THE WEAKER VESSEL

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. - James 1:17

In an effort to pray more consistently for my church family, I developed a system that helps me remember to pray for every person at Grace Pres. at least once each month. I have a list of Grace members (and others for whom I want to pray regularly) next to my computer, and I have a sticky note "pointer" that I move down the list each day. In the morning, I look at the list to get my new assignment for the day and make a mental note: Pray for Frank and Wendy today! I check the list again in the evening, to remind myself for whom I am to pray in those sleepless wee morning hours that come with being 50-something.

Of course, I pray for some folks more frequently than once a month. Perhaps a medical condition or a family issue or situation at their work comes often to mind, prompting me to pause and pray for them. But the point of my little system is that I want to pray regularly for these precious people, every one of them, and I want to keep praying for them.

I am not a prayer warrior. I have a long history of being irregular, undisciplined, and unintentional in my prayer life. In short, I have a long history of not actually praying very much at all. That's why I am so thankful for the list on my kitchen wall:  it has radically altered my prayer life.

Last night/dark-thirty this morning, I woke up and thought, "I need to pray for Will and Alex." It had been a month since I last prayed for this young couple. They do not regularly attend Grace, but they are still family. They have unique life circumstances that I can only imagine make the day-to-day challenging. I should be praying for this young couple more than once a month.

As I lay thinking about and praying for Will and Alex, I was a little sad that it had been an entire month since I last prayed for them. "Father," I prayed, "please bring these two to mind more often throughout the month. Remind me to pray for them more frequently!"

Which got me to thinking...

I was a pretty prayerless Christian for many, many years. I eventually felt convicted about my prayerlessness, but how was I to change? Based on my experiences in so many other areas of my life, I was confident that no real positive, lasting change would occur in my prayer life unless God himself made the change. So, I asked God to please help me to pray. To pray more often. To pray more thoughtfully. To pray more consistently. To pray more in line with his will.

I am still not a prayer warrior, but my prayer life has definitely changed. Disciplined prayer is no longer a burden, but a delight. God is so good and so faithful!

So, back to Will and Alex...

As I prayed for this young couple and also prayed for God to bring them more often to mind throughout the month, it occurred to me:  Prayer itself is a gift from God. I don't mean the ability to pray, or the opportunity to pray, or the desire to pray (although those things are also gifts from God), but actually praying. From my perspective, it seems like I initiate prayer - like I begin the conversation, take the first step toward God. But last night, it struck me that I would not even be praying at all if God in his goodness had not awakened me and reminded me and given me the desire and drawn me into his presence in the first place. The same is true during the day, whether I am sitting at the kitchen counter with my prayer list and my Bible or driving down the highway.

Every single time I pray, it is like I am unwrapping yet another gift from God.

I lay in bed thinking what good gifts God gives his children, gifts like prayer - It's perfect! Just what I wanted! Thank you so much! - and, given that this is the season of gift-giving, I began thinking of other good gifts He has given me.

Gifts like:

Scripture. Not only has He given me his written Word, but He himself gives me the desire to read it. (On my own, I did not read the Bible regularly. But, just as with prayer, when I asked God to please give me a desire for his Word, He did just exactly that.)

My family - Steve, my awesome kids, my sons- and daughter-in-law, my grandkids, my parents,...

My church family.

My friends, especially those who are also brothers and sisters in Christ.

Health, vigor, and productivity.

After a day out shopping with The Chicken yesterday, I must add to the list of God's good gifts:  sunshine, laughter, food, and Scotty McCreery on the radio,

So many, many good gifts!

But this morning, I got to thinking about gifts that God has given me that I wouldn't initially label as "good"...

Gifts like:

Broken relationships.

Financial challenges.

Chronic pain.

As I considered several of these not-so-good "gifts," I had to repent of my wrong thinking. Broken relationships forced me to rely on God as my true Father and Christ as my dearest and most faithful Friend. Financial stress has been an impetus to new endeavors. Pain gives me empathy with so many others who are hurting and keeps me ever mindful of and eager for Glory.

Again, I am overwhelmed by the realization:  God gives his children such good gifts, only good gifts.

And God's gifts, they are every one perfect.

EVERY GOOD AND PERFECT GIFT

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. - James 1:17

In an effort to pray more consistently for my church family, I developed a system that helps me remember to pray for every person at Grace Pres. at least once each month. I have a list of Grace members (and others for whom I want to pray regularly) next to my computer, and I have a sticky note "pointer" that I move down the list each day. In the morning, I look at the list to get my new assignment for the day and make a mental note: Pray for Frank and Wendy today! I check the list again in the evening, to remind myself for whom I am to pray in those sleepless wee morning hours that come with being 50-something.

Of course, I pray for some folks more frequently than once a month. Perhaps a medical condition or a family issue or situation at their work comes often to mind, prompting me to pause and pray for them. But the point of my little system is that I want to pray regularly for these precious people, every one of them, and I want to keep praying for them.

I am not a prayer warrior. I have a long history of being irregular, undisciplined, and unintentional in my prayer life. In short, I have a long history of not actually praying very much at all. That's why I am so thankful for the list on my kitchen wall:  it has radically altered my prayer life.

Last night/dark-thirty this morning, I woke up and thought, "I need to pray for Will and Alex." It had been a month since I last prayed for this young couple. They do not regularly attend Grace, but they are still family. They have unique life circumstances that I can only imagine make the day-to-day challenging. I should be praying for this young couple more than once a month.

As I lay thinking about and praying for Will and Alex, I was a little sad that it had been an entire month since I last prayed for them. "Father," I prayed, "please bring these two to mind more often throughout the month. Remind me to pray for them more frequently!"

Which got me to thinking...

I was a pretty prayerless Christian for many, many years. I eventually felt convicted about my prayerlessness, but how was I to change? Based on my experiences in so many other areas of my life, I was confident that no real positive, lasting change would occur in my prayer life unless God himself made the change. So, I asked God to please help me to pray. To pray more often. To pray more thoughtfully. To pray more consistently. To pray more in line with his will.

I am still not a prayer warrior, but my prayer life has definitely changed. Disciplined prayer is no longer a burden, but a delight. God is so good and so faithful!

So, back to Will and Alex...

As I prayed for this young couple and also prayed for God to bring them more often to mind throughout the month, it occurred to me:  Prayer itself is a gift from God. I don't mean the ability to pray, or the opportunity to pray, or the desire to pray (although those things are also gifts from God), but actually praying. From my perspective, it seems like I initiate prayer - like I begin the conversation, take the first step toward God. But last night, it struck me that I would not even be praying at all if God in his goodness had not awakened me and reminded me and given me the desire and drawn me into his presence in the first place. The same is true during the day, whether I am sitting at the kitchen counter with my prayer list and my Bible or driving down the highway.

Every single time I pray, it is like I am unwrapping yet another gift from God.

I lay in bed thinking what good gifts God gives his children, gifts like prayer - It's perfect! Just what I wanted! Thank you so much! - and, given that this is the season of gift-giving, I began thinking of other good gifts He has given me.

Gifts like:

Scripture. Not only has He given me his written Word, but He himself gives me the desire to read it. (On my own, I did not read the Bible regularly. But, just as with prayer, when I asked God to please give me a desire for his Word, He did just exactly that.)

My family - Steve, my awesome kids, my sons- and daughter-in-law, my grandkids, my parents,...

My church family.

My friends, especially those who are also brothers and sisters in Christ.

Health, vigor, and productivity.

After a day out shopping with The Chicken yesterday, I must add to the list of God's good gifts:  sunshine, laughter, food, and Scotty McCreery on the radio,

So many, many good gifts!

But this morning, I got to thinking about gifts that God has given me that I wouldn't initially label as "good"...

Gifts like:

Broken relationships.

Financial challenges.

Chronic pain.

As I considered several of these not-so-good "gifts," I had to repent of my wrong thinking. Broken relationships forced me to rely on God as my true Father and Christ as my dearest and most faithful Friend. Financial stress has been an impetus to new endeavors. Pain gives me empathy with so many others who are hurting and keeps me ever mindful of and eager for Glory.

Again, I am overwhelmed by the realization:  God gives his children such good gifts, only good gifts.

And God's gifts, they are every one perfect.

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL LIFE

It happened again last night.

I woke up about 1:00 a.m. to the sound of some distressed critter screeching outside my bedroom window. Then, my eyes started burning.

Another skunk bombed the air intake of the heating system.

I climbed out of bed and turned on the outside lights. No, it wasn't Geoffrey the Glamour Skunk. It was one of his little cousins, a cat-sized black furball with one tiny pouf of white on the top of his head, toodling around in the back yard next to the HVAC unit.

