences within. Now, the walls are colors that I love. I remember painting them in the wee hours of the morning. The floors are materials that I had a part in choosing. I remember the sweat that went into installing them. There have been meaningful or funny events in every room in our home. Those memories are ours. These layers of meaning have added richness to my understanding of this structure we call home. It is no longer just an architectural establishment; it is a creation of love, time, and personality.

This discussion of women in our churches is the same way. While our heritage teaches us to say, and believe, that we only look at the Bible for our guidance in church life, it’s not always true. Current culture and centuries of history influence how we understand the Bible’s teachings on any given subject. Whether or not we recognize it, we are products of the world we live in.

Our current culture spotlights workplace gender equality efforts. Nightly news programs tell us that the glass ceiling women once faced is more like cellophane now. Pay scales are leveling out. Human resource managers proudly describe their family leave plans for both men and women. In other words, if men and women work the same, they are equal.

History’s attempts at gender equality center on the feminist movement. Women’s suffrage and reproductive rights have been aggressively pursued in the United States. Now the feminist movement has turned its attention to other countries for the battle here is well in hand. After all, there is a woman who is a legitimate force in the race for president!
Restoration churches, on the whole, have fought against this tide of change. While our women joined the workforce, they haven’t been invited to join the kingdom workforce with all they have to offer. In fact, most churches have created women’s ministries as a place for women to minister to other women. In theory, a great idea! But the motivation behind that idea is questionable. Are churches actually trying to avoid the question of gender equality by segregating men and women?

Modern history has tried to redeem the concept of gender equality by focusing on the feminist movement. Culture has tried to redeem the concept of gender equality by focusing on the workplace. Restoration churches have yet to offer their redemption to the concept of gender equality. Does the church have a responsibility to redeem the idea? The answer isn’t clear cut or well defined. However, for too long we have refused to ask the question because the answers seem too complicated. I don’t intend to offer answers here as they would just scratch the surface. Instead, I want to examine the influencing factors that make up the questions.

Biblical History
The Old Testament portrays women as property of their husbands, as was to be expected by the culture. They are excluded from Yahweh’s worship when they are unclean every month. While Jewish worship in New Testament times is even more rigid in its attempts to keep women separate in worship, Jesus doesn’t always respect those partitions. He engages women in spiritual conversation on multiple occasions and welcomes Mary as a disciple at his feet.

The New Testament church seems to have struggled with this concept a great deal. There was no LAW to tell them how worship should be done. Jewish Christians drew from their temple experiences. Recent pagan converts drew from their own worship. There were deities represented as women in their worship and women were part of public pagan worship. Usually, that involvement was sexual. Perhaps God, in His great wisdom, wished to protect women from such exploitation in the name Christianity.

Both Jewish and pagan influences held sway over the churches described in our New Testament. I believe that Paul did his best to offer advice on balancing the two with God always in focus. However in today’s reading, Paul’s teachings on women are inconsistent at best and downright confusing at worst! To one church, he tells women to be quiet always. To another, he reminds women to cover their heads when participating in worship. When we are trying to be the New Testament church, which instruction do we follow?

Current Church Culture
Restoration churches love a good idiosyncrasy. Women can stand on a stage as part of praise team but not pray aloud in front of a man. Women can teach a bible class for teenagers but not adults. Women can serve potluck dinners but not distribute a communion tray. It seems that we have developed a culture of norms that confuses an outsider. If we were really honest with ourselves, we might admit our own confusion! Many churches seem to have created the idea that women’s ministry is the answer to gender equality. While ministry to women by other women is valid and needed, it does little to alleviate the tension.

A woman may be the CEO of a corporation but she may not offer her expertise in efficient management to a church. A woman may be a professor of Jewish history but she may not present in a Bible class. A woman may be a professional speaker but may not share her testimony with the church. These are such strong contrasts to one another that it stands to reason that one perception is mistaken. Is it that culture is wrong? Or could it be that the church has refused to wrestle with the question of gender equality?

Redemption is the business of God. He sent His son to redeem humankind back into relationship with Him. The church is now the hands and feet of that mission. We have been given this mission of reconciliation, bringing the world back to its originally intended order. Does that include gender equality?

