The Hurricane Report

NOT A CHANCE! THE PROVIDENCE OF GOD

2012-02-14T08:01:00.002-06:00

More great assurance from the Heidelberg Catechism...

Question 27 asks: What do you understand by the providence of God? Answer: Providence is the almighty and ever present power of God by which He upholds, as with His hand, heaven and earth and all creatures, and so rules them that leaf and blade, rain and drought, fruitful and lean years, food and drink, health and sickness, prosperity and poverty – all things, in fact, come to us not by chance but from His fatherly hand.

God not only created everything, He also “upholds” (sustains) everything. Hebrews 1:3 tells us that “…he upholds the universe by the word of his power.” Again, in Colossians 1:17, we read that “in him all things hold together.” Truly, as the apostle Paul said in Acts 17, “in Him we live and move and have our being.”

But God does more than just sustain His creation: He also controls and governs everything about it. Everything. We speak of “accidents” and of “chance” and “luck,” but these things do not exist in God’s economy. Indeed, Scripture tells us that not even a sparrow falls to the ground apart from the will of the Father. From the smallest atom, to planets hurtling through space, every single detail of creation is perfectly and absolutely controlled by God.

Many people have no difficulty speaking of the providence of God when it comes to those things easily seen as blessings: the fruitful years, health, prosperity, etc. But they often stop short when it comes to circumstances not so clearly perceived as blessings: the lean years, sickness, poverty, etc. We quote Romans 8:28 – “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good…” – but we shrink from the “all things” and try to soft pedal God’s sovereignty. We reason, “Surely this sickness/death/job loss/etc. is not from the hand of God. Still, I will trust that God will somehow work this difficulty out, turning it to some sort of good for me.”

Wrong! God, in His divine providence, is sovereign over both the good and the bad. Hebrews 1:11 tells us that God works all things “according to the counsel of His will” – His will being that end which He ordained from before the foundation of the earth. God has a plan for your life, and He is purposefully and precisely working to accomplish that plan through both the joyful and the sorrowful, both the pleasant and the painful. Everything that comes to us in this life, comes to us from His fatherly hand.

Did you, like me, lose a grandbaby? Maybe you received a bad report from the oncologist’s office. Maybe you lost your job. Those things did not happen because a sneaky Satan somehow managed to get a jab at you while God wasn’t looking. God isn’t scrambling to somehow “make good” after dropping the ball. No! God has been orchestrating every detail of your life all along.

Which leads to Question28: How does the knowledge of God’s creation and providence help us? Answer: We can be patient when things go against us, thankful when things go well, and for the future we can have good confidence in our faithful God and Father that nothing will separate us from His love. All creatures are so completely in His hand that without His will they can neither move nor be moved.

Do you feel like things are going against you right now? Be patient, and persevere. Our mighty, loving Father is working in you, even as He worked in Joseph, who toiled long years as a slave in Egypt (Genesis 37, 39-46). Are things going well right now? Thank God for this season of sweet refreshment! Are you worried about tomorrow? Take heart: if you are in Christ, nothing can separate you from the love of your heavenly Father.

For I know that the Lord is great, and that our Lord is above all gods. Whatever the Lord pleases, He does, in heaven and on earth, in the seas and all deeps. – Psalm 135:5-6

MY FATHER IS GOD (REPOST, SORT OF)

2012-02-13T08:42:00.008-06:00

I am part of a group of writers who work together to produce a weekly column for the Religion section of our local newspaper. In two-and-a-half years, we've written a series on significant figures of the Reformed faith, one on historic church councils, and a series on the attributes of God. Currently, we are writing a series of articles based on the Heidelberg Catechism. What a tremendous blessing it has been to me to work with these writers as we study together and consider afresh the great truths of this faith that sustains us!

While I consider this labor part of my ministry to my local church and to my community, it is no less true that this labor is a ministry to me. Repeatedly, God has used the words of one of my fellow writers to encourage me or challenge me in a timely way. Likewise, God has often had me sit down to write an article myself, only to find that the assignment for the week seemed precisely fitted to my struggles or concerns of the day.

We schedule our writing assignments several weeks (even months) in advance, so it always amazes me when I tackle a topic and find it so intensely personal and immediately applicable to my current situation. Such was the case a couple of months ago when I sat down to work on an article based on Lord's Day 9 of the Heidelberg...

MY FATHER IS GOD
(The Heidelberg Catechism, Lord's Day 9)

A crazy-busy week ushered in Christmas. Christmas Day itself was filled with worship, celebration, and feasting with family. Finally, the Monday after Christmas, I had a quiet morning to sit down at the computer to begin work on this article.

I had just powered up the laptop and checked email when my son-in-law called from Iowa. He and my daughter were driving to the Emergency Room. My daughter was fairly certain she was losing the baby, their first child and my first grandchild. “Yes, I will pray for you!” I assured them. But when I hung up the phone, I sat in stunned silence. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. “Oh, Lord,” I wept, “Be merciful to us. Give us the grace we need for this hour!”

Much later, I sat back down at the humming computer and turned it Off. No, nothing in me wanted to write that Monday morning. Instead, I reached for the Heidelberg Catechism. I was too sad to write, but I could at least read through the question for the next "Soli Deo Gloria" column. And this is what I read, on the heels of that heart-breaking phone call:

Question 26: What do you believe when you say, “I believe in God, the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth”? Answer: That the eternal Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who out of nothing created heaven and earth and everything in them, who still upholds and rules them by His eternal counsel and providence, is my God and Father because of Christ His Son. I trust Him so much that I do not doubt He will provide whatever I need for body and soul, and He will turn to my good whatever adversity He sends me in this sad world. He is able to do this because He is almighty God; He desires to do this because He is a faithful Father.

Read that again. Think about it. God, the almighty and omnipotent, created heaven and earth “ex nihilo” – out of nothing – and He sustains and rules every bit of this created world by His power and wisdom. No, He did not start with some kind of elemental raw material, cooked over billions of years into life as we know it today. He started with nothing. Everything that IS came into being by the power of His word, by the intent of His will, and for the fulfillment of His own purposes. And, No, He did not just set everything in motion and then step back to watch it unwind. Rather, He sustains and rules and directs all of creation for His explicit purposes.

A God that powerful and that intimately involved in His creation would be terrible to consider, were it not that He is my Father – because of His Son Jesus. Some people call God “the Father of all,” referring to the truth that God is Lord and Creator of all mankind. But in the sense of familial union, God is “Father” only to those adopted in Christ (see John 1:12-13 and Hebrews 2:10-17). Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, is my brother; my Father is God, the eternal, almighty Creator of heaven and earth.

Because God is God and because God is my Father, I can be confident that He is both able and eager to provide all my needs and to orchestrate all the affairs of my life to accomplish what is best for me. Even in this “sad world” – and this world is very sad indeed, sometimes!

In The Good News We Almost Forgot, Kevin DeYoung writes: “… (God) will turn to good whatever adversity He sends me. The Bible is not naïve about suffering. Trusting in God’s provision does not mean we expect to float to heaven on flowery beds of ease. This is a ‘sad world’ we live in, one in which God not only allows trouble but at times sends adversity to us. Trust, therefore, does not mean hoping for the absence of pain but believing in the purpose of pain. After all, if my almighty God is really almighty and my heavenly Father is really fatherly, then I should trust that He can and will do what is good for me in this sad world.”

That is what God led me to read that tearful Monday morning. In His sweet providence, He led me right to the solace I needed. God is so very, very good!

God is your Creator and Sustainer, Dear Reader, and He is your Lord, whether you acknowledge Him or not. Do you not desire the great comfort of calling Him Father?

SNOWFALL

2012-02-06T17:31:00.006-06:00

These prickles
These frosty barbs you fling
Fall like snowflakes in a church yard
Wet, cold, heavy
Freezing the air to

Silence.

But my heart, burrowed six feet deep,
Does not feel their wintry sting.
It sleeps and dreams
Of sunshine
And of spring.

MEADOWLARK

2012-02-01T09:10:00.005-06:00

A meadowlark perched outside my window this morning
His song - a bubbling spring, cascading over winter's gray
Like new honey - warm, clear, golden, sweet

"Mom! I hear a meadowlark!"
The sun came out in Helen's face.

Like battle-weary Jonathans,
Our winter-worn eyes brightened at such sweet sustenance.

A NIGHT OF WATCHING

2012-01-26T08:40:00.003-06:00

"I read something new last week..." I flipped back through the pages of Exodus, searching for the passage that had so recently jumped out at me.

"But, Mom, haven't you already read that before? How could there be something new?" Nathaniel asked.

"That's what's so amazing about this book -seems like no matter how much you read it, there's always something new." Always something I didn't notice before, or that I noticed and then forgot, so that it seems new with a fresh reading.

Yesterday, for example, one little piece of a verse struck me as odd, got stuck in my head where it turned over and over in the mulling machine. Exodus, Chapter 12 - the Passover, the death of the firstborn, the sudden expulsion of the Israelites from Egypt. At precisely the planned moment - exactly 430 years to the day - God delivered His people ("the hosts of the LORD" - v. 41) from bondage. Then, verse 42 begins, "It was a night of watching by the LORD, to bring them out of the land of Egypt..."

A night of watching by the LORD... It's as if all of God's attention was focused on this one event. He was watching, waiting, ready to spring the gate. Quietly working in a mighty way to liberate His people. The time was....NOW!

Reading through that piece of a verse yesterday, it seemed to me as if all of Scripture was about that one event, that one moment. It seemed as if God was looking through time and space once again at His people, trapped and miserable in their slavery, watching...and compelling me to "Look!" My mind fixed on that one moment. Watching, waiting...was ever a night so pregnant with tension and anticipation?

A night of watching by the LORD... Then another such night came to mind. A similar passage. A Passover feast. The imminent death of the firstborn. And these words, recorded in Matthew 26: "...remain here and watch with me...watch with me...watch and pray..." A night of watching by the LORD, by Lord Jesus. It's as if all of God's attention, all of Scripture is focused on this one event.

Was there ever a night so pregnant with tension and anticipation?!

The bonds are broken. The gate is sprung. The time is NOW!

BATHILDA BAGSHOT

2012-01-25T09:30:00.001-06:00

We watched the last of the Harry Potter movies last week. It's been so long since we read the books that it took a while for some parts of the story to come back to me.