Sigh.

Turning off the outdoor lights, I climbed back into bed and hoped the ladies at my morning exercise class wouldn't be offended by any residue of my new household air freshener.

I love life in the country!

Why?

The varmints. Okay, I am not particularly fond of skunks nosing around the heater or 'possums on the porch or snakes in the hen house, but it is pretty cool to watch deer grazing in the field next to the house in the early morning mist. I love the bunnies that venture timidly out of the woods to nibble grass, and the chipmunks that keep house in the woodpile.

The stars. With no ambient light from shopping centers and street lights, the night sky out here is as black as coal, and the stars - especially in winter - shine so brightly that I almost believe they are alive. Honestly, on a moonless night, a person could get drunk on the starlight out here.

The birds. Even now, in winter, the air is filled with birdsong in the early mornings. Tiny juncos have flown in for the season, their sooty gray bodies peppering the driveway. Sunny yellow goldfinches, saucy blue jays, brilliant cardinals. There is something magical about coming up on a lone blue heron back on the pond, about a flock of wood ducks rocketing off the water in surprise or a red-tail hawk keening overhead.

The trees. I love, love, love the trees in winter, their bare branches stretching skyward like impossibly thin fingers, weaving a lacy veil between me and the far hills.

The sun creeping over the hay field in the morning, turning it from gray to gold to green. The sunset in the evening, setting the entire field on fire.

The smell of mouldering leaves, the earthy aroma of cows and horses, the sharp tang of cedar and of smoke from the chimney.

A cup of hot spiced tea at the end of the day, while I curl up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket to read. Marshmallows toasted in fireplace. Hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a dash of nutmeg. Christmas cookies! Mmmm!

FUNERAL PLANNING

"Wow. This is like the season of death," my daughter commented.

Within a matter of days, a sweet friend lost her son, a second friend passed away unexpectedly, a third friend lost his father, a fourth friend lost her mother, and another friend was in the hospital fighting for her life.

Seems like we have been attending funerals almost weekly. Maybe it's the funerals, or maybe it's being 50-something, but I've been thinking a lot lately about my own funeral, too.

When folks are sitting in the pews at my send-off celebration, what do I want them to hear? What do I want them to take away when the service is over?

Most emphatically, I do NOT want folks in the pews to be given a litany of my virtues:  "She was a faithful wife, a devoted mother, a prayerful Christian, a godly woman..." No, no, no, and no! Please, no! I do desire to be all of those things; but I am more painfully aware than anyone of how far short I fall of being any of them. Please, at my funeral, just don't even go there.

Rather, I want those gathered to hear about my faithful God and my devoted Savior. I want them to be reminded that Dead Camille is eternally secure not because of anything that I did, but because of what Jesus did on my behalf.

Anything that might be labeled as a Good Work - sacrifices for my family, homeschooling my children, loving and praying for my church, ministry to others... - roll all that stuff in a wad and toss it in the Filthy Rags bin. Don't waste time talking about those things.

Instead, talk about the grace of God. Talk about how God, in his great mercy, pursued this sinful, broken, messed up woman, pursued her and wooed her and won her to himself, and is keeping her for eternity.

Talk about how God was faithful in my life, even when my faith was weak. Talk about how God was good and kind and patient, even when I proved repeatedly how very wicked, unkind, and impatient I could be - both toward him and toward others.

Please, if you love me, I'd rather you not talk about me at all. Talk about my beautiful Jesus instead.

When my funeral is over, I don't want a single person to walk out thinking, "Camille was such a wonderful woman," because I know the truth, and I wasn't.

No! I want every single person - whether they know and love Jesus or not - to walk out saying, "What an amazing God, to love sinful Camille so completely!"

(And after my funeral, if folks want to have a pot-luck with fried chicken and chocolate pie, followed by a jam session and singing, I'm totally okay with that - just in case you're wondering.)

PSYCHOLOGY OF CAN'T

Don't let success go to your head. Don't let failure go to your heart.

- Tim Keller

In some ways, I feel like I have been living in the Land of Can't for longer than I can remember. On bad days, I wonder if I have ever lived anywhere else. What is it that you want to do or think you need? Ummm, nope, can't do/have that.

Think you need some face time? Too bad - can't have it. Too busy. No time. Want to finish the upstairs bathroom? Can't. Nothing in the budget for household projects or repairs. Think maybe you should have the doctor check out that strange lump? Nope, can't afford the deductible. You want some consistent time in your day to sit down and write? Too bad. Can't.

The sad thing about hearing or experiencing "can't" so frequently is that I begin to think that "can't" is the only possible answer, ever, always. And so I quit asking, quit trying, quit entertaining any thoughts at all about what I think I want or need. I can't imagine any possibility except "can't." Too much "can't" for too long, and I completely forget there is such a thing as "can."

I was keeping one of the grandbabies recently. She was following me from my bedroom to the laundry room. As we walked through the bathroom, she pointed at the toilet. "No, no!" she said. Then she toddled over and rested her hand on the toilet tissue dispenser. Smiling up at me with her big blue eyes, she repeated, "No, no!"

When we reached the kitchen, she pointed at the tall kitchen trash can. "No, no," she piped.

Then she crossed the room to a cabinet containing plastic storage containers and proceeded to empty its contents onto the floor.

Helping Grandma in the kitchen!

My granddaughter understands that some things are off limits. She doesn't bother those things. She also knows that some things are okay for her to have, and she enjoys those things enthusiastically.

I have learned "No, no!" well. I've probably learned it too well.

Now, I need to learn "Yes." Now, I need to learn "Can."

WRITING AND FINANCES, PART 3

Speaking of Great-grandmother, that extraordinarily industrious, resourceful, straight-forward, vigorous woman who provided for her six children after her husband's untimely death...

Sometimes, a legacy of such strength and industriousness is inspiring. Sometimes, it makes me feel remarkably weak and, by comparison, abysmally unproductive.

So, back to this week's theme:  Camille's Squirrelly Address on Financial Aspects of Being a Writer...(You thought yesterday's post about Great-grandmother's obscene phone caller was a bit random? No, actually, there is a connection!)

In Part 1, I wrote about the very conservative goals I set for my first year in the writing business and about how God graciously allowed me to meet those goals. In Part 2, I told how a friend once challenged me concerning giving, and I shared how Year 2 allowed me to step out in faith in this area in a small way.

As I work at this new little enterprise, I have additional financial concerns on my mind as well, besides business expenses and tithing and Christmas presents and ministry support and gas for the van. I have actually been mulling these other concerns over for years. Today, I am going to try to articulate these concerns in Part 3 of Camille's Squirrelly Address on Financial Aspects of Being a Writer.

For the nearly 30 years that I have been a mother, I have made a full-time job of cooking meals, washing and folding laundry, sweeping and mopping floors, nursing and diapering babies, and schooling my awesome children. When I have worked outside of the home, it was always at jobs that allowed me to work at night, after dinner was cooked and Steve was home from work and the babies were tucked in bed.

(I once worked nights at Kroger as a cashier. My supervisor accidentally scheduled me to work days one week. I explained to her that, with six little kids at home, it cost me more per hour to pay for a babysitter than I was making per hour at Kroger. Every hour I worked during the daytime put me in the hole several dollars. Graciously, my supervisor immediately redid that week's work schedule!)

While I do not regret one tiny iota of the time and energy that I have poured into my work at home, one regret that I have long struggled with is that I have not been able to help my family more financially. The few jobs I worked and the little income I earned were only intended to provide temporary financial help during specific emergencies.

Others have helped our family financially over the years in too many ways to list. My in-laws paid closing costs for the first house we purchased. My brother and sister-in-law paid to have air-conditioners installed in our air-conditioner-less house one hot summer. My sister and brother-in-law helped repeatedly with car repairs. Friends from church actually paid for and installed a new roof on our house one time, and others kept our big family fed and clothed during lean times. I am so very thankful for all of the precious people who have helped us over the years - thinking about each of them has me sitting here smiling and crying tears of gratitude!

I am thankful, too, that all of our children have grown up to be hard-working and resourceful. They have paid for their own clothes, their own college educations, and, if they have them, their own vehicles. They each know how to stretch a dollar. They know how to ferret out really good bargains, and they aren't ashamed to shop at Goodwill. I occasionally hear other parents talking about how their kids are constantly asking for money - for school field trips, for gas, for cell phones, etc. Our kids have never done that. On the contrary, they have often been the ones to help Mom and Dad out in a pinch!