The Problem
Life in the restoration movement has been very challenging for me. I have struggled to find a “home”. You know that elusive place where you are safe to be all that you really are and to share all that you long to become. As a woman in the churches of Christ, I have felt that being gifted wasn’t really a gift at all. My gifts seem to cause strife either to myself or to the church at large. I have spent a lifetime wondering if I was mistaken about my giftedness; maybe these are just things that I am good at for the purpose of making a living.

I am a woman in the church of Christ. I was born and raised in the churches of Christ. I graduated from a church of Christ college. I married a church of Christ minister. I currently attend a church of Christ. I bring my children to that same church of Christ. I understand the rich heritage, and the ugly baggage, that comes with the name church of Christ. I live in the church of Christ world, with all of its complexities. I love church, as God’s choice of instrument in the world, and give my life to her mission. I respect the past to learn from it. I long for the future where God is King of His people again. I live in the present seeking choices that bring about that future. I have committed my life to restoration churches and their desire to be the kingdom of God right here and right now. I am in need of redemption.

The Shack

I think I have a new favorite book. It is "The Shack" by William P. Young and I read it in about six hours. I was completely fascinated by it. While the book is fiction, I marked page after page of profound ideas about God and relationship with him.

The premise is that a man who is hurting and in a deep depression gets a letter from God inviting him to a meeting at the source of his pain, a physical location. The God who meets him there surpasses and changes all of the man's preconceived, small ideas about religion and relationship.

I could quote you pages and pages from this book but I would rather you read it and tell me what you think. Or, come to book club next week and talk about it with us!

The Vulnerability of Innocence

I was driving the children home from small group one night when I overheard the following conversation between my daughters.

4 year old: Knock, knock

6 year old: Who’s there?

4 year old: Hannah Montana

6 year old: Hannah Montana, who?

4 year old: Bough, bough! (yelled at the top of her lungs to imitate an electric guitar)
Giggle! Giggle!
Did that make sense?

6 year old: No

4 year old: Well, laugh anyway! Ha! Ha! Ha!

6 year old: Okay! Ha! Ha! Ha!

As I tried to keep a straight face and stop myself from wondering when knock, knock jokes will lose their appeal, I marveled at the transparency that children show. At first I thought, “Wow! She is so secure in herself that she would ask if that made sense. She worships her older sister and never wants to show weakness. Good for her!”

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she didn’t know that was weakness. Innocence protected her from recognizing that her question would show insecurity. She really just wanted to know if that was a good joke! (Maybe your children are smarter than mine, but they just don’t get what makes a good knock, knock joke yet.)

I long to be that innocent again. I want to ignore my filter when I need honest feedback. Do you know what I mean? That voice that tells you to stop and figure it out later or just stuff it altogether. I want to allow myself to be vulnerable enough to let people see the good, the bad, and the ugly about me! I want to find commonalities in insecurities and seek other’s wisdom in overcoming them.

There are times when I really wish that my children had filters in place. You know, when my six year old tells me that I have a fat tummy. Or when my four year old tells me that the boo-boo (zit) on my nose is really big. But, they are honestly reporting the world from their point of view.

Where is the healthy boundary between filtering what we say to be polite and losing track of honesty altogether? Where is the healthy boundary of being vulnerable without vomiting your stuff all over people? What do you think?

Rain

I actually wrote this last summer but with the weather in North Texas this week, it seemed appropriate...

After a year of intense drought with record breaking high temperatures, a rainy summer day should have been welcome. After all, it was cool for July and the grass was still green everywhere. However, when I had to tell my kids one more time that we couldn’t swim because it was raining, again, I realized that I was tired of rain.

It was just such a rainy day when I was attempting to load all three of my children into their car seats after day camp when the bottom dropped out of the sky. I got soaked as I fastened little seatbelts.

My mood could have been described as ‘less than cheery’ when I climbed into the driver’s seat. I started the car to the usual chorus of requests for favorite children’s CDs. I refused in my grumpiness and insisted on listening to the radio station of my choice. The rain pounded us and the streets were rivers of rushing water. Flash flooding had been a real danger all summer and I grew anxious about our drive home. I turned the radio up to help me calm down. The DJ said something about a tranquil song and I looked forward to his voice ceasing to speak and the tranquility beginning. Did I mention that I was grumpy?