When Harry and Hermione returned to Godric's Hollow to visit the graves of Harry's parents and to hopefully find Gryffindor's sword, they run into Bathilda Bagshot, an old neighbor of the Potters' and a noted wizard historian. A gray-haired, dottering old woman. The kind that you imagine living on tea and biscuits, who smells like a combination of lavendar water and moth balls.

"Watch out, Mom...this part is really going to creep you out!" the kids warned me. My mind whirred, trying to remember what was so unsettling about the encounter with Mrs. Bagshot. What could possibly be scary about having tea with a feeble little old lady?

Suddenly, Bathilda's features contorted horrifically, and she shed her old-lady skin to reveal an enormous serpent. Nagini! WHAM! Voldemort's pet snake nailed Harry Potter to the wall in a lightning swift strike. Oh, yeah, I was definitely more than a little freaked out!

Have you ever known fairly certainly that something was one particular way...only to unexpectedly learn that it was actually something very, very different from what you thought? Can be kinda scary.

I have friends who dye their hair - some, more "natural" colors like brown and blonde; others, colors like pink, blue, magenta. Friends who perm, who straighten, who weave. I have friends who bleach their teeth and who wax their eyebrows. Friends who "tan" and friends who "bronze." Friends who have undergone reconstructive surgeries after car wrecks or cancer treatments. I have friends who wear dental plates. Me, I've been known to don a "compression garment." All of that stuff is designed to serve one purpose - to make us look like something we're not. Younger. Shapelier. Sun kissed. Firmer. Whatever. But none of that seems too terribly weird to me. We're still basically ourselves, right? It's not scary, like Bathilda Bagshot.

Until this week.

Hollywood celebrities undergo painful, expensive treatments and surgeries to maintain an appearance of eternal youthfulness. Ever seen those pictures of someone recovering from a facelift? Ouch! Such pain, such trauma, risk of infection, long weeks of recovery...endured not out of necessity or for reasons of health, but for the sake of vanity or for a heightened "sense of well-being."

I've never personally known anyone who went under anesthesia and under the knife for purely cosmetic reasons. At least I didn't think I did, until Sally spilled the beans.

Yeah, I knew Sally's hair was not naturally blonde, and that she didn't actually spend every day lounging on the beach to develop that fabulous tan. And, obviously, nobody has eyes that blue, unless they're wearing tinted contacts. But that figure? I assumed Sally never ate cheeseburgers or fried chicken, and that she spent at least 90 minutes every night on her treadmill before doing 500 crunches. I kind of admired the discipline I figured it took to stay in such great shape over the years. Her smooth, wrinkle-free skin? She's probably been moisturizing every day since she turned three. And drinking lots of water, right? Maybe if I'd been so diligent, I wouldn't be sitting here looking like I was overdue for a 100,000 mile tune-up. Sally, she turns heads where ever she goes. Whenever I look at Sally, I feel a sense of awe and amazement...and, I confess, a tinge of envy. Man, I wish I looked that good!

When it came out about the regular "lifts" and "tucks," the Botox and the collagen, the extracts and the implants...well, I felt stunned. Creepified. Like I'd just seen Nagini's broad, golden head lunge out of Bathilda Bagshot's mouth. Two reactions, really. First, very briefly, a sense of horror and disbelief: You're not who I thought you were! Second, a heavy sense of sadness. A selfish, silly sadness for myself, because I could never measure up to the standard of beauty modeled by my friend, with all her surgeries, treatments, and procedures. Sad for Sally, because at 60-something, she has to repeatedly endure pain and great expense to perpetuate the illusion of 30-something.

Sad because Sally is so truly beautiful on the inside, and yet she feels compelled to project and maintain this artificial external beauty. Sad, because we live in a sick and fallen world that seduces women to starve themselves and cut themselves and carve themselves into something they're not. Sad...

But so very thankful for Jesus. Thankful that He redeems us - and that He will redeem and restore even this broken, sick world. Thankful that He makes us truly beautiful, inside and out, and that we will stand in His presence one day, radiant and glorious. Beautiful - unafraid and unashamed.

DON'T LICK THE CANDY!

2012-01-24T14:54:00.003-06:00

A friend recently shared a link to a YouTube video addressing some common misconceptions about homeschooling. One click led to another, and we came across a funny video describing ten ways that boys can get girls to like them. Number Three on Jordan's countdown was: Keep your hands to yourself! As this fellow so graphically expressed it using the analogy of a kid in a candy store: DON'T eat the candy BEFORE you pay for it. It is NOT YOURS.

The candy store analogy was so simple, straight-forward, and easy to relate to...lots of discussion among my guys after watching that particular clip. One of the young men in my house commented, "Not only should you not eat the candy before paying, but DON'T LICK THE CANDY and then put it back on the shelf."

Kind of a gross way of putting it, but definitely communicated his thought effectively. Loved it. Thought I'd share with any of you moms and dads who are having conversations with your young-adult children about appropriate dating behavior.

Any nuggets of "dating wisdom" you'd like to share?

THE GREAT BLUE EYE

2012-01-18T08:02:00.004-06:00

Ask any of my kids and they'll tell you without hesitation, "No, Mom doesn't like the TV." While I'd like to protest that they exaggerate, the truth is, No, I don't like the TV.

Maybe it's my history. The television wasn't a major feature in our house when I was a child. At one time, when I was a very small child, we had one of those monster cabinet TV's - you know, the kind designed to look like a piece of furniture. Weighed about 834 pounds. You changed the channel by walking across the room to it and manually turning a dial. Seems we got three channels, four if reception was exceptionally good. The TV stayed in our dank, dark, musty basement - Mom was adamant that a television was not appropriate furniture for a living room.

A tube blew on that behemoth when I was still very young. Dad pulled the back off the cabinet, removed a few parts, then turned us kids loose with pliers and screwdrivers. We spent many enjoyable hours "fixing" that TV! And so, our television-watching days were over. I don't recall that we had another television in the house until my brother, then a senior in high school, got a tiny hand-me-down portable from a friend. It had a screen about the size of a Little Golden book, was black-and-white, and buzzed loudly.

Steve and I didn't have a TV during our early married years, either. When our pastor in Pensacola upgraded to a newer model, we just couldn't refuse the freebie he offered. It wasn't long before we were eating dinner in front of Alf or just boobing out for an evening in front of whatever was playing. When we left Florida for California, we decided to leave the TV behind. "Goodbye" to Alf; "Hello!" to walks in the park. Steve taught me to catch a softball. We spent evenings playing Scrabble and Yahtzee.

Many years and many children later, we were gifted with another TV. (Funny thing, people think if you don't have a TV, then you're deprived and in desperate need of their charity.) Before long, the kids were watching Wishbone and Zaboomafoo! while I fixed dinner. After the kids were in bed for the night, Steve and I watched the 10:00 news, and then whatever came on next...Charlie Rose, BBC sitcoms. Some of it was pretty good stuff, and the TV provided a convenient, cheap way to unwind after a crazy day.

We soon figured out that we needed to set limits. Moving to the country made it easy to restrict TV time, simply because we get zero reception out here - and we're not paying for satellite (cable isn't even available here). So with relative ease, our TV viewing shrank to one movie night a week, maybe two movies if we were on holiday from school. Of course, six years ago, the farm was a vast, unexplored frontier. There were horses to be brushed and raccoons to be trapped and forts to be built - so many things to do that were so much more interesting or appealing than sitting in front of an electronic box!

But that has changed. My kids know this entire farm like the backs of their hands. Traps have been pulled for the season. The weather's not often good for riding. It seems that now there is "nothing to do" out here and life is "boring." And so PlayStation in front of the TV has morphed from a Friday afternoon/Saturday afternoon treat, to an almost daily diversion. Movie Night moved from Saturday evening, to Friday and Saturday evening (one for the girls, one for the boys), and then to an occasional extra movie on Sunday afternoon or a weeknight evening.

We watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows last night. It was an entertaining movie (not great), and it was nice to veg on the couch in front of the fire. But after getting in bed at midnight last night, I'm a little fuzzy-headed today. I'll be a zombie by the end of my shift at Wal-Mart tonight. Living the modern American life...

Our living room is not set up to make TV viewing particularly easy. The television is in the far corner of the room, and we have to move the furniture around each time we want to watch a movie. Last night, I recruited one of the kids to help me shove the couches back over in front of the fire place. "I don't want everything left circled around the Great Blue Eye," I protested.

"Gosh, Mom, what's the big deal?!"

What's the big deal? I don't know if I'm really sure. Something inside me stiffens ever so slightly every time we circle the furniture to study the Great Blue Eye, and I feel a vague, gray disquiet until everything is back in its proper place, circled in front of the hearth. Something inside me feels full and warm and grateful when I see my kids snuggled in front of the fire reading books, or gathered around the hassock for a game of cards or Quarto.

No, I don't like the TV. Whatever it offers is always less-than-best, yet so seductive that it subtly draws us into ever-increasing devotion. It is a struggle to keep the television a tool that we control, instead of allowing it to make us into tools that it controls.

Anyone else feel like they're fighting a Great Blue Eye?

ENDURANCE

2012-01-16T15:36:00.003-06:00

The adult Sunday school class at Grace is winding up a study based on J.I. Packer's book "Rediscovering Holiness." I don't think I can recommend this book highly enough to my fellow Christians. Yesterday, we worked through the first half of the last chapter, which deals with endurance. The entire book is excellent, but this last chapter is my favorite yet.

After stressing the truth that Christian endurance is lived out by fixing our eyes on Jesus, Packer writes, "The most vital truth for the life of holy endurance is not, however, that Jesus is our standard, momentous as that truth is. The most vital truth is, rather, that Jesus is our sustainer, our source of strength to action, our sovereign grace giver (see Hebrews 2:18, 4:16), "the author and perfecter of our faith" (v. 2)."

Packer continues a bit later, "It is precisely the glorified Lord Jesus, who by His Word and Spirit brought our faith into being and keeps it in being...who now helps us to stand steady as we gaze on Him and cling to Him by means of our focused, intentional, heartfelt prayer. It is often said that 'Help!' is the best prayer anyone ever makes. When directed to the Lord Jesus, it is certainly the most effective."

Pain in this life is a certainty. We are assured in Scripture that we will encounter various trials, sometimes very difficult trials that threaten to overwhelm us and crush our faith, and Scripture does not lie. Our suffering is useful for our growth in holiness - sometimes exposing sin and leading us to repentance, sometimes causing us to lean harder on Christ, sometimes "building muscle" for a future battle or gifting us with the ability to encourage our brothers and sisters in their struggles. Oddly, through our struggles, we discover new encouragement: We are amazed to find God's Spirit doing in us what we could never do ourselves. We discover new strength and deeper faith. We yearn more fervently for Christ and for Glory.