I do not feel like a failure as a parent because we didn't give each kid a car when he left for college or because they paid for their own cell phone plans. I also don't feel like my kids think of me as a second-class mom because I couldn't buy them trendy clothes or the latest technology. I suppose some sour children might complain that their parents don't do enough for them financially, but not mine - rather, my kids honestly make me feel like a Queen Mother.

I have long wished that I could give to my family with the kind of generosity with which they have given to me. Scripture nowhere tells me that, as an adult child, I should expect or demand the kind of generosity I have received from my parents and my in-laws. Scripture nowhere tells me that, as a parent, I should expect or demand the kind of generosity I have already received from my own children. Scripture nowhere authorizes me to look up the family tree or down the family tree and say, "You owe me this!"

Scripture does, however, speak to me about my own responsibilities, both as an adult child and as a parent of young adults. God's Word admonishes me to provide for my parents if they need my help in their old age. God's Word admonishes me to provide for my children and to endeavor to leave an inheritance for the next generation. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, I have worked very hard for many years to do just exactly that. Financially, however, I have not provided generously for either my aging parents or my children.

We are all familiar with the Proverbs 31 Woman, right? She's The Perfect Woman, the one that so completely intimidates messes like me. I once heard a sermon on Proverbs 31 in which the pastor explained that the Proverbs 31 Woman was an ideal:  all that was good and best about an exemplary woman's entire life painted into a single portrait. The pastor went on to explain that women experience different seasons of life, when they are called to different tasks.

Some seasons are heavy on nurturing babies and educating children. Some seasons are heavy on household maintenance and management. And then some seasons provide opportunities for enterprise outside of the home. We are not called to do all of these things all of the time, working with exceeding excellence in every sphere simultaneously; rather, we are called to make the most of the different opportunities given to us during the different seasons of our lives.

My children are growing up and starting lives and families of their own. I have much less laundry and cooking to do these days, and Helen and I are nearing the end of the last set of school books. I am hoping that in this new season of life, my little writing business will grow into an enterprise that will enable me, finally, to financially bless my family - both my parents and my children - in the years ahead.

I am amazed at and grateful for the Great Big Little Things God allowed me to accomplish in Year 1 and Year 2 as a writer. I am jumping into Year 3 with prayer, determination and excitement, eager to see what He has in store for me next.

And I am thankful for strong women like Great-grandmother, women who have lived out before me what it means to be faithful with little and faithful with much. Great-grandmother was a beautiful woman - I am grateful for the legacy she left me.


But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever. - 1 Timothy 5:8

For children are not obligated to save up for their parents, but parents for their children. - 2 Corinthians 12:14b

GLAD I'M NOT A MIDDLE-AGED MAN!

My name is Camille.

French origin. In the past, typically a man's name. In modern day America, more often a woman's name.

I am guessing it is my name that serves as a cue for internet businesses that send out bulk spam-mails, because it's certainly not my internet usage.

Based on the subject bars of my email junk box, the greatest challenges confronting middle-aged men in America right now are: hair loss, erectile dysfunction, a shortage of young leggy Russian internet brides, and the high cost of divorce.

Seriously?!!!

I always delete these messages without reading them. "Empty Junk" is such a wonderful tool. But secretly, I wish I had some way of responding that actually punched back, that knocked the wind out of the spamming sails.

Maybe I feel this way because I have some of Great-grandmother's blood running in my veins.

Great-grandmother gave birth to and raised six children. Her husband died when their oldest child - my grandmother - was only sixteen, and Great-grandmother was left to manage and provide for that big family on her own. She was smart, tough, resourceful, and direct, and she didn't take nonsense off of anyone.

I remember visiting Great-grandmother when she was on up into her 90's. She still kept up her own house and yard, she maintained a flock of chickens for eggs and meat, and she cultivated a huge vegetable garden. She made the best fried peach pies and cornbread I ever ate.

Great-grandmother lived in the day before internet and home computers and cell phones. She did, however, have one of those old black rotary phones - you know, the kind with a thick black cord, that connected to a land-line. That rotary phone, the local newspaper, and the beauty shop were her windows to the world.

One day, Great-grandmother got an obscene phone call. That's the old-school equivalent of today's trashy spam. Obscene phone calls were less common and vulgar than the garbage dumped into our email junk boxes today, but they were still offensive and a nuisance.

The phone rang. Great-grandmother answered it, but heard only heavy breathing coming from the earpiece. She simply placed the handset back on its cradle, which disconnected the call.

Some time later, the phone rang again. Great-grandmother answered it. Once again, she heard only heavy breathing from the caller, so she simply hung up the phone without saying a word.

The third time this happened, Great-grandmother held the handset to her ear for a minute, and then she addressed the caller:  "I don't know who you are, or what kind of jollies you're getting from calling this number, but listen here young man," she snapped, "I am a 92-year-old great-great-grandmother. My tits are so long I can tuck them into the waistband of my skirt without even leaning over. I'd sure like to know what kind of a buzz you're getting from calling a 92-year-old woman, mister."

Well, this time, it was the prankster who terminated the phone call. And he never called back again. Ever.

If Great-grandmother were still alive today, I'm sure she'd find a way to put a stop to the trash in my email junk box. If Great-grandmother were alive today, she'd probably know how to take care of this so effectively that I wouldn't even need a junk box at all.

WRITING AND FINANCES, PART 2

Yesterday, I wrote about my personal financial goals my first year as a paid writer and how that first year worked out for me. I encouraged you other budding writers out there to set thoughtful personal financial goals (it's okay if they are small!) and to make giving a part of your plan.

To recap:  Year One, I published a book and a few magazine articles and had a few speaking engagements. I met my goals of tithing and buying Christmas gifts for my kids, covered all my book-business expenses (transportation, marketing, etc.), bought gas and groceries a few times when household funds ran low, and ended the year with about $200 in the bank. According to my economic philosophy, that was success.

Today, I want to continue Camille's Squirrelly Address on Financial Aspects of Being a Writer by telling you about Year Two in my writing-for-pay adventure. This part of my story may sound like somewhat of an upside-down tale, but for me, it has been an exciting journey.

Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was challenged by a friend who lived a lifestyle of generous giving. She had lots of money at her disposal, so of course, she could give lots of it away. I admired her generosity and wondered:  if I ever had the resources, could I follow her example?

We all know people who, no matter how much money they make, never seem to have enough. But my friend, unlike these other folks, consistently and deliberately practiced the discipline of living on only a fraction of her available income and of being content with that smaller portion. Her philosophy was not "How much more can I afford to buy/spend/live on if I have a bigger paycheck?" - but - "How much more can I give away to support Kingdom work/ministry?"

Just on the off chance that I might someday strike it rich, I asked my friend for advice on the discipline of giving. First, she encouraged me not to wait until I struck it rich, but to develop a habit of giving from whatever small portion I might be allotted. Her advice was something like this:  "If you have a little, give a little. If you have a lot, give a lot. If you wait until you have 'extra' to give, if you give only out of what you have left over, you will never feel like you have enough and you will never give in a meaningful way. Give from the beginning, even if it's only a small amount."

Second, my friend encouraged me to research ministries I wanted to support, to invest in ministries with which I had a personal tie and with which I could maintain ongoing personal relationships.

Those conversations about deliberate giving happened several years ago, so I've had plenty of time to meditate on my friend's advice. When I published Book 1, I did not have dreams of Grand Income and Grand Giving. I had modest expectations and I set modest goals. God very graciously allowed me to realize those expectations and to meet those goals. Nothing big...I was taking baby steps. But still, I ended Year One excited about the year ahead.

Year Two, I published Book 2 and a few more articles, and I had a few speaking engagements. Maybe Year Two would be the year I made the Big Time? Maybe?! Just in case, I began researching ministries in which I might want to invest.

I continued to tithe. I set aside a little now and then for Christmas gifts for my kids. I started saving up to have my website (hopefully!) revamped by a professional. And, after quite a bit of research and prayer, I had a list of three ministries that I knew I wanted to support...when I was making more money, of course.

Half-way through Year Two, however, I had saved only a fraction of the amount budgeted for the website revamp, and I felt like Big Giving (or, in my case, Not-so-Big-But-Still-Very-Exciting Giving) was never going to be a reality.

I was selling books, but I felt like a hamster on a wheel. No matter how many books I sold, it would never amount to much:  whatever money I earned would need to go right back into the book business, so that I could hopefully sell more books, so that I could spend more on marketing, so that I could sell more books, etc. I realized that there would never be any extra left over from my little writing enterprise to devote to things of eternal value.

I was enjoying writing. I was selling books. But I felt discouraged. I prayed for the three ministries I wanted to support financially, and I asked God week after week, "When will I be able to give?!!"