“Word of God, Speak” began to play. The music itself is very soothing and I was swept away with it, feeling some of my anxiety slip away. Lost in the swelling sounds, my middle child’s voice interrupted my concentration.

“Mommy! He said rain. It’s raining here, too.”

He said rain? I missed it. I acknowledged her, with no conviction, but determined to pay attention to the words. Here is what I heard,

“Word of God speak.
Won’t you pour down like rain?
Washing my eyes to see your majesty.
To be still and know that you’re in this place.
Please let me stay and rest in your holiness.”

Could the word of God truly pour down like rain? Like sheets of rain that fall from the sky so fast that rivers and streams form in streets? Could God’s presence so overwhelm a place? Could the words of God soak me?

I was overwhelmed. I’ve been in church all my life and taught to answer that certainly God could do such a thing. But my experience denies it. I have never felt washed over in the words of God like that rain was falling. I have never swum through God’s revelation. In fact, I feel pretty dry most of the time.

“Why?” I wondered to myself, “Are the writers of these words just making a pretty song? Has God failed? Or do I just expect so little of Him?”

Most of the time, I expect God to be more like humidity. You just endure it because you have to. Humidity becomes oppressive and stifling. It leaves you feeling sticky and as if you need a shower. Moisture seeps through clothing and even skin, leaving your entire being feeling wet. God can just be absorbed and then cleaned off.

Just a few short days later it had been raining again and I had the rare opportunity to spend time with just one of my kids. My middle one and I went to the library determined to stock up on enough good books and movies to keep us entertained on a rainy day. As I unloaded her from the car, she asked if we could splash in the puddles. Why not? We were both wearing flip flops and our feet would dry quickly. We splashed all the way to the doors. By the time we arrived at the entrance of the library we were soaked up to our knees and laughing out loud!

We carefully chose our books and movies and placed them in a plastic sack. As we walked to the doors, I realized that it was pouring. Great. We were going to get soaked because I had not brought in an umbrella.

“Mommy! Let’s dance in the rain!” my daughter yelled excitedly, in the library entrance.

Really? I confess that I didn’t want to but we were having such a good time together that day that I agreed. I got another plastic sack to cover the top of our book sack and out we went. We twirled and splashed. We jumped and laughed. We sang rain songs. We even ended up barefoot for awhile.

My daughter never once worried that her makeup would run (she doesn’t wear any) or that her hair would look funny wet. It never crossed her mind to be concerned that her clothes would get dirty or that she would be cold on the car ride home. She just danced. And sang. And played.

As I reflect on these moments, I realize that I shy away from God’s pouring presence because I am afraid of what the consequences will be. I don’t want to have my makeup run in front of others. I don’t want muddy feet to track up the floor. I don’t want to be uncomfortably wet and cold.

I don’t trust the pouring out of God’s word. I keep it away from me. I stand inside and watch it rain. I feel the humidity but I won’t jump in the water. I stop the pouring out by protecting myself from it. Any mist I feel sends me running indoors; I protect myself in the busyness of my life from feeling that rain.

What would happen if I had the courage to step out and splash in the outpouring of God’s word? Scripture promises us that all of creation sings of his presence. His word is pouring down. Will we stay indoors or will we dance in response?


Word of God, speak.
Won’t you pour down like rain?
Washing my eyes to see your majesty
To be still and know, that you’re in this place.
Please let me stay and rest in your holiness.
Word of God, speak.
By Mercy Me

Epiphanies

It's been a week of breakthrough ideas for me. It is a little intimidating to write about them as they may be "Well, duh!" to you but I'm going to do it anyway!