And when we wipe out in this great race of faith and find ourselves face down, bruised and sore, it is then that we feel most powerfully the tender ministrations of our Redeemer. He cleans our wounds, applies His healing balm, binds us up, and lifts us back into the race. Like Paul, we discover anew that at our point of greatest weakness, God's grace and strength are put on glorious display...and we are amazed. Packer writes, "He (God) reveals the glorious riches of His resources in Christ by keeping us going, so that overwhelming pressures do not overwhelm us, even when they look like doing so....one way God glorifies Himself in His saints is by keeping them going when anyone else would have had to stop."

I think sometimes we under-rate the significance of this work of God, His simply sustaining us, His working to keep us "keeping on." We think the victorious Christian life must be something like sunshine and daisies (an idea totally contrary to Scripture), when actually it looks more like this - It is the broken-hearted mother who prays again today, for the millionth time and against all visible reason for hope, for her rebellious and wayward son. It is the lonely wife who again today prays that God will empower her to love and be faithful to her emotionally distant husband. It is the college student sitting through another lecture that denies God, who confesses in his heart and conversation again today that God is sovereign over all His creation. It is the terminally ill patient who prays again today, "Lord, help me to live the days left to me to Your glory, and then help me to die well."

Jesus is my sustainer. I will finish this race - will stand one day in Glory, holy and righteous, rejoicing in the presence of God. I will. And if today I find that I lack the endurance to press on, I have this great confidence - Jesus is not lacking in endurance. He has an abundance of strength and encouragement, enough to pour over even me, and He will sustain me.

RISE AND WALK

2012-01-12T07:46:00.001-06:00

In Matthew 9, we find the story of a paralytic, brought to Jesus by his friends to be healed. Seeing the man and the faith of his friends, Jesus said to him, "Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven."

Some of the church officials responded with disapproval. "This man is blaspheming!"

Knowing their hearts, Jesus confronted their evil unbelief. Then, in a miraculous display of power, He told the paralytic, "Rise, pick up your bed and go home." The paralytic rose and went home. The onlookers? They were afraid.

A couple of things struck me about this story as I read through it again this week. First, the scribes were outraged because Jesus, by presuming to forgive the paralytic's sins, was putting Himself in the position of God. They understood - rightly - that only God has the power and the authority to forgive sin. They understood - rightly - that Jesus was claiming to be God. What they did not understand, was that Jesus was indeed God.

I am challenged by these wrong-thinking men - not because they were wrong, but because they were passionate about what they believed, and they were distressed when confronted with what they (wrongly) understood to be blasphemy. Do I ever encounter blasphemy? Yes, I do. How do I respond to it? Usually, with something more like complacency than passion. Awkward silence. Or mumbled, inarticulate protest. Perhaps internal disquiet, an upset stomach. "This person is obviously confused," I might think, or, "He doesn't rightly understand Scripture." But to confront someone so boldly...wouldn't that be bad manners? I am challenged by these men because I do know who Jesus is, and I should be all-the-more zealous to boldly proclaim His kingship, authority, and glory.

Another thought - Jesus's first words to the paralytic were, "Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven." What if Jesus had just stopped there? Truly, forgiveness of this man's sins was the greater miracle, the more life-altering work...greater even than having his legs made whole and healthy. Would that have been enough to satisfy him? Is that enough to satisfy me? Christ has forgiven my sins, brought me into relationship with Himself and with the Father, has given me the Holy Spirit, has given me a new life and a new family and a new purpose...That is indescribably, eternally huge. But do I encounter Christ, and then turn away discontent because in addition to all that He has given me, I want physical health, financial prosperity, recognition, or some other thing that He has not seen fit to grant me at this time? Was Christ Himself enough for the paralytic? Is Christ enough for me?

When confronting the scribes, Jesus asks them, "For which is easier to say, 'Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, 'Rise up and walk'?" The scribes knew the right answer. Earthly physicians could conceivably say, "Rise up and walk" - but only God could say, "Your sins are forgiven." Then, to confirm His claim to be God, Jesus told the paralytic, "Rise..." - and he did. The people responded with fear...not because Jesus could miraculously heal a lame man, but because, by doing so, He had demonstrated His authority to do the greater miracle of forgiving sin. Or of not forgiving sin, for those such as the rebellious scribes who continued to deny His deity. Scary thought. A physician may heal my body, make me worse, or kill me - but Jesus, He can sentence me to an eternity in hell. Very scary stuff.

Which brings to mind the story a few verses back (Matthew 8) of Jesus calming the storm. You know the story - Jesus and His disciples were in a boat, out at sea. Jesus was sleeping. A great storm blew up, threatening to swamp the boat. The disciples feared the waves and the water, feared for their lives. "Save us, Lord. We are perishing!" Jesus rebuked the wind and the waves, and the sea became immediately calm. Suddenly, the disciples were struck with a new and greater fear. More than they feared the wind and the waves, they feared this Man. "What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?"

I love Jesus, and I am beloved by Him. I find great comfort in knowing Him as my Savior, Lord, Bridegroom, and Brother. Sometimes, though, I forget how truly terrible He is. I forget the fear, the awe, the reverence that is due Him.

Lastly, I was struck (again!) by the compassion of Jesus. Yes, Jesus began by telling the man, "Your sins are forgiven" - but, No, He didn't stop there. "Your sins are forgiven" was followed very quickly by "Rise up and walk." Forgiveness, then the meeting of felt needs and a commission. And that's just what happens in my own story, and yours - Jesus forgives us, meets us in our most broken places, and then commands us to "walk." To live a life of obedience, joy, and praise. Maybe not on two strong legs, as in the case of the paralytic, but in whatever place and in whatever circumstance I'm appointed. With new legs of faith and a heart full of gratitude, I am to walk a walk that glorifies God.

Today, it is good to ponder afresh the great work that Christ has done in me: "Your sins are forgiven."

Today, may I earnestly endeavor to joyfully obey His command: "Rise up and walk."

RECONSIDER

2012-01-11T07:34:00.003-06:00

"Mom, I think you need to stop and reconsider: Why did you get a job in the first place?"

My teenage son was calling me up short. Giving me a reality check. Helping me focus. Teenagers are good at that!

An odd thing happened last week. During my shift at Wal-Mart, two different people came through my line and asked me if I'd be interested in applying for jobs elsewhere. One leaned over my counter and asked in a low voice, "Do you plan to work here at Wal-Mart indefinitely?"

"Um, no, I don't think so," I replied, befuddled. Seemed like an odd question, coming from a customer.

"Come by (a local business) this week and talk to me. We have an opening, and I think you'd be perfect for the job."

Two days later, another customer did almost the same thing.

Two opportunities, out of the blue. Both unsolicited. Both with respectable, well-established businesses. Both offer better pay, plus benefits. Both are full-time, day jobs.

If you've read this blog any length of time, you know how very much I dislike leaving home every evening to go to work as a cashier. I miss the family dinner and the conversation and interaction that comes at the end of the day. You know how very, very tired I am. Getting in bed at midnight after 5 1/2 hours at a cash register, then stumbling out of bed 6 hours later to start a new day of school, babysitting, and life is exhausting. So, what to do about the two job opportunities mentioned above? Seems like a No Brainer!

Except that things are never quite so simple for me - my brain makes everything uber complicated. Thus the conversation with the kids, in which my son made the above comment.

So why did I go to work at Wal-Mart in the first place? Well, the short answer is, We needed the money. Medical bills, and then school fees. Right now, everything I make goes to the local university to help cover tuition for five students (Does it sound like we are secretly trying to take over the campus with Kendalls?! And no, there's no "bulk rate" discount - I asked.) Okay, first reason: money.

So why Wal-Mart? Because it's the one local employer who hires part-time workers for other than days. I could work nights at a local factory, but I'd have to pull a full 8-hour shift...and I just don't think I could physically handle that workload. Why nights? Because it's important to me to be home during the day to school my kids and to oversee the running of the house. I'm just not ready to give up being Mom yet. So, second reason: I needed something part-time, evening or night.

Now, what reasons were NOT a part of my going to work? I did not go to work to make a load of money so that I could furnish my house or pay for a vacation. I did not go to work to secure benefits such as health insurance, although I think having health insurance would be totally awesome. I did not go to work to build a second career - I have no aspiration of being an assistant manager at Wal-Mart or anywhere else.

These two new opportunities would provide all the things on the second list, but both would also require me to work full-time, days - away from home, away from "school"/the kitchen table. What to do?

I like the people I work for and with at Wal-Mart, and I like the customers I service. I do not like always being so tired, and I miss evenings at home. Yes, I would like one day to be able to afford a vacation or a visit to the dentist. And, Yes, I would like someday to use my energy for something besides scanning groceries. (For example, I fantasize that one day, I will be a real Writer!)

But, if the opportunity requires that I give up my job as Mom, then - No, today is not that day.

Thanks to my son, and his pointed question, for bringing some clarity to the situation. Thanks for clearing the fog, so that I can say, "No, thank you" - with no regrets.

WATER MUSIC

2012-01-10T07:53:00.005-06:00

I think God must like water music -
He sends the drops down
down
down
Like tiny crystal mallets
They strike the stone keys
Of the creek-bed marimba.

GOD IS MY FATHER

2012-01-09T08:34:00.003-06:00

Monday morning, and we're struggling to make this a productive school day and to check off a few household chores. Hopefully, later today, I will have time to sit down and write a little...maybe during Baby's afternoon nap. In the meantime, here's a link to last week's Soli Deo Gloria article for the Union City Daily Messenger: God is My Father.

Reading, digesting, and then writing about this portion of the Heidelberg Catechism provided me such comfort on a very dark day. Maybe it will encourage you, too.

WATER...WATER...(GASP!)

2012-01-05T09:48:00.004-06:00

Okay, maybe I'm not as rustic country as I thought.

Our pump went out yesterday afternoon, and that means we have no water. Well, it means we have no running water. The kids ran next door to Grammy's yesterday evening and filled every available jug and bucket with water, which they hauled to our house. So, technically, yes, we do have water...to drink, to brush teeth, to make coffee. What we don't have is a lot of water to wash with.