Well, after several frustrating weeks, God answered my prayer. He simply said, "Now."

No, book sales did not increase dramatically. No, I did not get an offer for a Tatum County movie contract. Rather, I simply remembered my friend's advice from years ago:  "If you wait until you have 'extra' to give, if you give only out of what you have left over, you will never feel like you have enough and you will never give in a meaningful way." In waiting until I had 'enough left over' to give, I discovered the paradox that enough...never is.

The challenge I faced was not having enough to give, but caring enough to give out of what little I did have. God didn't give me a lot of money, and He wasn't calling me to be faithful with a lot of money. Rather, He gave me a little bit of income and then challenged me to be faithful with that little bit.

In a peculiar, round-a-bout way, I became aware of pressing needs of one of the particular ministries for which I had been praying and which I desired to one day support. Was this God urging me to step out in faith? If I committed to supporting this ministry, would I be able to stay faithful to that commitment? What if my book sales dropped? What would I do then?

I spent a day wrestling through these and other questions. Surely it was not time to expand giving yet, not on the little income trickling into my book account. But I came back over and over to one question:  "If not now, when?"

I took a deep breath and stepped off the hamster wheel.

I wrote a letter to the ministry - the first one on my list - and explained my situation and that I wanted to commit to supporting their work with a certain amount each month. It wasn't a huge amount, but it seemed huge by my economic standards. I enclosed my first payment in the letter, and, with trembling hands, put the envelope in the mailbox.

I was more than a little scared. I was even more excited. Is this what it feels like, walking by faith?

After nervously mailing the letter, I sat down in the kitchen with my writing-business record books. I had enough money in the bank to meet this new financial commitment for several months (the website revamp could just wait), but then what? How could I be sure I would have the funds needed to continue to support this ministry?

If I wanted to honor my financial commitment, I needed to sell books, plain and simple. Marketing is not my favorite aspect of this business - I'd rather just write! But, with a new reason for wanting to sell books, I resolved that afternoon to try to schedule at  least two book events each month. Book fairs, speaking engagements, book-signings - I needed to get out and pound the pavement!

And this is where the story of Year Two gets really interesting....

I already had two book events scheduled for July and one event for August. Before the end of the week, I was asked to speak at a second event in August and I received an out-of-the-blue invitation to address a civic organization in September. Then came an email asking me to give a writing workshop at an out-of-town library and the opportunity for an interview on a talk-radio program.

Since mailing that letter back on the first day of July, I have consistently had at least two book or speaking events each month - and, amazingly, most of these opportunities have come to me without my even looking for them!

Thankfully - hallelujah! - I have been able to consistently support a ministry that is dear to my heart.

At the end of Year Two of being a paid writer, I have around $200 in my book account, about the same as at the end of Year One. Doesn't look like I'm making much progress financially, does it?

But, I have met my goals:  I have been able to support my awesome church through tithing, I'm wrapping gifts for each of my kids this Christmas, I bought groceries and gas a couple of times when household funds ran short, AND I have given to a ministry that I love in a way I wouldn't have thought possible only a year ago.

God has not given me a late model vehicle or a new wardrobe or a big movie deal, but He has given me something better:  through my little writing business, He has given me an opportunity to be a blessing in some small way to someone else.

I am totally stoked! And I am super excited about Year Three!!!

WRITING AND FINANCES, PART I

I had the privilege of speaking to several local 4-H clubs a couple of months ago. For the current school year, Agent Anderson is inviting various folks to tell students about their jobs, and she asked me to talk to students about being a writer.

One very practical question asked by a couple of students was:  "How much money do you make as a writer?"

My answer? "Enough."

Of course, what these young people really wanted to know was:  "Can I make a lot of money quickly/easily as a writer?"

Well, maybe so...but probably not.

My experience (which, according to the little bit of research I have done, is pretty typical) has been that it takes time to develop markets for my writing and to build a readership. This is a slow process. If my goal had been to get rich quickly, I would have thrown in the towel long ago. Thankfully, the pleasure of writing itself is enough motivation for me to keep plugging along, even without substantial financial rewards.

However, the financial aspect of being a writer is something to which I have devoted serious thought. As a writer, do I have specific financial goals? If so, what are those goals? Are they realistic and obtainable? Am I making progress toward meeting those goals? What can I do to better achieve my goals?

Today and in the days ahead - as I have time to write here at the blog! - I want to share a little bit about the financial aspect of my own journey as a writer. I want to look at questions like:  Do I really want my writing to generate an income? If so, why? And, how much income is enough?

Why on earth do I want to tackle this particular topic? And why right now? First, several issues related to a personal philosophy of income/money have been percolating in my brain lately, and here at the blog is where I often work through my jumbled thoughts.

Second, as a person identified as a member of various communities (family, church, homeschooler, politically conservative, etc.), I want to clarify and articulate what I believe as an individual, because I have found that others - even those very close to me - can make wrong assumptions about what I think based on the opinions of those around me.

Finally, I truly hope that other just-getting-started writers will be encouraged and challenged by some of the things I have learned thus far on my writing journey. So, let's get started!

A little back story...

Since giving birth to my first child 25+ years ago, I have worked outside the home only when financial crises demanded:  to help make ends meet when my husband's job as an intern architect couldn't support a family of eight; to cover medical bills; etc. Everything I earned at these temporary, part-time jobs was tagged for specific bills. I never entertained the question of what to do with any discretionary income, because I never had any discretionary income!

Then I wrote and published and began marketing my first book. No, I was not raking in the big bucks, but, for the first time in nearly 30 years, I was able to ask, "What do I want to do with this $20?" I wanted to answer that question - and spend that $20 - very thoughtfully. After several decades with no discretionary income, twenty dollars felt like a tremendous privilege and a not-insignificant responsibility!

The year I published that first book, I set two modest financial goals:  I wanted to support the ministry of my church, and I wanted to buy Christmas presents for each of my kids. (Yes, I know experts advise you to set specific financial goals - such as making $60,000/year - but I simply was not that brave or optimistic!)

The beauty of the tithe is that it is a grace you can enjoy no matter how much you earn. Whether I sold two books or twenty in a given week, whether I made two dollars or two hundred, I was delighted to be able to give back ten-percent to the work of my local church!

Randy Alcorn once described tithing as the Christian's "training wheels" for giving. Tithing helps us to develop a proper theology of material wealth. Tithing gives us a tangible, very sweet reminder that our security is in God, not in our finances, thus liberating us from the tyranny of wealth. Tithing is where we learn to use our income (however small!) as a tool for kingdom work, and it enables us to participate in something much larger than ourselves, something eternal. Tithing also fosters a deep sense of God-centered gratitude.

That first year, I was also able to buy Christmas presents for each of my kids. Nothing extravagant - only about $20 per person - but being able to give even small gifts made me feel rich.

Amazingly, I sold enough books to also help support a couple of young people serving in short-term missions, and I was able to occasionally cover the cost of gas, groceries, and music lessons when our household funds ran short.

Did I make a million dollars with the publication of my first book? No. Did I consider myself financially successful? Absolutely. I finished out that first year as a "paid writer" with just under $200 in my book account, but I felt as rich as Solomon. I had paid all my writing-related expenses, I met (and exceeded) my financial goals, and I still had money in the bank. I was eager to see what would happen in Year Two!

To conclude Part One of Camille's Squirrelly Address on Financial Aspects of Being a Writer:

If you are a beginning writer, I encourage you to set thoughtful financial goals for yourself. Personally, I'm a fan of modest goals, at least at the outset. I suppose my goals that first year sound paltry to some folks, but those goals gave me something to work toward without being unrealistic or completely unobtainable.

I also challenge you to make giving a top priority right from the very beginning. You don't have to be on the New York Times Bestseller List in order to give a portion of what you make. Do not be tightfisted - what resources God places in your hands, hold loosely. Start with the tithe (training wheels, remember?). Learn to ride that bike, and who knows where it will take you!

I can't wait to tell you about Year Two - will try to post that info tomorrow!

GIRLS' DAY OUT!

Baptist Memorial Hospital, Union City, is gearing up for the 3rd Annual Girls' Day Out! Held in two exhibit halls at the Obion County Fairgrounds, this event will focus on things women love:  shopping, chocolate, and taking care of family.

Join me and other unique shops and area businesses on Saturday, November 14, from 10:00 am - 4:00 pm, and take advantage of a great opportunity to get a head start on Christmas shopping. I will have copies of all of my books available for you to purchase, and I would love to sign your copy with a personalized inscription!

Event coordinators have planned lots of delicious treats for you to enjoy while you shop (Think chocolate!), as well as drawings for door prizes and for a "Shopping Spree Tree" Grand Prize. Admission is FREE, so grab a couple of girlfriends and head on over!