1. God cares about our financial burdens. I know that scripture promises that God cares for the birds and flowers. I believe that but I always assumed that God despised our modern money system and wouldn't move in it. Did God really care how much MRI's cost and that vans need new transmissions? Yes, He does. Why? Because He loves His people and His people have to be aware of those things.
2. Grace is big; really, really, really big! I've hinted on this blog about my family's financial fears. Here is the reality: we are in a sinking ship. For all of our attempts to be good stewards and responsible with what we have been blessed with, this boat is going down. There is nothing we can do but bail water. Sometimes we can bail fast enough that it looks like we might save the thing but really, there is no chance. Boats with holes in them don't stay afloat. This week, a yacht picked us up and sailed us to safety. That's grace. I got to witness it firsthand when God moved in a way that I could never have expected, prayed for, or imagined. He rescued us through faithful servants.
3. God is living and active. He moves through His people in ways that defy logic and reason. I wonder about all the times that God wanted to move through my hands, feet and words but I denied Him the opportunity. Father, forgive me. Thank you for epiphany #2 when I realize how many times I have failed at epiphany #3. Thank you for those who recognize your promptings and act.
4. The fear of money can be idolatry. When thoughts of drowning in a sea of debt control my waking, and sleeping, thoughts, I am worshipping money. Not because I love it but because I have let it have power over me.

So am I Captain Obvious today?

I'm a proud momma

Yesterday, Chad and I went with Raemey to a lunch honoring her as the outstanding citizen from her school. A local service organization honors students that are brought to their attention by teachers. Her teacher nominated her by writing this letter:

"Raemey Higgins is an incredible example of a young citizen. Although she is only six, Raemey possesses many admirable qualities that make her an excellent role model for other students and even adults. Raemey has a kind and genuine heart. She is always courteous and cooperative with all of the students in our class. Because she is an ideal role model, the counselor has asked Raemey to join her several times when she is working with other students on how to be a good friend. Raemey is also a very smart student who consistently puts forther her best effort everyday. Without even asking, Raemey is always willing to help others. Whether it is helping another student with their work or helping soneone else clean up their center, she always has a smile on her face. That sweet smile has brought so much joy to myself and other staff members everyday this year. Depite having Achondroplasia, Raemey is very independent. She has a very strong sense of self confidence that helps her overcome challenges she faces due to her height. Raemey's family is actively invovled in their church. When Raemey is working, it is very sweet to hear her quietly sing Christian songs. She has a very strong Christian faith that she displays each and every day. I am very blessed to have the opportunity to be Raemey's teacher this year. She has truly touched my heart in a very special way that I will never forget. Raemey Higgins is the perfect example of a young citizen. "

There are so many reasons that I am proud of Raemey. I'm proud of her intelligence and beauty. But I am bursting that she is salt and light in her school. Her actions bring glory to the Father and I am honored that I get to live with her.

Thank you, Mrs. Hass for loving our baby. Thank you for seeing beyond the size of her legs to see the size of her heart!

Springtime

Almost 5 years ago, my husband’s birthday fell on Easter weekend. For a minister, there couldn’t be worse timing! I began seeking a way to make his birthday meaningful in the midst of all the busyness of Easter season.

At that time in our lives, we celebrated a Seder meal on the Saturday night before Easter with some of our closest friends. Seder is the Jewish Passover feast. These friends introduced me to the idea of a Christian celebration of Passover. It became one of the most meaningful events in my year. Traditional Seder is a family celebration around the dinner table. The story of the Passover is told through the symbols of food. These friends were our family in that city and I told them about my desire to honor my husband’s birthday. We all decided that Seder was a great time to do it. Bob, one of our friends, set himself to researching Jewish birthday traditions in the spirit of Seder.

He discovered a Jewish tradition of claiming a Psalm each year. In fact, the tradition states that your age is the number Psalm that is yours for the year. You meditate on it, love it and wrestle with it for a year. The moment for my husband was beautiful, affirming and meaningful! Just what I was hoping for.

The unexpected part of that moment was that I have claimed that tradition for my own. Each year I rest in “my Psalm” for an entire year. I think I might have mentioned that I turned 30 back in February. While I was not dreading that birthday at all, the 8 weeks since have been a nightmare! Because of all that has gone on in our lives during that time, I had not had time to claim my Psalm.

Please don’t misunderstand me. There is not a sacred ceremony to claiming it or anything. But I do like to have a quiet moment to read it for the first time that it is mine. I want to savor the first time I read those words as my own and wonder about all God will do in the next year of my life. I finally had my moment on Sunday.