I don't care how many wet wipes you use, or how much hand cleaner, you just don't feel clean without fresh, running water. Martha jogged over to Grammy's this morning to shower and wash her hair. Since I had to be here for MaryAnna's arrival early this morning, I decided to postpone my shower until later today...I feel so blechy without my morning shower!

After I got the baby down for her mid-morning nap, I sat down at the kitchen table and went over a math lesson with Helen. Once Helen was working on today's problem set, I set about the routine morning chores. Wash the breakfast dishes. Uh, nope. Okay, no problem...there's plenty more work to do around here!

So I go to the laundry room and begin sorting laundry. Then it occurs to me, no water - no laundry. Um, well, while I figure out what to do next, I'll make a glass of tea. I pour water from one of Grammy's jugs into the kettle and brew batch of tea. Lo and behold, I find there is no ice in the ice bucket in the freezer. So I fetch ice trays from the laundry room freezer and empty them into the bucket. Out of habit, I immediately step to the sink to refill the empty ice trays. Duh! I set the ice trays aside to refill later.

What's next on the list? "Helen, while you're working on math, I'm going to run outside and water the little trees." I head out the side door and around the back of the house. Guess what I discover? Well, if the water is not working inside the house, it isn't working outside the house either. I knew that. I just forgot. Helen and I both got a laugh out of that one!

I feel nasty, and like a large part of my day is on "Pause." I also feel like a big weenie, a wimp, because my ability to function is so greatly compromised by this temporary lack of water. Really, now, Laura Ingalls Wilder wouldn't have let this mess up her day!

The good news is, Steve has someone coming out to fix the pump later this morning. And, yes, I can make it through one day without running water. What if the problem takes longer than a day to fix? Well, I may have to move in temporarily with the neighbors. I don't think Grammy would mind, would she?

(Speaking of water/washing/being clean, here's a post from a couple of years ago that I came across recently. I'm so glad Jesus washes me completely clean!)

NEW YEAR, FRESH START

2012-01-03T08:45:00.002-06:00

Something about hanging up a new calendar, page 1, JANUARY: maybe there is no real reason to believe the year ahead will be significantly better, but still, there is an irrepressible feeling that with the new year comes a fresh start. January 1 feels like a giant annual Reset Button.

This year will be different. Maybe we don't say it out loud, but we think it...and we hope it. Different how? This year, I'll finally get into a regular exercise routine. This year, I'm going to lose those extra pounds I've been carrying around. This year, I will floss my teeth every single day. This year, I'm going to spend more time studying Scripture. This year, I will fill-in-the-blank. This year marks a new beginning...

In my read-through-the-Bible journey, I am back in Genesis. Yet again, I am stunned and saddened by how very quickly our story moves from creation/Eden/perfection to the Fall/God's curse/corruption. Day 2 of this new year, and already, mankind is so evil that God determines to destroy all but Noah and his family.

Ahhh, but thank goodness for Noah. His is a romantic tale, no? A righteous man and his family, tucked safely away in a floating haven by God while all the rest of creation suffers God's judgment and wrath. All the wickedness and sin of the world washed away in one cataclysmic flood. A fresh start. A chance to begin again, to "get it right."

Thank goodness for Noah - now our story will certainly take a turn for the better!

Well, actually, no, it won't. After seeing a wicked world judged by God and destroyed by water, after witnessing God's gracious salvation of their own family, after receiving God's covenant promises, after the Restart Button has been pushed in a graphic, life-altering way, how does Noah's family "start over"? Right away, we read of Noah's son Ham dishonoring his father, "righteous" Noah, who is lying passed out drunk and naked in his tent. A new curse. Dissension between brothers. Turn the page, and the descendants of Noah are building a tower to heaven, a monument to their arrogance and self-idolatry. All too quickly, our parents move from washed clean, to filthy and corrupt. From set apart by God, to set apart against God. An opportunity for a fresh start, totally wasted!

Seems like no matter how many times January 1st rolls around, and no matter how earnestly we resolve to do better, we just never seem to get it right. What's wrong with us, people?!

Simply put, we are broken. And nothing on this earth - no number of fresh starts, no amount of resolve - can fix that.

In my read-through-the-Bible journey, I am also back in Matthew. Here in the first Gospel, I read, "...that which is conceived in her (Mary) is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you will call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." Finally, we come face to face with the only One who can truly fix our brokenness and cure our unrighteousness! I am so thankful that God has me reading about Jesus over in Matthew, even while I'm reading about my first parents back in Genesis, grateful He is showing me anew the Great Light even while I am reading about our great darkness.

Yes, I do have a few plans for this new year, 2012 - a "fresh start" or two I'd like to make. Will I be faithful to my resolutions? Well, judging from past experience, probably not...but I can still hope, right? And still try? And, whether I succeed in losing a few pounds or not, whether I floss diligently or no, whether I learn to fire a handgun with confidence or write more consistently or pray more faithfully - one thing is certain: Jesus will accomplish all that He has resolved to do. That includes covering me with and conforming me to His own righteousness. That includes bringing me home to Glory.

In Jesus, I have a fresh start that will not be corrupted, one that cannot fail.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come... - 2 Corinthians 5:17

But according to His promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells. - 2 Peter 3:13

MY FAVORITE WAL-MART CUSTOMERS

2012-01-02T08:05:00.002-06:00

After a heavy week last week, time for something a little light-hearted. Today, My Favorite Wal-Mart Customers:

The Price is Right! I have one customer, an elderly gentleman, who can guess the total cost of his shopping order to within 20 cents. Doesn't matter if it's a big order with a belt-load of items, or a small order at the express check-out. We have a game we play: He sets everything on the counter/belt while I wait. Then I ask, "What's your number?" He gives me an amount, say fifty-seven dollars and forty-two cents. So far, his closest guess was only five cents off. His biggest miss? A mere twenty cents. That particular shopping trip (when he was off by 20 cents), he accused me of doing some kind of voodoo to him to throw him off his game. This guy always makes me smile!

The Cat Lady: This elderly lady comes through my line with an entire buggy full of cat food. She usually has a second buggy full of people food as well. Having endured several back surgeries, she walks stooped over, very slowly. I have no idea how on earth she manages her regular shopping trips to Wally World, dragging those heavy carts through our miles and miles of aisles. But I do know that she has the sweetest smile and kindest disposition, and it always brightens my day to have her come through my line. No, I don't mind hauling all that heavy cat food out of her cart, scanning it, and then reloading it into another buggy for her, not one bit!

Mr. Miami: I met "Mr. Miami" over the Thanksgiving holidays. He was in town from Miami, Florida, visiting his country relatives. "What kind of night life is there in Obion County? Any great clubs here?" he asked. "Uh, No," I answered flatly. "Then what do people do for entertainment in this God-forsaken place?" "They come to Wal-Mart and look for their friends and neighbors," I explained. After a few days of life here in the Boondocks, he figured out I'd been telling the truth. He came through my line almost every single day for two weeks. His last night in town, he stopped to say Goodbye, and I thought that would be the end of our visits. Then last week, he popped through my line again. "Hi! I'm back for Christmas!" Night life in the big city - gotta love it!

Red-headed Reporter: "What's your name?" "Camille." "Camille What?" "Kendall." "Do you live here in Union City?" "No, I live in Troy." "What color car do you drive?" This red-headed eight-year-old peppers me non-stop with questions when she comes grocery shopping with her mother. "I want to be an investigative reporter when I grow up," she explained on her first time through my line. "I think you're off to a good start!" I laughed. Her mom rolled her eyes and groaned, "This is so embarrassing." Last week, she came through my line again, and picked up right where she had left off: "Okay, where were we? Right - you're Camille Kendall. How long have you worked here at Wal-Mart?" "You must be a very good student at school, with a memory like that," I laughed. "Yes, I am," she answered matter-of-factly. Love. This. Kid.

There are the white-haired ladies who call me "Dear," and the balding gentlemen who call me "Sweetheart," and the black women who call me "Sugar" and "Baby." And the babies, perched in their seats on the shopping carts, who stare at me with owl-eyes, daring a shy smile and a tiny, timid wave Good-bye when their moms are finished checking out. And the very earnest men and women - there are a few of them - who never complete a transaction without asking, "Are you saved? Do you know Jesus?"

Yes, these are some of my favorite customers, too. So many, many beautiful, fascinating people.

ON YOUR MARK, GET SET...

2011-12-31T10:33:00.002-06:00

Two awesome passages this morning...

Malachi 4:2-6 - But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall. And you shall tread down the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet, on the day when I act, says the LORD of hosts. Remember the law of my servant Moses, the statutes and rules that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel. Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes. And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and strike the land with a decree of utter destruction.

Revelation 22:17,20 - The Spirit and the Bride say, "Come." And let the one who hears say, "Come." And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price...He who testifies to these things says, "Surely I am coming soon." Amen. Come Lord Jesus!

The old year is coming to a close, and the dawn of a new year but a day away. Why not purpose in 2012 to begin reading through the Bible? Just start at the beginning, and then keep turning the pages. Or, check out some of the Bible reading plans posted over at The Gospel Coalition.

For a few tips on reading through the Bible, check out this earlier post.

Believe me, this is something you won't regret. Let's get started!

'S WONDERFUL, 'S MARVELOUS

2011-12-30T09:45:00.000-06:00

Something wonderful has happened. Have you noticed?

The days are getting longer. The change is almost imperceptible, unless you're light-starved like me. Watch the sky this evening and take note of the time when the light shifts from lavender to gray. Check it tomorrow morning, too, and see when the stars fade from view.

Very good news, folks - We're headed back toward the sun!

THIS YOUNG TREE

2011-12-29T09:00:00.001-06:00

My childhood home sat nestled on a large green lawn that harbored a forest of trees. Maple, oak, persimmon, pine, holly, willow, pecan. Great, towering, ancient trees, and spindly, newly-planted saplings. Fruit trees and flowering trees. Trees to shade picnics and trees to anchor lofty forts.

One of the trees was Mine. I don't remember now if my mom or dad told me the story, or if one of my siblings made it up, or if it was all a creation of my own fertile imagination - BUT - as I understood it, Mom planted a tree for each of us children when we were small. Now of course, there is not much a child can do with a tree, especially a young whip of a tree, but I thought it was hugely significant that one of the trees surrounding our home was connected to me. That for long years to come, barring a lightning strike or an unfortuitous wind, My tree would be standing alongside my childhood home, bearing testimony to the little girl who had once romped about the lawn.