(The Obion County Fairgrounds are located at 1711 East Church Street, in Union City, Tennessee.)

NO, DIANE, I AM NOT FINE TODAY

Monday morning exercise class. The studio door closed behind me as I paused to write my name on the sign-in sheet underneath Diane's.

"How are you today?" Diane chirped.

"Fine," I replied.

Diane tilted her head to one side and stared at me. "Are you sure?"

"Ummmm, yeah!" I laughed.

Diane just kept staring.

"But if you keep looking at me like that," I protested, "I'm probably going to cry!"

Yes, I truly was "fine." And, no, I really wasn't "fine" at all.

I was looking forward to the first exercise class of the week with the awesome ladies at ADBC. I'd had a good night's sleep, an early morning cup of coffee, and time in God's Word. I was warm, clothed, and healthy. It was a beautiful morning and I was looking forward to the week ahead.

I was also mentally and emotionally exhausted. Grieving the loss of a sweet friend. Worn out from a too-busy weekend. Overwhelmed by the thought of all the things I needed to get done in the week ahead - the calendar for November is black with ink. Stressed about relationships and finances and the future.

Yes, I was fine. No, I wasn't fine at all.

Three days later, the pace hasn't slackened. The demands haven't lessened. The stresses have not disappeared.

I missed class at ADBC this morning. Thursday morning yoga/pilates - my favorite. I look forward to Thursday morning class like a kid looks forward to Christmas. But I simply couldn't make it. I was wiping out. Too much to do, getting too far behind. Not enough time to think, to process...

I wasn't "fine" this morning, But really, yes, I was.

After last night's storms, the hay field around the house is a brighter shade of green. We finally have blue skies and sunshine again, and the wet grass, dancing in a chilly wind, sparkles outside my kitchen window like a thousand, thousand jewels.

French toast for breakfast. Always yummy, but, for some reason, exceptionally good this particular morning. Heavenly aroma, a crisp crunch! when you sliced into it, the gooey sweetness of the syrup. "Is it just me, or is this French toast better than usual?" I asked. "It's not just you," Ben replied between bites.

Before he left for school early this morning, Ben and I watched an antlered buck and his doe meander slowly across the field, only yards from the house. Shhhh! Quiet! Don't startle them. Keep perfectly still so they don't see us. We froze at the front door, Ben and I, and held our breaths and watched.

Checked a few things off a mile-long ToDo list. Chugging through emails, only to find another Nuclear Bomb of Encouragement, dropped out of the blue, from someone completely unexpected.

That's when I lost it. Had to step away from the computer. This Presbyterian went all Pentecostal, weeping and laughing and jigging about the kitchen because I could not sit still, because I felt so loved, so blessed, that I thought my heart was going to burst.

When I finally calmed down enough to focus on getting back to work, I thought...

No, I am not fine. I have more to do than I can handle, and I am an incompetent mess. I am stressed, and I am worried about relationships and finances and the future. No, I am not fine at all, Diane!

But...

But my lawn is paved with emeralds. I ate manna for breakfast. A king and a queen of the forest are my gatekeepers. And God himself writes emails to me, dictated to one of His children and typed at a keyboard hundreds of miles away. He does this just to tell me how much He loves me.

There is a beauty so exquisite, so resplendent, that even a glimpse of it breaks your heart.

That beauty...He smiled on me again this morning.

No, Diane, I am not fine. Fine is too weak a word.

I am renewed, transported, undone.

And I am grateful.

JUST WRITE

I had three different people ask me over the weekend how the book was coming. Was I getting some good writing done?

What book?

What writing?

It's been almost two weeks since I posted here at the blog. Blogging is my candy, the "easy" writing. The blog is also a good barometer of how writing is going in general:  if posts become infrequent, it's because life is crazy busy, or because something else is commanding all my time for a season, or because I've been knocked down emotionally or physically.

So, yep.

Yes, yes, and yes.

When I have a prolonged season of write-less-ness, I get kind of gray and droopy around the edges. I begin to wonder why I even feel compelled to write in the first place - I mean, I know writing helps me make sense of life, but does it serve any bigger purpose, anything beyond Camille-needs-to-process?

Seems when I am particularly droopy, God sends something unexpected, something like...

...like this text from one of my very favorite writers, a woman whose skill at word craft amazes and humbles me, someone who, like me, struggles amidst the business of life to carve out little niches of time to devote to her writing:

"...I was thinking about you and your work writing and how encouraging to know...I don't have to mourn time I simply don't have to spend there [writing]...That if there is something I need to write, the right time will come... That the days and years that I pour into others' needs and calling are part of what [God] is doing in and thru me... It is so encouraging to see, in your writing and other ministry/impact, that your service and sacrifice was part of the building up not only the work of those for whom you sacrificed, but the work of you, particularly, Camille."

And then she added:

"...just write. [God] knows who needs to read it, and why."

She concluded:

"Further up and further in!" (a quote from one of my favorite writers of all time, C. S. Lewis)

Can I just say here at the blog today...

I
AM
SO
THANKFUL
FOR
THE
BEAUTIFUL
PEOPLE
GOD
HAS PUT
IN
MY
LIFE.

Through them, He makes me feel like I am a favorite child, particularly loved, her Father's jewel.

DISQUIET, OR CONTENT?

"I pray you, husband, be thou not so disquiet; the meat was well, if you were so content..." - Katherina, The Taming of the Shrew

More than thirty years after high school, I remember this line from William Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. How could anyone who sat in Mrs. Whitehead's senior English class EVER forget Steve Kinsey's interpretation of Katherina, next to Jeff McClain's Petruchio?!! This one line brought the house down, and made Mrs. Whitehead laugh so hard that she had tears streaming down her face and could hardly breathe.

...if you were so content...

Contentment is something I often struggle with. If you look at the list of Blog Topics on the right side of this page, you will see that the topic of contentment has been the subject of multiple posts.

I would love to be able to say that contentment is a lesson I have mastered. Checked it off. Moved on to the next thing on the list. But just when I realize that I have been enjoying a prolonged period of relative contentment, this gray shadow swells in my chest, a vague, sinking feeling of disquiet.

Over the years, I have learned...

Contentment is not imperturbability.
Contentment is not resignation.
Contentment is not passivity.
Contentment is not denial.
Contentment is not "going with the flow."

Contentment is something much bigger and deeper, more solid and more active than any of those things. Also, contentment has a sweetness which those other things lack. I have tasted it.

Contentment, at least for me, requires discipline. It is work. W-O-R-K.

I read recently that contentment springs from gratitude, and gratitude is grounded in humility.

When I am discontent, it is pretty clear that I am lacking gratitude. Sometimes, it is harder to connect the dots all the way back to humility...or the lack thereof.

Paul said that he "learned" contentment (Philippians 4:11). We are commanded to be grateful (1 Thessalonians 5:18), and a stubborn refusal to do so is a mark of the unregenerate heart (Romans 1:21). Christ himself practiced humility (Philippians 2:8), and we are told to do the same (Colossians 3:12).

Contentment isn't just something that happens to me - like a passing mood. It is something I DO.

...if I were so content...

SASSAFRAS

Often called "trash" trees...

Prone to colonize - they will spread all over everywhere (sort of like kudzu), crowding out other, more desirable trees.

Not particularly sturdy - they break/fall over in rough weather, leaving lots of debris for you to clean up.

Not especially good for firewood - unless you're talking bonfire.

But...

Are they not gorgeous?!

I LOVE WEDDINGS

I love weddings.

The daughter of a dear friend was married this past weekend. Although I was not able to attend the wedding, I have thoroughly enjoyed the many pictures that have been posted on Facebook. Such a sweet family! A glowing bride, a beaming groom, so many precious faces radiating the happiness surrounding such a joyous, special occasion.

Always at a wedding, as the bride and groom exchange vows, I think to myself, "You two have no idea what you are promising. You have no idea what you are getting into!" And without fail, the somber thought passes through my mind, "You can not keep such big promises. You will both break these vows you are making today."

But, still...I love weddings.

Because weddings show me Jesus, the bridegroom who does know what big promises he is making, and who does keep his promises, always.

Remember that marriage was created by God, to be a picture of his covenant love for his people, and then consider the vows traditionally recited at a wedding...

***

The minister asks, "[Groom], will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live with her after God's commandments in the holy estate of marriage? And will you love her, honor and cherish her, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will."

***

"I, [Groom], take you, [Bride], to be my wedded wife, and I do promise and covenant before God and these witnesses to be your loving and faithful husband in sickness and in health, in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, as long as we both shall live."