My soul has been feeling like my yard and flower beds look: like winter. The grass is dead and brown, still waiting for warmer weather to wake it up. The only things living in the yard are fire ants! My flower bed is empty of meaningful blooms and full of nasty weeds. I am in need of spring. I long for warmth to return to my heart. I want the weeds gone and beautiful spring blooms to fill my mind. I desperately desire to shake off winter and welcome new growth.

Here is my Psalm for the year. Feel free to make it yours if you can feel the sun in its words and a warm wind in the movement of phrases.

Psalm 30
1 I will exalt you, O LORD,
for you lifted me out of the depths
and did not let my enemies gloat over me.

2 O LORD my God, I called to you for help
and you healed me.

3 O LORD, you brought me up from the grave;
you spared me from going down into the pit.

4 Sing to the LORD, you saints of his;
praise his holy name.

5 For his anger lasts only a moment,
but his favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may remain for a night,
but rejoicing comes in the morning.

6 When I felt secure, I said,
"I will never be shaken."

7 O LORD, when you favored me,
you made my mountain stand firm;
but when you hid your face,
I was dismayed.

8 To you, O LORD, I called;
to the Lord I cried for mercy:

9 "What gain is there in my destruction,
in my going down into the pit?
Will the dust praise you?
Will it proclaim your faithfulness?

10 Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me;
O LORD, be my help."

11 You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,

12 that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever.

Wrestling

My son has taken to wrestling us for items that we try to take away before he is ready. In all fairness, he’s 17 months old. However, I didn’t get the memo that third children start the terrible two’s at 16 months old!

Last night after dinner, he was sitting at the kitchen table coloring. It is his new favorite thing to do. When it was time to go get a bath, he refused to give up the marker. Instead, he screamed, held the marker close to his chest and shook his whole body in a resounding “NO!!” Wow. That was fun.

Later that night I found myself in a very similar situation. Except this time, I was the child instead of the parent. As I lay down to sleep last night, I became very aware of how precarious life is. I don’t just mean life and death, I mean this experience we call life. For instance, our oldest has an MRI on Thursday. Her neurosurgeon will be checking her spine for compression points. If he finds any, she will face another surgery. She has already undergone four surgeries in her short six years of life. Our minivan, the hub of any large family’s existence, is dying a slow, painful but sure death. We really can’t afford to replace it but fixing it is like putting a band-aid on a tumor.

Just two examples of what was running through my head last night. As I lay there, I began wrestling with God about them. He says to trust Him with those things. He even has the audacity to tell me not to worry or be anxious in anything. How can a mother not worry about the health of her child? How can I not worry about our precarious financial situation? Life is fragile.

But instead of calmly laying those matters at the throne, I fought for them. I would be less of me if I turned them over. I pride myself on my ability to juggle a thousand china plates at a time without breaking a one. But in truth, I feel so overwhelmed by their weight.

I can’t comprehend a life without worry or anxiety. It seems to me that would be heaven. Can a human really live without worry?

I was thinking about Jacob and how he wrestled with God. To be honest with you, I always wondered why. It seems to be such a weird story to me. Who could possibly expect to win a wrestling match with God?

Today, it doesn’t seem so strange. I may not limp, but there sure are dark circles under eyes.