Yesterday, we planted a new tree on our hill in the middle of the hay field. A cedar - because it's Christmastime and because a cedar is symbolic of healing and protection and of Christ and of the eternal life that is ours in Him. An evergreen...a tree for remembering.

DEAREST FRIEND

2011-12-28T13:00:00.001-06:00

"Are you crying?" My college room-mate lay in the dark on the opposite side of the dorm room, behind the desk/divider that defined our personal spaces.

"Yes." I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

She clicked on a light and came to sit on my bed. "I didn't know. You are so quiet."

So, yes, I'm a quiet cry-er. I don't know why. Maybe it's because there were so many rather loud and dramatic people in my family when I was growing up. Maybe I just decided there wasn't room for any more noise or drama!

Maybe it's because tears always caused such a caffuffle, made everyone uncomfortable. I remember that when my mom used to chop onions, she'd start tearing up - and then I'd start tearing up, too, sad because I thought my momma was sad. She'd laugh and say, "It's just the onion, Camille!" - but I didn't really believe her, not completely.

Steve doesn't like tears either - if I'm sad, it makes him miserable, which makes me feel bad, which makes him feel worse...pretty quickly it starts feeling like we're both living under the black shadow of Mordor.

Maybe it's pride, or a distorted sense of privacy, or just personality that causes me to cry silently. I really don't know.

Somewhere in this journey, tears got tied to guilt. If my crying always caused someone else to feel bad, that couldn't be good or right, could it? Better to slip out for a long walk in the rain, take some time to pull myself together, avoid discomfiting others.

Last night, as I lay crying silently and alone in the dark, the story of Lazarus's death came to mind, and I considered anew that one tiny verse: Jesus wept.

What comfort! It was as if Jesus stood beside me in the dark, crying silent tears Himself. No wearisome questioning - What's the matter? Why are you so sad? No condemnation - You need to grow up. This is no big deal, so just get over it. No untimely advice - Just trust God and He'll make everything all right!

Nope. None of that.

No guilt. No shame. Just compassion. The compassion of a Friend weeping with me. Not weeping for me, or over me, or because of me, but with me.

Jesus wept. I don't know if I have ever read more deeply-comforting words.

SHOOTING STARS

2011-12-27T14:02:00.000-06:00

You don't really look for shooting stars...
They just kind of catch you by surprise.
A white hot blaze against black velvet.
Your heart leaps, you catch your breath,
Transfixed.
Then...
It's gone, and you're left staring
Hungry-eyed into the night.

MY FATHER IS GOD

2011-12-26T09:34:00.003-06:00

It has been a long and difficult week. A hard month. A tough year. A long and difficult season. Let's just say, I'm not so much living "on the mountaintop" these days as looking for flashes of light in a deep, winding valley.

Got this week's Soli Deo Gloria column out of the chute this morning, then sat down to doodle around here at the blog for the first time in over a week. Hmmmmmm, what to write.... Not really in the mood for silly, but, then, no one is in the mood for heavy.

Then, a sobering phone call, a hard squeeze on an already bruised heart. Okay, this is just not the time to try to write...

So I picked up the closest book at hand, the Heidelberg Catechism, and began to read instead. Here is what I read:

Question 26: What do you believe when you say, "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth?"

Answer: That the eternal Father of our lord Jesus Christ, who out of nothing created heaven and earth and everything in them, who still upholds and rules them by His eternal counsel and providence, is my God and Father because of Christ His Son. I trust Him so much that I do not doubt He will provide whatever I need for body and soul, and He will turn to my good whatever adversity He sends me in this sad world. He is able to do this because He is almighty God; He desires to do this because He is a faithful Father.

In his study of the Heidelberg Catechism (The Good News We Almost Forgot), Kevin DeYoung writes this about Q&A 26: "...(God) will turn to good whatever adversity He sends me. The Bible is not naive about suffering. Trusting in God's provision does not mean we expect to float to heaven on flowery beds of ease. This is a 'sad world' we live in, one in which God not only allows trouble but at times sends adversity to us. Trust, therefore does not mean hoping for the absence of pain but believing in the purpose of pain. After all, if my almighty God is really almighty and my heavenly Father is really fatherly, then I should trust that He can and will do what is good for me in this sad world..."

Could these words have been any more timely? A bright torch in the darkness of a scary place! And so I popped right back on here at the blog, to share this with you, just in case you, too, needed some light today.

One more jewel from Mr. DeYoung before I leave to swim through what this day will bring: "We have often heard that God is our Father, which is true, but we don't always remember that the opposite is just as true: your Father is God."

Powerful medicine. The elixir of life.

(Praying for you, my beloved.)

ENCHILADAS AT MIDNIGHT

2011-12-16T14:34:00.002-06:00

Sounds like the title of a really bad country song, right?

"Mom, I don't think that's a good idea." Martha sat at the bar watching me heat a plate of enchiladas in the microwave. It was late - 11:00? - too late for dinner, but I'd just gotten in from my shift at Wally World and was hungry. "I don't think you should eat that," she continued. "You're going to have weird dreams tonight."

I ate the enchiladas, read the Daily Messenger, then headed to bed just before midnight. I don't remember any weird dreams last night...only that the alarm went off much too soon this morning, waaaaaay before I was done sleeping. 6:10. Time to start a new day. Did you know that it's possible to take a shower while you're still asleep?

Enchiladas at midnight. Sleep walking. All part of the new norm.

And memory lapses. Sunday morning, I sat at the breakfast table and wrote out my little tithe check. Later, as we were heading out the door, I could not find that check any where. Not in my pocket, where I would have normally put it. Not in my Bible or my Sunday school book. Not on the table or the kitchen counter or my bedroom dresser. Not anywhere. I remembered sitting at the table, writing it out...then blank. I had absolutely no idea what I'd done next.

When we got home from church just after noon, I searched the house once more. Finally found the check - in the trash. Go figure!

Then another morning, I was making breakfast. Needed two eggs, but only had one left in the bin in the kitchen refrigerator. Well, I grabbed that one egg, then went to the laundry room frig to get another carton of eggs. Back in the kitchen, I opened the carton, placed an egg on the counter, then put the carton away. But then I couldn't find that first egg, the one I'd gotten out of the kitchen frig in the first place. Looked everywhere, growing a bit exasperated at my absent-mindedness. How do you lose an egg?!

Finally found that first egg. It was still in my hand. I'd been holding it the entire time. Duh!

Think we can make this into a Top Ten country hit?

Up before dawn, stumble to my feet
Standing in the shower still half asleep
Strong black coffee, pour myself a cup
Glow in the east says the sun's coming up

Sleep walking, sappy talking,
Rock the baby, stir the gravy.
Another cup of coffee then it's time to clock in.
Knock it out, clock out
Sleep fast and then
Buck up and do it all again

Driving home in moonlight
Enchiladas at midnight

Help me here, folks - what's the next line?

FLOP DAY

2011-12-14T18:37:00.004-06:00

We didn't do school today. Well, Thomas and Martha did some Physics homework, but they did that on their own. So, guess what I did with a little bit of extra "free" time while the baby napped?

A. Cleaned out my closet (which is so cluttered that you almost can't walk into it)
B. Cleaned my bathrooms (you just don't even want to know how gross they are)
C. Decorated for Christmas, finally
D. Mulched the strawberries, finally
E. All of the above

And the correct answer is....
NONE OF THE ABOVE!

Nope, I flopped around like a brain-dead rag doll all day. When baby napped, I crashed on the couch. When Reuben took baby for a walk outside, I snoozed on the couch. When Martha read baby several books, I dozed on the couch.

Now don't get the wrong idea - I didn't sleep all day. Zombie Woman did fix breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And I did some laundry. And I played with baby and changed several nasty diapers.

Finally, about 4:00 this afternoon, my glazed eyes cleared and things began coming into focus. The gray fog in my head began to lift. Ahhhh! Time to do something productive to redeem this day!

I pulled out my big blue binder, the one in which I keep lesson plans for the current semester. Wow! Only one more week of school left in this term! It is so exciting to realize that we have actually managed somehow, in our muddling along, to complete an entire semester of school work. Next week, I'll be calculating end-of-term grades and filling out grade/attendance reports.

Today, however, I began mapping out our coursework for spring, taking notes of supplies I'd need to have on hand, books to order, etc. Writing out spring lesson plans is an exciting exercise. One, because it's encouraging to see what we have already accomplished. Two, because it means we are on our way back to summer and the long summer holiday. From here on out, we'll be counting down lessons 'til the end of the school year. We're over halfway through the math books and the science books...headed for the books' back covers!

Yep, I'm looking forward to tackling spring semester. I'm especially looking forward to two weeks off for Christmas break - something tells me I'll be taking lots of naps, and maybe I'll check some of those chores off my To-Do list, too!

FICKLE HEART

2011-12-10T08:34:00.003-06:00

Two things I desire to have smelted from my heart: A wrong belief that things and/or human relationships can be ultimately satisfying - and - a tendency toward melancholy. Bad, bad, bad combination!

I remember as a girl an episode when I struggled particularly hard with this Dastardly Duo. I don't remember what precipitated the inward turmoil - death of a family member? hurt feelings at school? loss of a beloved pet? - but I vividly remember lying in bed one night, tears streaming down my face, confessing to God that my heart was fickle, that I had conditioned too much of my happiness and security in something or someone beside Him. As a consequence, the bitter fruit of loss (or rejection or disappointment) had become too terrible for me to swallow.

I specifically remember asking God to take my heart and keep it for Himself. "Lord," I wept, "I give this fickle heart where it ought not be given, in ways that I should not give it. Please, keep it for yourself. This heart belongs to You...it is Yours. And when I try to take it back so that I can invest wrongly in some new fancy, please don't let me have it. Lord, you must be the guardian and keeper of this heart, because I cannot tend it well. Teach me to rest, to be content, in You, and to trust You to tend my foolish heart as You see fit."

That was probably, oh, 35 or 40 years ago. And, yes, I've tried to take this heart back many, many times. Even tried to justify doing so to God. "Lord, I know You would want me to have ______. I mean, I wouldn't even have this desire if You hadn't given it to me, right?" - when what I honestly mean is, God, I reallyreallyreally want this thing. I NEED it. I'll be miserable without it! - OR - "Lord, I think this relationship would honor you" - when what I really mean is, I've already gone emotionally too far with this guy, and he's really cute, and, well, he goes to church most Sundays, and I don't think I could be happy without this relationship. You want me to be happy, right?