***

Now, substitute "Jesus" for the name of the groom, and substitute "my church" for the name of the bride. And consider that "as long as we both shall live" means eternity. Tell me, does your heart not do somersaults?!!

***

Every time I hear these vows repeated, I feel like a bride on her wedding day, heart pounding, bursting with joy at the thought that at the end of the long aisle I am now walking, my Bridegroom waits.

I LOVE weddings.

We were babies! And, no, we didn't have a clue what we were getting into...

RUNNING WITH HORSES

If you have raced with men on foot and they have wearied you, how will you compete with horses? And if in a safe land you are so trusting, what will you do in the thicket of the Jordan? 

- Jeremiah 12:5

I want to run with horses.

Really, I do.

And I want to stand and fight in the thicket of the Jordan.

Well, I think I do, at least in the comfort and safety of the Walter Mitty world inside my tiny brain.

When I read accounts of my sisters and brothers in Christ who are being persecuted - even killed - for their faith, I wonder, "Would I have such courage? Such unwavering faith? Such endurance?" I want to believe that I could live well under severe affliction. I want to believe that I could die well, too.

But I'm not so sure...

I consider that today my spirits are low because I feel like so much of my labor has been in vain. My heart is bruised because I feel like I have been marginalized. Someone glibly dismissed my earnest concerns. Another someone snubbed me. Unkind words wound; so does being ignored or misrepresented or the subject of gossip.

And so with a downcast spirit, I curl up and lick my wounds and wonder why loving Christ and loving the body of Christ sometimes hurts so much. Shouldn't this be easier? Shouldn't this be joyful?!

Then I remember my brothers and sisters in Christ, living and dying in hostile places on the other side of the world. Theirs is a great honor - their Savior has deemed them fit to suffer well and to die well for Him. They really do run with horses. They really do stand in the thicket of the Jordan.

Me, I have only raced with men on foot, and yet I am weary and I stumble.

But I am not completely downcast, because these runners-with-horses give me hope and revive my drooping spirits. To their weak sister, who bumbles and stumbles around like a baby who is just learning to walk, they give a parting gift...

Through their faithfulness and sacrifice, they encourage me:  "Get up, little sister! Get back in the race! Persevere. Press on. Strengthen your weak legs...you may yet one day run with horses!"

GOD WITH US

This was a long week. It was pleasant and enjoyable and I even got to do some fun things I've never done before, but, Man!, was I glad when Friday afternoon finally rolled around!

Have you ever had one of those days - or a string of days - when you are so tired that the best you can do is to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other while hoping that you won't wipe out before you get a break?

I think such periods are par for life in a fallen world, but, even though they are to be expected, I still find that sometimes, I just get too tired and I lose that far-horizon focus and I stumble and fall flat on my face - emotionally if not physically, and sometimes both!

Yesterday was one of those days.

I plodded along pretty steadily until dinner time, but then I tripped and my emotions got all on top me.

After a week on the road, first to New Mexico and then to Middle Tennessee, Steve was finally on his way home. He thought he'd be back here at Kendallville at 6:30 - which meant he would be home for dinner!

I opted not to make the curry-chickpea soup recipe I wanted to try out (Steve isn't big on curry or chickpeas), and decided instead to fix a meal I knew he would really like:  fried chicken, homemade macaroni-&-cheese, green beans, and cooked apples. It was a bit more work to prepare than soup, but a traditional home-cooked meal seemed appropriate after such a long, exhausting week.

Dinner was delicious, well worth the extra time and effort to prepare.

Unfortunately, Steve didn't make it home by 6:30. He was understandably disappointed, even though we all sat at the table with him while he ate and listened to his account of his week's travels.

For some reason, despite the fact that I have absolutely no control over Steve's schedule, I always feel like just-missed-dinner-again is my fault, like my having dinner ready at a particular time is perceived as a jab. And so I turned Steve's disappointment into my own disappointment, and my own mood began to droop.

Then, Steve told me how he had eaten almost exactly the same thing for lunch that day:  fried chicken, macaroni-&-cheese, green beans...

And my mood drooped even further.

Then I found out that I hadn't ironed the right shirt the night before - he wanted the aqua shirt, not the teal one - and it made me mad because I don't even DO ironing, and I had honestly thought as I stood ironing three different shirts late Thursday night (hoping one would be the right one) - I had honestly thought that I was grateful to be serving, glad to be helping out, thankful that I could do something to make some small part of his crazy week easier - I was having all these warm fuzzy housewifely feelings - but when I learned I had ironed the wrong shirt - three wrong shirts - I didn't really feel thankful at all.

I just felt tired and angry and humiliated and like with having dinner ready at not-the-right-time-after-all, and cooking exactly-what-I-had-for-lunch, and ironing not-the-aqua-shirt...well, I just felt like everything I did was all wrong and there was no way on earth to make any of it right.

I felt like my heart had caved in, like I couldn't even breathe any more. When I'm very tired, small disappointments feel like shadows of Mordor. I stumbled through the rest of the evening, and finally decided the best thing to do would be to go to bed.

Lying in bed, physically and emotionally exhausted and feeling sorry for myself, I met the very same God I wrote about yesterday morning. Still wide awake, still right there, still waiting for me to pour out my heart. So I cried and snotted and told Him how sometimes it felt like I couldn't do anything right...

But as I poured out my weary heart, I got to thinking - The God of the universe was right there with me, waiting and listening (again!), and He already knew everything I had gotten wrong (and all the things I'd gotten wrong but thought I'd gotten right) - He knew all of that even before I crawled into bed and started blubbering and yet He was still right there, waiting to meet me.

And, yet again, I was totally blown away by His faithfulness.

I really wanted to have a full-blown, pillow-soaking pity party when I went to bed last night - I really and truly did - but lying there thinking about the faithfulness of God, I somehow got distracted.

"I'm a disaster!" God was still right there. "I can't fix this!" He was still right there. "My feelings are hurt!" He was still right there.

I was trying to recite all my failures and all the ways I had been offended and all the reasons this faith thing was just too hard and not working, but in spite of whatever gloomy thought I could muster, I just kept coming back over and over again to the rock-solid assurance: "I AM STILL RIGHT HERE."

Trying to sort through all the weariness and self-pity and hurt, I kept coming face-to-face with the patience and kindness and faithfulness of my loving heavenly Father.

Such a Big Love. (See what manner of love the Father has given unto us....!)

A Big Love, and a Smiling Countenance. A loving Father who wipes away every tear, and who replaces sorrow with a deep, deep peace. A Father who never slumbers himself, but who "gives his beloved sleep."

This.

God.

Is.

So.

Good.

I will turn their mourning into joy; I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow. - Jeremiah 31:13

GLADNESS FOR SORROW

This was a long week. It was pleasant and enjoyable and I even got to do some fun things I've never done before, but, Man!, was I glad when Friday afternoon finally rolled around!

Have you ever had one of those days - or a string of days - when you are so tired that the best you can do is to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other while hoping that you won't wipe out before you get a break?

I think such periods are par for life in a fallen world, but, even though they are to be expected, I still find that sometimes, I just get too tired and I lose that far-horizon focus and I stumble and fall flat on my face - emotionally if not physically, and sometimes both!

Yesterday was one of those days.

I plodded along pretty steadily until dinner time, but then I tripped and my emotions got all on top me.

After a week on the road, first to New Mexico and then to Middle Tennessee, Steve was finally on his way home. He thought he'd be back here at Kendallville at 6:30 - which meant he would be home for dinner!

I opted not to make the curry-chickpea soup recipe I wanted to try out (Steve isn't big on curry or chickpeas), and decided instead to fix a meal I knew he would really like:  fried chicken, homemade macaroni-&-cheese, green beans, and cooked apples. It was a bit more work to prepare than soup, but a traditional home-cooked meal seemed appropriate after such a long, exhausting week.

Dinner was delicious, well worth the extra time and effort to prepare.

Unfortunately, Steve didn't make it home by 6:30. He was understandably disappointed, even though we all sat at the table with him while he ate and listened to his account of his week's travels.

For some reason, despite the fact that I have absolutely no control over Steve's schedule, I always feel like just-missed-dinner-again is my fault, like my having dinner ready at a particular time is perceived as a jab. And so I turned Steve's disappointment into my own disappointment, and my own mood began to droop.

Then, Steve told me how he had eaten almost exactly the same thing for lunch that day:  fried chicken, macaroni-&-cheese, green beans...

And my mood drooped even further.