Princess

Being the mother of girls is a chance to revisit joys of my own childhood. I love to play dress up! Now I get to play alongside my own children. My girls love to change clothes over and over becoming one character and then another. Their favorite dress up game involves becoming a princess. Chose any Disney princess and they have accumulated articles necessary to become that lucky girl.
First, the appropriate ball gown is chosen. It is complete with sequins and tulle. Next, the perfect shoes must be chosen. The best are the plastic imitation glass slippers. A most important piece follows and that is the crown. We have many to choose from in different colors and styles. All are made with rhinestones and plastic painted silver or gold. One cannot forget the matching plastic and rhinestone jewelry. Finally, the newly created princess proceeds to the throne in the playroom. The throne is a beanbag chair with the faces of princesses on it. The princess takes her seat. She smiles from ear to ear to reveal precious baby teeth. Orders are given with the wave of a scepter and loyal subjects quickly follow them. Sometimes such power is taken advantage of as orders are given to bring out the play makeup as well. These orders are usually followed by sheepish grins and a chorus of, “Please, Mommy!” that is sung in at least six syllables.
There are times when I smile at imagination gone wild. I’ll give in and pull out from the unreachable shelf a case of makeup. Bright green, blue, and purple eye shadows are applied with fingers to all areas of the face. Lip gloss is smeared in thick layers and sometimes even highlights teeth. Body glitter is rubbed from head to toe. It brings out subtle color changes even in hair.
One could say that they are just being girls. And I suppose there is truth to that. Little girls love to dress up. I don’t think that desire ever goes away. Big girls may not have the opportunity to put on their princess dresses very often but we sure enjoy a good makeover. Cosmetic counters and beauty salons rely on that yearning to stay in business. And when we can’t have a makeover ourselves there is always a good makeover show on TV. We can watch others makeover their wardrobes, their makeup, their hair, or even their homes.
The problem with these makeovers is that they leave us incomplete. Soon a new look becomes old. That perfect outfit that made us feel so beautiful looses its power. The roots begin to show again and our bangs need a trim. THE color yesterday is outdated today. Our makeovers are an endless race to achieve the impossible.
God did the original makeover show. Makeovers are His business. He eradicates our poor attempt at princess attire and clothes us with robes of purple. He takes off our tacky, play makeup and replaces it with true beauty. He removes our fake dollar store jewelry and adorns us with grace. He combs out the rat’s nest we have created in our hair until it is smooth and shiny. He does away with our rhinestone and plastic tiara to crown us with His righteousness.

“I delight greatly in the LORD;
My soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation
And arrayed me in a robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”
Isaiah 61:10

Truth in Worship

Do you ever find yourself suddenly wondering about the words to a song that you have been singing in church for years? That has happened to me twice in the last few weeks. Both of them were centering around the same idea. Here are the lyrics, "And we sing glory, honor, power and strength to the Lord." "Power and majesty, praise to the king." "Praise and glory, wisdom and thanks, honor and power and strength...Be to our God forever and ever."

So here is what I have been wondering: do I actually have these things to give to God? Can my singing those words make them true? Do I have power or strength or wisdom to bless God with? And even if I did have those things to present as a gift, does God need them? Isn't He already all of those things without my "wishing" them to Him? I realize that all of these songs are quoting Scripture and that is one of the main reasons we sing them. But, that doesn't answer my questions. Even when the elders in heaven are singing these words around the throne, do they have those things to give to the Lamb?

I'm not trying to be difficult or obnoxious in my questions. I desire truth. I want to offer God praise that I can "back up", so to speak. After all, who would want to write God a hot check? I love each of the songs above and love how I feel when I sing them. I desire for God to have and be all of the things described. But, am I the one who can offer them to Him? If not, can I sing those songs with a clear conscious? What do you think?

I repent!

It's been a month, I think, since I wrote here! I'm so sorry. I don't have a brillantly horrible story to tell you about why I haven't written. I just haven't. Here are some brief updates from the last month.

I turned 30. On Ash Wednesday. Does the irony catch anyone else?

I had one the worst stomach bugs of my life. 'Nough said.

I was honored to speak at a retreat for wonderful women from Sonrise church in Gainseville, TX. It was a joy to be with them.

This weekend I am home with what I think is the flu. My two girls have gotten sick as well. I kept the kids home from church yesterday. When Chad came home (with fast food) we had "family church". It looked like this: I was lying on the couch with chills. Chad and all three kids were crammed on the love seat with Bible storybooks surrounding them. He must have read 10 as they sat there and the girls just ate up that time with their daddy. It was a sweet a moment to witness. Then they sang songs to God. My husband is a gifted worship leader and I am so often amazed at God pouring out through him. But, seeing him scrunched on a love seat with our children and praising God with them brought tears to my eyes. Chad's gifts bless 1,500 people every Sunday morning. But yesterday, I was so honored that we are on this path of life together because I was moved at his tenderness and joy in sharing praise with our kids.