Occasionally, God has allowed me to indulge my wayward heart. "Okay, you think this will make you truly happy, Camille? Let's just see..." Strangely, whatever I think it is that will satisfy my heart always falls so far short, and then I'm back to swallowing that bitter cup of disappointment again. Back on my knees before God, longing for His presence and favor, confessing that No, the relationship or the job or the membership at the fitness center really was not enough.

This morning I was reading in Hosea, and this verse seemed to leap off the page: They do not cry to me from the heart, but they wail upon their beds; for grain and wine they gash themselves; they rebel against me...They return, but not to the Most High. (Hosea 7:14, 16b)

A painful description of my own heart! How many times have I lain weeping, crying out for temporal things, for "grain and wine" - earthly relationships, financial security, relief from pain, sleep - yet failed to cry out for God Himself. I want good things, God's blessings, but I so often want them wrongly: I begin to believe the lie that these things will satisfy me. I start shifting the basis of my security and happiness from a relationship with my Creator, to a relationship with His creation. Inevitably, the "grain and wine" prove inadequate to meet my heart's needs. They do not satisfy. And I find myself crying out with the Psalmist, Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.

Thankfully, despite my faithlessness, God is faithful. My heart is prone to wander, but God is a faithful shepherd, seeking me out and wooing me back. Yes, God has answered and continues to answer the prayer of that girl from so long ago.

The Lord is faithful. He will establish you and guard you against the evil one...May the Lord direct your hearts to the love of God and to the steadfastness of Christ. - 2 Thessalonians 3:3,5

ASYLUM

2011-12-09T08:08:00.003-06:00

"How in the world do you manage with so many kids?!"

This is a question I am frequently asked when someone first learns the size of my family.

Last spring, Kevin DeYoung posted a funny article over at The Gospel Coalition that he titled Parenting 001. In his post, DeYoung commented, "...if I ever write a book on parenting I'm going to call it The Inmates Are Running the Asylum." (Yes, you probably ought to take a minute to click over and read the article!)

Anyway, I came home last night from my shift at Wal-Mart to find the inmates at my house "running the asylum." Me, I'd spent the evening checking out shoppers at Wally World. Steve, he was hosting a Woodmen seminar/dinner, so had to be away from home for the evening, too. When I walked in the door, this is what I found:

Martha had cooked dinner and then cleaned up the dishes after everyone had eaten. Someone had kept the clothes washer and dryer running and had folded the clothes. The girls had made cookie dough, in preparation for Saturday night's dance. Then the kids turned the kitchen table into a craft station - spread with paper, glue, glitter, and ribbon - where they spent part of the evening constructing dance cards.

When I walked in, they were all lined up on the couch, watching a movie. Now, I really do not like the sight of kids boobed out in front of a TV, but last night, even though it wasn't family movie night, I really couldn't complain: my four teenagers (well, one is only almost a teenager) were laughing hysterically at The Aristocats. Too silly!

You know what's really cool? I hadn't left a To-Do list or instructions or anything.

Today, hopefully, we are going to check off some schoolwork, chase the baby, finish making dance cards, hem a couple of skirts, and bake a few more goodies. Then this evening, I'll head back out to Wal-Mart. Sounds like it's going to be a very full day!

How in the world do I manage with so many kids?

How in the world would I manage without them?

WINTER IN THE BOONDOCKS

2011-12-06T07:15:00.003-06:00

My mom used to say that spring and fall in northwest Tennessee were those seasons when the weather slammed back and forth between winter-summer-winter-summer-winter...until it finally decided to stay just one of them - either winter OR summer - for a few months. Yep, that's how our weather has been here lately. One week, 65 degrees and sunshine. The next week, lows in the 20's and freezing drizzle. Oops, no, not winter yet: back to the balmy temps and blue skies. Whoops, slipped back into the deep freeze - let's build a fire!

But winter really is almost here. Soon, the mild weather will be behind us for good, and we'll begin counting down the cold, soggy months until spring, when the winter-summer-winter-summer game will return to escort in a new summer.

Other signs that it's winter in the Boondocks:

1. Deer. Deer in the ditches on the side of the road. Deer on the hood of your car. Deer hanging from trees in the backyard. They're everywhere, lurking in the grayness of twilight, so keep your eyes open and drive carefully.

2. Silage trucks, and tractors hauling round bales of hay. The pastures are beginning to die off, and the colder weather has all the bovines feeling extra hungry. Time to start feeding the cows. Be prepared for a slow drive into town if you head out early in the morning!

3. Mud. It's hasn't gotten cold enough long enough for a hard freeze here, the kind of freeze that turns the topsoil into concrete. Nope, underneath that crunchy chocolate crust lies a quagmire of mud soup. So there's mud on all the trucks, mud on the tractors, mud on the boots, mud on the insulated bib overalls, mud on the laundry room floor, mud on the cows, mud on the horses, mud everywhere.

4. Smoke in the valleys. People are cranking up their fireplaces and wood stoves. I love how in the evening or early morning, you come over a hill to find a valley where the smoke has settled snugly around the houses, like a great down blanket. Something wholesome about the smell of wood smoke, too...a sense of home, hearth, warmth, comfort.

5. Furs in the freezer. While the boys are busy packing the deep freeze with deer meat for the year ahead, they are also busy running trap lines. So I have to remember - People food on the left; shrink-wrapped fur coats on the right. Blech!

6. Seasonal foods. Oranges, grapefruits, pomegranates - yum! Turnip greens from the garden patch out back. Chex mix and hot chocolate for an afternoon snack. Baked sweet potatoes. Lots of soups and stews and chilis on the menu, and lots of venison. Fudge - my mom's recipe, because it really is the best. Grammy's divinity - divine!

7. Secrets! Lots of whispering and sneaking going on at my house. Last night, Tom was confined to the work room with me while the girls bustled about, working on some top-secret project. Secrets, and giggling, and anticipation. Less than three weeks until Christmas!

8. Carols and greenery and twinkling lights. The ladies at Grace decorated the church building for the holidays last week. The green garlands and bright red holly berries definitely add a festive air to the 100-year-old structure. Martha and Helen have been practicing "Coventry Carol" the past several days, to sing at a Woodmen dinner Steve is hosting later this week - such pretty voices and sweet harmony from my two young ladies.

9. Final exams - yes, we have those even way out here in the boondocks! The college men are chugging through finals even as I type, and are both looking forward to a much-needed break from their studies as fall semester draws to a close. Tom has his final art review on Thursday. Here at home, the twins are counting down math lessons - two more lessons and a final exam and the green book goes back into the closet to stay. WooHoo! In Helen's history, we just talked about Julius Caesar...can you guess who's on the lesson schedule for next week? :)

10. Gunfire. We can hear duck hunters, miles away on Reelfoot Lake. The Pop!Pop!Pop! of their shotguns. And the occasional rifle crack of a deer hunter on a neighboring farm.

11. Whiskers. Lots of the men around here grow their beards out in winter, to protect their faces. Folks are looking wild and woolly in these parts! We won't see their clean-shaven faces until the spring thaw.

12. Cold, clear nights when it hurts to breathe, but you walk to the house slowly because the stars are so bright against the ink-black sky that they look like they are alive. Dancing. White-hot embers in the frosty air.

What signs of winter have you noticed in your neck of the woods?

DARK NIGHT, BRIGHT MORNING

2011-12-05T08:51:00.003-06:00

Last week was way too long. Too many late nights, too many early mornings, too many long days. A crash was inevitable.

I cried all the way home from work Saturday afternoon, not because anything was really wrong, but because I was just so very, very tired. And I knew I'd have to fix dinner, when what I really wanted was just to crawl into bed and sleep for two days straight.

Waiting for sleep later that night, absolutely broken, I prayed that God would somehow give me the grace to desire and pursue and promote His glory over my own comfort and happiness. More than anything else, I wanted rest, wanted this present season of toil to be over. I could no longer bear - did not even want to bear - the yoke that had been laid upon me. "God, I cannot do this any longer. I cannot even bring myself to desire to continue. If there's any way that I'm to continue on the path that You've laid before me, then You are going to have to do it for me. God, You are going to have to re-align my thinking, and You are going to have to sustain this flesh. God, I need more grace..."

Sunday morning, I contemplated skipping church. Black circles under my eyes (we're way past gray), shaky emotionally, I knew I'd fall apart the first time someone chirped, "How are you today?" But I'd missed last Sunday, due to the Plague, and I really didn't think I could survive another week without the fellowship of my brothers and sisters and the nourishment of sound Biblical teaching. I was exhausted, yes, but I also felt like I was starving. I chose nourishment over sleep - everyone would just have to suffer with me in my weakness. Part of being family, right?

In Sunday school, we are working through a study by J.I. Packer, Rediscovering Holiness. Here is the last point that was discussed in our class yesterday morning:

Quoting Packer: Sign five (that we are growing in grace) is a greater patience and willingness to wait for God and bow to His will, with a deeper abhorrence of what masquerades as the bold faith, but is really the childish immaturity, that tries to force God's hand. It is the way of children to want things now, and to say and feel most passionately that they cannot wait for them or do without them. But the adult way of petitioning is the way of submission, modeled by Jesus in Gethsemane - "My Father, if it is possible...Yet not as I will, but as you will" (Matt. 26:39). It is right to tell God what we long for and would like Him to do, but it is also right to remind ourselves and acknowledge to Him that He knows best. When Christians are learning to submit to God's ordering of events with undaunted realism and humility, it would seem that they are growing in grace.

Ever feel like God is talking directly to you, like He's holding your face in His hands, saying, "Listen to me! I'm talking to you!"?

Well, between Sunday school and church, Diane Traverse came over and said Hello. "How has your week been?" Poor Diane! She caught the deluge, then sat with me until the storm passed, until I was again at ease and could turn my attention to the worship service. Yes, I love my Grace family!

Brother Billy had printed this quote from C.H. Spurgeon for us to read and consider during the musical interlude as we prepared for worship: I doubt not, light streams continually from every part of the sun to cheer the worlds that revolve around it; so, from the whole of Christ, there issues forth comfort for poor and needy souls. He delighteth in mercy. He is a Savior and a great one. He is all love, all tenderness, all pity, all goodness; and the very chief of sinners, if they do but see Him, shall see light.

Ever feel like God is talking directly to you, like He's holding your face in His hands, saying, "Listen to me! I'm talking to you!"?

Our first hymn was "Lift Up Your Heads, Ye Mighty Gates" - one of my favorites. Just consider this one verse: "A helper just he (Christ) comes to thee, his chariot is humility, his kingly crown is holiness, his scepter pity in distress."