Then I found out that I hadn't ironed the right shirt the night before - he wanted the aqua shirt, not the teal one - and it made me mad because I don't even DO ironing, and I had honestly thought as I stood ironing three different shirts late Thursday night (hoping one would be the right one) - I had honestly thought that I was grateful to be serving, glad to be helping out, thankful that I could do something to make some small part of his crazy week easier - I was having all these warm fuzzy housewifely feelings - but when I learned I had ironed the wrong shirt - three wrong shirts - I didn't really feel thankful at all.

I just felt tired and angry and humiliated and like with having dinner ready at not-the-right-time-after-all, and cooking exactly-what-I-had-for-lunch, and ironing not-the-aqua-shirt...well, I just felt like everything I did was all wrong and there was no way on earth to make any of it right.

I felt like my heart had caved in, like I couldn't even breathe any more. When I'm very tired, small disappointments feel like shadows of Mordor. I stumbled through the rest of the evening, and finally decided the best thing to do would be to go to bed.

Lying in bed, physically and emotionally exhausted and feeling sorry for myself, I met the very same God I wrote about yesterday morning. Still wide awake, still right there, still waiting for me to pour out my heart. So I cried and snotted and told Him how sometimes it felt like I couldn't do anything right...

But as I poured out my weary heart, I got to thinking - The God of the universe was right there with me, waiting and listening (again!), and He already knew everything I had gotten wrong (and all the things I'd gotten wrong but thought I'd gotten right) - He knew all of that even before I crawled into bed and started blubbering and yet He was still right there, waiting to meet me.

And, yet again, I was totally blown away by His faithfulness.

I really wanted to have a full-blown, pillow-soaking pity party when I went to bed last night - I really and truly did - but lying there thinking about the faithfulness of God, I somehow got distracted.

"I'm a disaster!" God was still right there. "I can't fix this!" He was still right there. "My feelings are hurt!" He was still right there.

I was trying to recite all my failures and all the ways I had been offended and all the reasons this faith thing was just too hard and not working, but in spite of whatever gloomy thought I could muster, I just kept coming back over and over again to the rock-solid assurance: "I AM STILL RIGHT HERE."

Trying to sort through all the weariness and self-pity and hurt, I kept coming face-to-face with the patience and kindness and faithfulness of my loving heavenly Father.

Such a Big Love. (See what manner of love the Father has given unto us....!)

A Big Love, and a Smiling Countenance. A loving Father who wipes away every tear, and who replaces sorrow with a deep, deep peace. A Father who never slumbers himself, but who "gives his beloved sleep."

This.
God.
Is.
So.
Good.

I will turn their mourning into joy; I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow. - Jeremiah 31:13

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP

As I am prone to do at this 50-something, menopausal stage of my life, I awoke in the wee hours of the morning one day this week and simply could not go back to sleep. This happens so frequently now that I have made wee-morning my regular time to pray for my children and for my church family. This particular morning, however, my mind turned to other things...

For some reason, as I lay awake in the darkness, memories of other times when I had lain awake in bed, praying, came to mind. Memories I hadn't visited in ages.

I recalled one of my most comforting childhood memories:  that of being tucked into bed at night by my dad or my mom.

Tired at the end of a long day of work or play, full from a good dinner and freshly bathed, I would climb into bed and burrow under the blankets. Dad would flip off the lights and come sit on the end of the bed, smelling deliciously of coffee and cigarette smoke and perhaps cowness or tractor exhaust or, if he had eaten lunch at Olympia that day, of garlic. We would talk a little bit, and then he would tell me it was time to say my bedtime prayers.

"Now I lay me down to sleep..."

I would pray, and then sometimes he would pray, too. That very simple children's prayer worked like a magic incantation, ushering me from wakefulness to the drowsy shadowland of almost-asleep.

"Amen."

A goodnight kiss, and then..."'Night, 'night. Sleep tight. Sweet dreams," as Daddy left the room.

I can't think of anything more comforting than slipping off to sleep with my last conscious thought being that my Father was right there with me.

* * *

And another memory came to mind...

I was a teenager, and my bed at the time was a fold-out couch in the dining room - the dining room, because it was a room the family didn't use every day and therefore had less traffic. (I am not sure, but I think maybe my regular room and bed had been given to a relative or guest who staying with us for an extended period.) At any rate, I often read my Bible in bed at the end of the day and would leave it on the arm of the couch when I turned out the lights.

Mom and Dad no longer came to tuck me in and say bedtime prayers - I was too big for that - but my heavenly Father still met with me to talk and pray before ushering me off to sleep. Sometimes, I would wake up in the middle of the night, worried about an upcoming test at school or frightened by a bad dream, and I would feel around in the dark until I found my Bible. Pulling it close to me in bed, I would be comforted knowing that Yes, God was still close, still keeping watch.

I didn't think that small black leather-bound book was a magic charm or some kind of lucky amulet; no, it was a physical reminder - something I could touch with my hands - of the invisible presence of God.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep..."

* * *

As I lay awake that morning earlier this week, remembering these scenes from my youth, it struck me that night after night, year after year, for as long as I can remember, God has faithfully met me in the gray twilight before sleep, and in the scary darkness of my fears and anxieties, and now, in the wee-morning wakefulness of middle-age.

Every night when I burrow under the blankets, He is there and waiting to talk. When I wake up and the sky is black and the stars are as bright as ice, He is still there, awake and listening and waiting to talk.

For over fifty years - how many nights of sleep? how many nights of sleeplessness? - God has been awake and present and listening and ready to meet with me.

A passage from Psalm 121 also came to mind in the wee-dark hours that particular morning:   "...he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD is your keeper..." As I recalled those memories from my childhood and considered these verses from Psalms, I was brought to tears, overwhelmed by the incredible faithfulness of God.

Fifty+ years of nights for me, and He has never slumbered, never slept.

Every single night, my Father is awake, still watching, still protecting, still listening, still comforting.

All through the night.

SONSHINE TEA ROOM

Good news if you are visiting Troy, Tennessee, at lunchtime:  Sonshine Tea Room, operated by Nancy Johnson, is now open and serving up lots of deliciousness! Located on the square in downtown Troy, Sonshine Tea Room serves lunch Monday through Saturday from 11:00 a.m. - 2:00 p.m. For an afternoon treat, guests can order desserts and beverages until 3:00 p.m. (UPDATE: Sonshine Tea Room is now serving dinner from 5:00-8:00 on Friday and Saturday evenings. Evening menu includes grilled steaks, pork, and chicken. For more details, click on the link at the bottom of this post!)

The Sonshine Tea Room, located on the square in Troy, Tennessee

The menu is simple:  sandwiches, salads, soups, and a special of the day. All sandwiches are handmade and served on freshly baked bread, and they come with a side order of  homemade french fries, tater tots, sweet potato fries, or sweet potato tots.

When I visited Sonshine Tea Room last week, I enjoyed a turkey club with avocado spread, served with sweet potato fries. The sandwich was layered generously with sliced turkey, Swiss cheese, crisp bacon, and a creamy avocado spread, and was served toasted on a hearty white bread. Yes, I ate the whole thing. I was so stuffed after lunch that I had to go walk a couple of laps around Troy Trojan Park before I felt like I had room to breathe!

In addition to other specialty sandwiches, the Sonshine Tea Room offers hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and their famous "man sandwich," created by Nancy's husband Ronnie - the Grilled Cheese Burger (two juicy, hand-patted burgers served between two grilled cheese sandwiches).

One of the bright and cheerful dining rooms at Sonshine Tea Room

The daily special varies. Past lunch specials have included spaghetti, chicken and rice casserole, poppy seed chicken, meatloaf, and grilled chicken served on a bed of fresh salad greens. Beverage options include sweet and unsweetened iced tea, fruit tea, lemonade, a variety of hot teas, coffee, and water.

My favorite part of the meal, however, was definitely dessert. I ordered a hot apple dumpling. My, oh, my! Talk about some flaky, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth apple goodness! Other dessert options (which also vary from day-to-day) include sweets such as chocolate cobbler, fresh apple cake, and strawberry cake, prepared from scratch each day.

On my visit, the waitress was super friendly and eager to please and the service was quick. Menu prices for meals run from $9.95 to $13.95; drinks are $2.00 (free refills); and the delicious homemade desserts are $3.00. Guests are welcomed to eat in, or you can call your order in ahead if you prefer take-out. Also, Sonshine Tea Room can be booked for events such as rehearsal dinners, birthday parties, and meetings.

I'm already in the mood for another hot apple dumpling and a cup of coffee, and with fall in the air, Sonshine Tea Room's front porch would be a great place to people watch and check out the activity in downtown Troy!

To check out the special of the day, view a menu, or get driving directions, visit Sonshine Tea Room's Facebook page by clicking HERE.