Highest Place

Have you ever heard that poem about giving everything to Jesus? You know…offer him your spouse, your kids, your job, your house, etc? After you truly give those things to him, he will give them back to you as his gift. I understand what the author was trying to teach: everything in our lives is a gift from God. But I think maybe there should have been another part of that poem.

The stanza that talks about loving your spouse as a reflection of God. The line that says that caring for your children well is a service to God. The idea that your job is a way to connect with people who may not know God. Or, this one stings, that maintaining your home is good stewardship.

Yesterday in church we sang, “Highest Place”. It is a beautiful song talking about placing Jesus, the great High Priest, at the top of our lives. As I sang and listened, I wondered how one really does that. I can’t sit around and meditate on the goodness of God all day or my children will go hungry. I can’t single-mindedly pray all day or I won’t get any work done. Jesus in the highest place of my life colors how I do all the things I do in a day.

Here’s an example: Monday mornings are hard at my house. They probably are at yours, too. Monday’s are not fun here because our oldest goes back to kindergarten after a weekend of watching cartoons and playing a lot. She is usually running late on Monday mornings and a little grumpy. Our middle one woke up ready for a fight this morning because her older sister gets to go to kindergarten while she is stuck home with mom. The baby is always tired on Mondays because Sundays are just hard on little ones. My husband is worn out on Mondays because Sunday is his hardest day. I was staring at a week that I had to hit the diet hard again and knowing that I turn 30 in just two days. Now if I had woken up with Jesus in the highest place:
Working out could have become a time of worship; honoring the temple that His Spirit is housed in.
Motivating a kindergartener could have been about calling on her God given ability to learn and connect with others.
Disciplining a four year old could have been about lovingly shaping a strong will to better reflect God.
Cuddling a tired baby could have been about administering grace.
Encouraging a tired husband could have been about respecting the rhythms of Sabbath and work.

I need Jesus in my highest place because I fail miserably without him there.

Longing for More

I have a new favorite book and it is by an author that I have loved for a while now. "Longing for More" by Ruth Haley Barton is a discussion of women's spiritual transformation. While there a lot of great books out there about spiritual formation, I love this one for several reasons.
1. Ruth describes transformation as a journey that takes place along the path of life. So, it is spiritual transformation to learn to be a wife or mother. It is spiritual formation to learn to love your own body. Ruth embraces the idea that the spiritual disciplines are to help us find the significance in living life as it is laid before us.
2. Ruth devotes one chapter to the role of women in the church. Her scholarship is outstanding but I like what she says because it is born of her own experiences. (If you pick this book up, make sure and read the endnote about 1 Timothy. I learned so much!)
3. In the last chapter, Ruth summarizes the entire book in a way that I have always felt but never been able to articulate. The reason we have to talk about why women should be transformed is that we are trying to be like Jesus. Ruth is not advocating a feminist movement within the church because that is all about women. She is saying that women are called to be like Jesus and their paths have been blocked by some old ideas. It is time that the church be the advocate of all of their members being transformed into the image of Jesus.

Amen!

The Temple

We live in a compartmentalized society. It is considered wise to keep our lives and our thoughts in seperate containers. Seperate church and state. Family and work don't mix. The physical and the spiritual are not supposed to impact one another. I have bought into this thinking in many little ways.

One of the big ways I have bought into it is in my body image. I have believed that what I think about my body does not matter to God. God is concerned with the heart, not the body. Right? Well...my body is the temple of God. Doesn't that matter to Him? I don't think He cares if I have a perfect figure or clear skin. But, does He care if I honor my body? Does it matter to Him if I loathe my reflection?

Yes, I think it does matter to Him. You know what else? I think that most women focus on what they dislike about their appearance. I have talked to many friends about this lately. Every one of them could tell me what they disliked about their body. Many of their complaints centered around weight and the desire to airbrush one location. My five year old came home and asked if she could get highlites in her hair. She's five. She said that a girl in her kindergarten class got them and she wanted them too. I said no. My four year old told me that she wanted to wear makeup to school all the time because it makes her prettier. I said no.