And then, Brother Billy continued preaching through Acts. In chapter 14, verse 22, we found Paul and Barnabas "strengthening the souls of the disciples, encouraging them to continue in the faith, and saying that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God." Through many tribulations - yes, this journey, this faith walk, will be difficult, fraught with tribulation. But the chapter concludes in an interesting way: "...and from there they (Paul and Barnabas) sailed to Antioch, where they had been commended to the grace of God for the work that they had fulfilled...they declared all that God had done with them, and how he had opened a door of faith to the Gentiles" (emphasis added). Paul and Barnabas endured much greater affliction than I have ever known, but all of it - the beatings, the persecution - all of it was part of their fulfilling the work that God had given them. Through their tribulation, and through the tribulation of their brothers and sisters in Christ, God was doing a mighty work.

Ever feel like God is talking directly to you, like He's holding your face in His hands, saying, "Listen to me! I'm talking to you!"?

Sunday afternoon, I finally got some much-coveted sleep. Dozed on the couch so that I could be among the kids and their chatter. In bed last night before ten - hallelujah! - and actually awake this morning before the alarm went off at 6:10. Reading in Daniel this morning, where once again, God seemed to be speaking directly to me. Awesomely encouraging Facebook status by my son Reuben, reminding me of God's goodness to us in Christ, His perfect and perfectly satisfying provision.

And then I found this, another of my favorite hymns, on YouTube: Thou Lovely Source of True Delight If, like me, you've been crashing in the darkness lately, this song will speak to your heart. "'Tis here (in God's Word), whene'er my comforts droop and sin and sorrow rise, Thy love with cheering beams of hope my fainting heart supplies."

Like John, I can testify this morning, "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." Like Spurgeon, I can confidently assert that "He is a Savior and a great one...the very chief of sinners, if they do but see Him, shall see light."

SOMETIMES IT CAUSES ME TO TREMBLE

2011-12-01T08:25:00.004-06:00

In my current read through the Bible, I've been camped out for some time in the major prophets. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Lamentations, Ezekiel...should be starting Daniel early next week.

Seems like no matter how many times I read a particular passage, there is always something new about it - either a new insight, or a fresh revelation of an old and familiar truth. This Book really is living, and it never grows old!

One thing that has struck me afresh as I've been reading is the significance God places on keeping the Sabbath. God pronounces and executes His terrible judgment on His people, and the #1 charge brought against them is their failure to keep His Sabbaths and to worship Him in purity and holiness. Yes, the prophets mention that Israel has oppressed the poor, distorted justice, murdered the innocent, robbed their brothers. But the charge brought against them the most - it comes up over and over and over - is that they have forgotten the Sabbath. This is The Biggie. They have gone too far. God will tolerate their sin no longer. Consequently, they must suffer His wrath, poured out through famine, plague, the sword, and exile.

A second thing that jumped out at me this time through the prophets is the value God places on sexual purity. The charge of sexual impurity ranks as the #2 offense Israel commits against their holy God, if you look at the number of times this sin is mentioned. You have forsaken the wife of your youth...You have violated your neighbor's wife...You have uncovered the nakedness of another man's wife...You have violated your daughter-in-law...You have allowed your lust to run unbridled...You have looked lustfully at another...The prophets hammer this over and over.

Honestly, I don't know if my natural tendency would be to rank sexual immorality and licentiousness as greater offenses than stealing, abusing the poor, or legal corruption. I mean, what I do with my own body is my private business. If I'm entertaining lustful thoughts, or if I'm having sex with someone who is not my spouse, or if I'm excusing improper attitudes and behaviors in society, that's nowhere near as bad as stealing property from a destitute widow, or enslaving my neighbor, right? Wrong.

I think these two particular things - reverence for the Sabbath and commitment to sexual purity - have impressed me rather strongly as I've read through the prophets because of the lackadaisical attitude toward them which I see among so many Christians today. How many professing Christians do you know - decent people, people who would never steal from their employers, people who pack gift boxes for orphans in Asia, people who devote time and money to mission work, people who volunteer at the homeless shelter, people who post Bible verses as their Facebook statuses - How many of these professing Christians do you know who think it's really no big deal whether or not they are faithful in participating in corporate worship with the body of Christ? How many of these people are sleeping with their boyfriend or girlfriend, or cheating on their spouses, or cruising the internet for porn, or indulging in the "softer" porn of romantic comedies or "Christian" romance fiction, and who boldly defend their sin - to themselves and to others - by saying that what they do in their private lives isn't anybody else's business, or that times have changed, or that it is really just not that big of a deal anymore?

How many of my Christian friends - people I know more intimately than just the general public - have a low regard for the Sabbath or demonstrate a lack of commitment to sexual purity? I ran out of fingers to count on, in a matter of seconds, and gave up this foolish exercise with a sad heart. And in case you think I'm pointing a holier-than-thou finger at these weak sisters and brothers, No, I have stood among their number, and even today am not above stumbling.

God did not overlook the blatant sin of His people Israel. The prophets describe a judgment that is difficult to read about, that turns your stomach, that makes a reader recoil in horror and disgust. Wouldn't even make the cut for an R-rated movie because of the violence. And yet, today, God's people stand in almost the very same dangerous, precarious place, flagrantly disregarding what is precious to God, while living lives that are a pretense of holiness.

Why do we, the Church, presume that we are above God's judgment in these matters, flippantly presuming upon God's grace and dishonoring the life and sacrifice of Jesus?

Reading the major prophets makes me tremble.

DINNERTIME

2011-11-30T11:03:00.003-06:00

I don't have to be at Wal-mart until 7:00 tonight, which means I get to be home for dinner. Yay! On tonight's menu:

Meatloaf - the Pritzel recipe: ground beef (we use deer), hot sausage, bread crumbs, egg, and Heinz 57 sauce. Yum.

Green bean casserole - Thomas's asked particularly for this for Thanksgiving, but it wasn't part of the holiday meal. I'm making this just for you, Tom.

Mashed potatoes - because if you have meatloaf, you have to have mashed potatoes.

One of the things I strongly dislike about working away from home is having to frequently miss our family's evening meal. Two, three times a week, I leave before dinner. Sure, the kids and I have breakfast and lunch together, but dinner is different. Dad is most often home, bringing news from the outside world. There is a kind of settling together, a conversational processing of the day. Not infrequently, there is a serving of silliness, too.

Something else happens over a leisurely, routine family dinner, something I can't quite describe. Something about learning who we are as individuals, as a family, as a society. Something that gives cohesion and strength. Sort of like calcium being knit together to form strong bones.

No, I don't like missing the evening meal. I will be glad when this particular sacrifice is no longer necessary. And, I am so grateful that Steve and the kids keep this tradition going, even on nights when I have to be away. They set the table, cook the meal, and sit down together, whether I'm here or not.

Last night, I rolled back home at 10:30. Martha had saved me a plate of dinner, which I reheated in the microwave. As I sat at the bar eating, all of the kids filtered downstairs and gathered in the kitchen, telling me about the evening's activities, news from friends on Facebook, classes at Martin, etc. Someone pulled the bucket of ice cream out of the freezer and dished up bowls for everyone. I guess it was kind of like my own personal "second" family supper. I'm grateful for that, too...that even when I have to be away, the circle is expanded to keep me inside.

SNOW DAY

2011-11-29T10:18:00.002-06:00

This is a repost from a couple of years ago - seemed appropriate this morning!

GO LOOK OUT THE WINDOW!
January 29, 2010

When Steve and I lived in Nashville, we attended a small church plant in the Old Hickory area. Although I had been a Christian for many years, it was here, under the pastoral care of Larry Ferris and his wife Lisa, that the gospel was first given "flesh". Eighteen years later, I still think of Lisa asking me, on several occasions, "What are the practical implications of the gospel in this situation?" These two, whom I affectionately think of as my Mother and Father in the faith, were active, aggressive, and deliberate about translating what they believed into what they did, in every area of life.

Larry had a gift for coming up with great sermon illustrations. He could make seemingly far-off, abstract concepts suddenly clear and relevant. This particular illustration still comes to my mind often, and always brings with it a thrill of excitement....

You remember how when you were a kid, and the evening weather forecast predicted snow? You hoped against all hope that it would snow and snow and snow all night, maybe even a foot, and that school would be cancelled the next day. You went to bed anxious with anticipation, finding it nearly impossible to sleep. Your ears strained for the faintest sound that would indicate the coveted snow had finally arrived. You snuck out of bed, peeped out the window - nothing. Finally, exhausted and fearing morning would bring only disappointment, you dozed fitfully off to sleep. And slept, and slept, and slept. Until...

The next morning, Mom came into your room, same as she always did, to wake you up so that you could begin getting ready for school. Only this morning, as she shook you gently from your sleep, she didn't say, "Wake up - time to get ready for school." She simply whispered, "Go look out the window!"

Instantly, you were wide awake, your heart pounding! Throwing off your blankets, you planted your feet on the cold floor and bolted for the window, a jubilant smile plastered across your face. "Go look out the window!" Those words elicited a spasm of pure joy! You danced! You squealed! It was absolutely impossible to conceal the excitement you felt.

Dear Reader - after a long and dreadful night, God, in Christ, has whispered to us, "Go look out the window!"

NEW

2011-11-28T08:59:00.003-06:00

I think the Plague has passed. All the towels have been washed with Clorox and the bathrooms scrubbed with disinfectant. No one has thrown up for over 12 hours - woohoo!

Thankfully, I didn't have the explosive eruptions the others experienced. My innards just feel like some kind of intestinal version of a lava lamp, and the muscles in my abdomen and lower back ache. Feels like I've been kicked in the stomach.

Today is Monday, and I woke up hoping that, after a rather hairy couple of days, I'd feel completely wonderful and ready for a new week. However, the churning in my belly as I rolled over in bed cautioned me that I'd better stick with moving slowly for at least a bit longer.

The intestinal burbling also brought to mind the passage about all things being made new - "He who was seated on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new.'" (Revelation 21:5a) Yep, I thought, that's what I need: New. A new body, inside and out. This carcass I'm moving around in feels like a piece of trash, and my attitude isn't very lovely, either!

I'm a bit wiped out from working long hours at the Temple of Mammon last week. The Blitz. Black Friday. My family's a bit weak and weary from fighting the Plague. Except for making Polly's Pumpkin Pie, I didn't get to do any holiday baking this weekend. The long holiday weekend is past, and instead of feeling refreshed and invigorated, I feel like I've been run over by a steam roller. And I need to get groceries. And we need to tackle our schoolwork this morning.