STILL RIGHT HERE

I was talking to my daughter about how, at various times in my life, it has been different aspects of the character of God that have particularly encouraged me.

God's sovereignty, his goodness, his wisdom, his unfailing love...all of these give me a tremendous sense of assurance, security, comfort, and hope.

But lately, I have been dwelling on God's faithfulness. Overwhelmed by his faithfulness.

A friend wrote recently about how we often create images - idols, actually - of who we think we are, of who we think others should think we are. And he wrote of the sweetness of being loved by someone who saw through his self-deception and loved him in spite of the ugliness underneath. Someone who loved him, and continued loving him as time peeled back the layers of deceit to reveal the truth. Someone whose love had a transforming effect on him. Someone who desired good for him, whose love pushed through his pride and bitterness until it found kindness and tenderness.

My friend went on to write:  "But much, much more than that, I have been loved by Christ who for some unexplained and deeply mysterious reason, set His heart on me. And so the me I have imagined and loved and gloried in, must become what He has imagined, desired, and ordained."

(You can read my friend's entire post HERE - it is short and worth your time to read.)

So, back to the faithfulness of God. I was out walking this morning, and I was thinking about the faithfulness of God, and about how God is just ALWAYS HERE. He never leaves. Never, ever, ever.

I mess up - terribly. I sin - again and again and again. I think wrong thoughts and say wrong words and act wrong actions - and in the worst of it, God is always just RIGHT HERE. And when my storm of anger or bitterness or stupidity or rebellion or self-pity or ignorance or whatever finally passes, He is STILL RIGHT HERE.

He never leaves.

He never forsakes me.

He never throws smack back at me.

He never ceases to consistently, tenderly, compassionately love me.

God is like an immovable mountain, calmly weathering my every storm without being the slightest bit shaken.

In a world were even the most intimate relationships are routinely violated and frequently dissolved, where friendships and families and marriages are more often forsaken than not, God's faithfulness absolutely blows me away.

There is no one on planet Earth that I could ever offend MORE than I have offended my holy, righteous, sovereign Lord. And yet there is no one on planet Earth who loves me more faithfully.

So, I was talking to my daughter about how I have been recently so overwhelmed with this sense of God's faithfulness. And I got to thinking - this is what I am called to do, too. This is how I am called to love, too. I am His daughter, and I am supposed to be being transformed so that I look more and more each day like my Father. So that I reflect His character and His holiness. As my friend put it, I must become more and more each day "what He [God] has imagined, desired, and ordained."

This should be true of me - individually - and it should be true of the body of Christ, the church. I often ask myself, "What makes the church unique, different from any other organization or group of people?" Well, I think this kind of stalwart faithfulness is one way we are different. We don't always agree. We sin against one another. We think wrong thoughts and we say wrong words and we act wrong actions...

...and this is where the world says, "Forget it! I'm outta here," or where it stomps off into a corner to sulk and nurse its wounded pride...

(but we are not the world)

...and through all the joy and tears and comfort and offense and the mess of living in close relationship, when the storms pass and the sky clears, we - the church - open our eyes and look around and find that...

(hopefully!)

...we are STILL RIGHT HERE.

Because we are God's,

And God is faithful.

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IN THE BODY OF CHRIST

We have recently begun a study through Ezra and Nehemiah at Grace on Wednesday nights. So far, it has been awesome - I'm enjoying this study even more than the Sunday morning series through Hebrews, which is saying a lot.

Last Wednesday, Brother Billy covered Ezra 4:1-24. In the application part of his sermon, he asked this question:  "What affect does my 'constructive criticism' have on the people to whom I am giving it? Am I helping, or am I only discouraging?"

Good question.

But how can I know if my words are helping or discouraging? How can I know the effect of my words on the people to whom they are spoken?

How about body language - does the person's countenance drop? Is my input received with downcast eyes, or silence, or drooping shoulders, or a sigh? Do I find the person avoids being alone in a room with me, because they are afraid I may offer yet more criticism? When I see the person later and greet them, do they respond curtly and rush to terminate the interaction? Do they avoid eye contact?

The kids and I were talking about all of this after the Wednesday night message, and we concluded that while it is necessary to sometimes offer criticism, we (whoever is offering the criticism) have a responsibility to know the person to whom the criticism is directed, and to know how to communicate that criticism in a way that they can receive it in a way that is positive and constructive - we must endeavor to communicate in the other person's language, so to speak.

If we haven't taken the time to know the person - to invest effort in knowing how they think and feel, their personal history, their current struggles, etc. - then we probably don't need to be offering any "constructive criticism" in the first place.

Our ladies' group at Grace is currently doing a study of Proverbs, and this month's topic is wise speech - speaking words that are thoughtful, timely and true. Concerning the business of offering correction (or, as Brother Billy put it, constructive criticism), the writer of our study guide makes some very important points.

A word of correction is more likely to be received if the giver and receiver have an established relationship of trust. Am I open and honest about my own sin with the other person? If I'm not, why do I feel entitled to address their sin? If I am reluctant to confess my own sin, then I don't need to be quick to confess the sin of someone else.

A word of correction is more likely to be received if the giver has sought permission to present it. Asking permission to share an observation with the other person puts you in a place of humility. It indicates that your desire is to serve the other person, not to nail them or to strong-arm your agenda. Your intention is not to run over your brother, cramming your "insight" or correction down his throat.

A word of correction is more likely to be received if it has been asked for. Okay, I know what you're thinking:  who on earth is going to step forward and ask you to correct them or offer constructive criticism?! Well, I'll tell you who - the same person that you approached earlier and asked to give you correction or criticism, if you received their input graciously and appreciatively, that is, instead of with defensiveness or anger. As the author of our study puts it, "This [asking others to speak to your own weaknesses] is the best open door [for constructive criticism] of all." Before you approach your brother or sister in Christ to tell them what you think they need to correct in their own lives, first go to them and ask them to share with you the areas they see in your own life that need attention.

I know some crusty types who would read the above exhortations from Anthony Selvaggio (the author of our Proverbs study) and respond, "That's stupid! People just need to toughen up. Get thicker skin! If they can't handle my criticism, if my words hurt or offend them, then that's their problem!" These are the same people who are totally unreceptive to being criticized themselves. Their intent is not to help the other person, and they don't care if they discourage the other person with their comments - their goal is simply to intimidate others into doing things their way. They are not motivated by love of others, but by love of self. (If that describes you, then I strongly encourage you to do some serious repenting before you approach your brother or sister in Christ.)

Last Wednesday's sermon, and this month's study in Proverbs, have challenged me. They have pricked my heart. I don't know if anything I have spoken recently to a brother or sister in Christ has caused discouragement instead of being helpful.

I do know that I have been lax about the business of knowing my brothers and sisters intimately. What are their current struggles or burdens? What past hurts might be influencing how they receive criticism?

I know that I have not been very transparent with my church family about my own sin. Instead, I tend to be secretive, protective, defensive.

I know that I am prone to run my mouth without even pausing to consider if the person next to me really wants my input. I arrogantly assume that, because I'm an adult and my opinion is as important as the next guy's, then I can say whatever I want, to whomever I want. Ask permission?! What a novel idea!

I know that I have rarely asked another person to tell me about weakness or sin that they see in my own life. Maybe - maybe - a dozen times? Not much, for someone who is 50+ years old. If I am too proud to solicit the constructive criticism of those around me, then I am too proud to offer my own criticism of them. Ouch.

So, following Brother Billy's example of trying to draw practical application from Wednesday's sermon and Saturday's women's study and today's lesson/blog post/whatever you call this:

I earnestly desire to know my sisters and brothers better. How can I do that? This sounds like it will take a commitment of time and effort. I am going to try (Jesus, help me!) to sit down one-on-one, face-to-face with a member of my church family this week, outside of church, and take time to get to know that person better. I have made a phone call and set a date - it's on the calendar. Honestly, I am super excited about this new resolution!

I am going to endeavor to be more transparent about my own sin and struggles with my church family. This resolution is not so exciting. This is actually a little scary. (Jesus, HELP ME.)

If the occasion arises that I feel I need to offer constructive criticism to another person, I am going to try to pause and ask permission first. And then, hopefully, I'm going to respect the other person's response - if they say, "No," I probably don't need to press my case.

And finally, I am going to ask a couple of mature Christian friends to share their observations of my own life. What weaknesses or blind spots do they see? What things do I need to work on changing or improving? What constructive criticism do they have for me?

I have to admit:  I am a bit nervous on the front end of these resolutions. But what else can I do? If I love Christ, and if I truly love his bride, I need to make some changes.

Jesus, help me!