Here's what I know intellectually and am wrestling with emotionally: the images I see on television and in magazines are not real. I am created in the image of God and I believe that embodies the physical too. Why can't I live like I believe it?

Do you think about this stuff too?

Reading Like a Writer

I am an avid reader. Reading is like water to me; it is required to stay alive. When I am reading, I travel wherever the book takes me. I have been known to read while eating, bathing and, I’m embarrassed to admit, driving. I just love it!

I am also an aspiring writer. It is a lifelong dream that got new wind blown in it about a year ago. So, I set a goal to read one book a month that will help me become a better writer. I’ve a read some really good books by really great authors. They share their secrets of the trade with people like me who only dream of doing this for a true living.

In that mindset, I picked up Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose. The title sounded perfect for someone like me. Even the author’s name seemed prosaic! I was ready to love it.

Ms. Prose took me by surprise. Rather than applauding readers like me who devour books in hours not days, she chastised my reading habits! Ms. Prose preached that writers should read like anorexic’s eat. Each word should be carefully separated and chewed on until all the flavor has been sucked out. Then those fully chewed words should be connected together in a flavorless string to seek the meaning behind them. I got hungry just reading it!

Perhaps I am alone in this deal but I read for the escape of it. I read to learn of a life or place or story that I do not have access to in my own world. I read to connect to someone else’s narrative and experience. I do not read to pick them apart calorie by calorie! I read like a recent dieter at Thanksgiving dinner. I read to soothe emotions and fill up empty places. I gorge myself until I can hold no more. Then, I explode in a torrent of words myself…usually on the page!

To be fair to Ms. Prose, I haven’t quite finished her book. I’ll keep plugging through but I have to tell you, it’s not a Chinese buffet! In fact, I think it is a Lean Cuisine frozen stir fry…sodium free.

The Park

My kids love to play at the park. Just this week we went to a park close to our house. The equipment is normal playground kind of stuff. There are some monkey bars, a few swings, three slides, and some great lookout points. There is even a merry go round! What makes this park unique is it’s setting. On one side is a lake, home to ducks, swans, and geese. On another side is a waterpark and swimming pool. The other two sides are surrounded by streets and homes. To carve out the playground, there are blue Lincoln log barriers in the ground. They are bolted together to form the perimeter of two kidney beans smashed together. The Lincoln logs also hold in all the mulch that pads the ground for little feet to walk on.

At our visit to this park, I was so amused watching my kids and their reactions to the barriers. I told both my four year old and my one year old that outside the blue line was “No-no”. The areas surrounding this park could be dangerous and I wanted them to stay inside the lines. Being a toddler, my one year immediately put one foot up on top of the barrier and looked back at me to see if that was alright. I said, “No,” and he stepped back. Then he went to another section of the barrier and tried again. I repeated my no and he moved on. For twenty minutes he tried new places to see if the answer changed. Twenty minutes in the life a one year old is a long time! In that twenty minutes he missed playing to continually test the rules.

My four year old is a little different. She is, without a doubt, my strong willed child. But today she watched the antics of her little brother while she played on the slides. When he finally moved on to trying to eat the mulch, she was ready to make her move. She is pretty afraid of the geese that live on the lake because they are so loud. So, she didn’t want to go that way. She knew that the waterpark was closed so that didn’t really interest her either. Instead, she saw a basketball goal in a driveway across the street. She loves basketball. While I was busy pulling mulch out of the baby’s mouth, she worked her way across the playground equipment and got a huge thrust going down the slide that faces the basketball goal. That was enough to put her just beyond the barrier and she made a dash for the basketball goal. I caught her with one foot in the street.

If my five year old had been there, she would have never even tried out the barriers. She would have played on anything she could reach. Her only glance would have been in fear toward the swan, who charged her one time! She might have mentioned that she wanted to go the waterpark again this summer.

Each of them sees those blue Lincoln logs differently. One as a test. One as a dare and one as a wall. I’m sure there are some really deep parallels to draw here about how we should be content with the space God gives us or how we should view obstacles in our path.

I’m happy if one of those lessons speaks to you. I’m content to marvel at how different each of my three blessings are.