Life doesn't stop.

I want New, and I want it now. Zappo! But God's timing isn't mine. Still, I find His promise very encouraging this gray, mizzly Monday morning: "Behold, I am making all things new...Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." I am not suddenly made new, right now. No, I am being made new. In process. And God has promised that He will complete the task which He has begun.

Nothing like a rough and woolly weekend to make the promise of Newness sweeter, to make the anticipation of Newness stronger.

SHARING THE LOVE

2011-11-26T12:10:00.004-06:00

Holidays. Family, feasting, laughter, non-stop TV sports.

And the plague.

While all bajillion of us Kendalls were gathered at Grammy's Thursday for the traditional Thanksgiving dinner, one member of the family related how he had just survived a particularly violent case of Montezuma's Revenge. Like just the day before. Wednesday. But he was feeling better now, and thought he could eat a little without having to run to the bathroom.

You've been there, right? That tidbit of news, and suddenly you're afraid to inhale. "Oh, great. Are you still contagious?" you wonder silently. On one hand, you're half-way mad, thinking, "You jerk! If you've been sick, why didn't you stay home today instead of contaminating the rest of us?!" On the other hand, you're sympathetic: "I'm glad you're feeling better now and that you could make it to the party. It wouldn't be the same without you here." Conflicted emotions.

I think because we homeschool, our family has missed exposure to a lot of the bugs that other folks have to deal with. The kids didn't have chronic ear infections or colds or bouts of the flu growing up. A really healthy bunch. We didn't even know about head lice until my oldest was a teenager - picked up a batch of those at a family get-together, too, from the little cousins. Family. Gotta love 'em.

Anyway, Son #1 began bi-valve eruptions last night. Then Dad. This morning, Martha and Tom. The rest of us...we're just waiting our turns. Gonna be a long day.

Tom put it this way: "I feel like a hand grenade with the pin pulled and the lever held down, just waiting to go off."

One day last spring, I was frustrated with my kids for being particularly crabby with each other. Nathaniel commented, "Well, you know how it is. The family that crabs together...is together." Just part of being a family. Guess the same is true for stomach bugs.

It's just another way of sharing the love.

THANKFUL FOR SUCH FRIENDS

2011-11-22T10:12:00.002-06:00

It's Thanksgiving week and we're all taking time to deliberately consider the things for which we are thankful. Me, when I start thinking, "I'm thankful for....," I seem to always think of a name, a person, someone who has encouraged me, challenged me, impacted my faith and life.

For a woman who lives a fairly simple, small life out in the middle of next-to-nowhere, I am kind of astounded at the number of amazing people I've known and who have plowed themselves into my life.

Consider one such remarkable woman...

When we lived in Millington, I looked forward each month to getting together with the Fray-Mill homeschool moms for food and fellowship. We would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, and although my body would definitely be a bit weary the day after, my heart would always be encouraged, my mood brightened. How I loved being with those ladies!

One woman - a bit older and much wiser than myself - always blessed me, and I loved to "sit at her feet." Not so much because she had all the answers, but because she always reflected Christ to me. Rather than denying the difficulty of this life, rather than giving me "Ten Steps to Being a Perfect Mom," she communicated truth and grace - "Yes, this is a really hard labor. But it is worthwhile. We need Jesus if we're going to be faithful to the task He has given us. You need Jesus, and I need Him, too...let's go to Him together!" So often, this dear sister exhorted us to run to the cross, to lean hard on Jesus. I told this friend once that when I spent time with her, it was as if I could hear chains falling off, falling to the ground. No wonder I felt lighter, brighter!

Funny thing is, this lady doesn't see herself as a "giant of the faith," as someone who has it all together. She is quick to testify that she is a sinner, that she is weak in body, and that she often must fight hard for joy and for greater faith in the midst of pain and trials. In fact, if I wrote her name here, she would be mortified. Yet, her life and example are paying dividends in the lives of others that she can't imagine.

Another friend (Hi, Jenny!) posted this quote from Christ in the Chaos' Facebook status this week: "The worst first impression we can make on other moms is that of appearing to have it all together. Be weak and let them be impressed with His strength."

Steve asked me once, after a Fray-Mill dinner, "What is it about L---- that encourages you so much?" I think that quote Jenny posted sums it up: L---- has not been ashamed to be weak, to be seen as needy, to live as one who daily depends completely on Christ for life and hope and strength and wisdom. In walking a path of humility, however, she has become a beacon of Christ's strength and glory.

We all have weak places, broken places, fears, huge battles we are fighting that we seem to be always in danger of losing. Me, I want to conquer some weakness, slay a particular sin, stand triumphant over some trial in my life, and then - maybe - as a victorious, puffed-up, has-it-all-together soldier I will share with you the struggle I once had, but that is now behind me. Let me master this, and then I will tell you about it.

I usually don't want to share what I'm going through right now. Not while I'm in the midst of it. No, let me see the whole reel first. I may need to edit some scenes, censor some dialogue, do a little photo-shop magic before the tape is "released." Want to be sure to present myself in the best light, right?

But that attitude robs me of so much...the support and encouragement of my brothers and sisters in Christ in the midst of my struggles. And it robs them, too. Robs them of the joy of working out the love of Christ in their ministry to me, and of the blessing of seeing Christ's strength made sufficient in a weak sister.

What supernatural power it takes to live a life of humility and weakness! I pray today that, like my friend, I will live honestly, transparently. That God will give me the grace to admit my frailty, that His strength might be displayed the more.

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
2 Corinthians 12:9

MAYBE I'M NOT CUT OUT FOR RETAIL

2011-11-17T08:47:00.004-06:00

Okay, I've already mentioned my little conversation with the gentleman who thought he really needed the game Gears of War. Well, as the holiday season approaches, the feeding frenzy is gearing up and life at the cash register is getting just a little weird. Unique perspective, that of standing behind a cash register.

Last week, a frazzled mom and her two teenage kids came through my line. Looked like it had been a long day for mom. You know, that gray, bleary-eyed, dazed look. This wasn't a Christmas shopping trip - just routine grocery shopping. As I scanned groceries, Son plopped an item on the end of the belt.

"You're not getting that!" Mom protested.

"But Mom, I really need this..." The wheedling began.

"I'm not paying for it." Mom was holding her ground. "If you want it that bad, you can bring your own money next time we come and buy it for yourself."

"I want it now," Son protested. "I'll pay you back when we get home."

So went the check-out game. Son had Mom in a corner - she was exhausted, frazzled, too tired to carry on a prolonged argument. Surrounded by strangers, you could tell she really didn't want to make a big fuss and cause a scene, either. It's tough to hold your ground when everyone around just wants you to hurry up and pay for your groceries so you can get out of their way!

Mom's shoulders drooped a tad further. All the groceries had been scanned and totaled. All that remained was the offending item - and the nagging teenage son. I stood there waiting, really wishing I could give the boy a piece of my mind, tell him to be more respectful of his mother, to stop whining like a baby. Mom let out a long sigh...she was buckling.

"So," I piped in. I grabbed the item and held it up. "That'll be a 'No'?" I quickly set the item aside, beneath my register. Mom blinked and straightened, like she'd been pulled suddenly out of a dream. "Your total is $153.67." I turned to the son. "I'm sure we'll still have these in stock next week. Don't forget to bring your money!" Mom's weak smile looked like a big Thank You to me.

Maybe I'm not really the best person to have working in retail. Then again, if you're a tired mom and could use some back-up, feel free to come through my line any time.

WHY SO DOWNCAST?

2011-11-16T07:48:00.005-06:00

Pessimism is at best an emotional half-holiday; joy is the uproarious labour by which all things live. - G.K. Chesterton, in Orthodoxy

Yesterday, I was thinking through this Big Joy that powers our Christian faith. But, like me, you may be asking, "If joy is such an integral part of the Christian faith, then why am I so downcast?"

If we're honest, we have to admit this life is hard. We endure many trials. Our hearts get broken. Sickness, persecution, broken relationships, frustrated plans and dreams, addictions, death...this is not joyful stuff, people!

One beauty of Scripture is that it does not disregard one truth for the sake of elevating another. Just look again at those verses in Hebrews 12: "...let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." (v. 1-2)

Odd juxtaposition of words, don't you think? Weight, sin, endurance (as in hard, exhausting, on-going work), the cross, shame...joy.

Here's another odd combination: "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness..." (James 1:2) Trials, testing...joy.

Or consider the Beatitudes, in Mark 5: "Blessed are the poor in spirit...those who mourn...those who hunger and thirst for righteousness...those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake...Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad..." Poor, hungry, persecuted, reviled...rejoice.

Christ Himself was called "a man of sorrows." He wept over Jerusalem, grieved the death of Lazarus, mourned the hardness of His hearers' hearts. He was misunderstood, maligned, ridiculed, beaten, murdered. Yet He endured all of this "...for the joy that was set before Him..."

So which is it? What are we to expect in this Christian life? Big joy - Or - big sorrow?

The answer is: Both. In fact, Scripture assures us that we most certainly will experience both. Well, if that's the case, then how is this Christian life any different from life as a non-believer? And how does joy play into all of this?

G.K. Chesterton put it this way: Everything human must have in it both joy and sorrow; the only matter of interest is the manner in which the two things are balanced or divided.

Picture in your mind planet Earth, surrounded by a thin layer of atmosphere, and beyond that space, stretching out further than we can even imagine. For the unbeliever, Earth and its atmosphere are all that they have - the present, small, immediate joys that can be scrounged in a short existence in a decaying body. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." Whatever makes me happy now. Climbing this mountain, sex with a new partner, advancing a level in this video game, reaching the top of the corporate ladder, eating this cake...whatever it is, that is as big as the joy gets. And when it's all over? The immense blackness of space - eternal separation from the God they were created to worship. Physical torment, and the never-ending consciousness of all that has been lost. Hell. Do you see how small is the joy, how vast the sorrow?

But for the Christian, this Earth and its atmosphere represent the very small travail of our existence. Decaying bodies, fraught with aches and sickness. Addictions. Broken hearts and broken homes. Unemployment. Poverty, hunger, disease, death. Persecution. Martyrdom. Those sound like pretty big sorrows, don't they? But in all this, we have the promise of God that these very trials are working to transform us into the likeness of our beloved Savior, Jesus: we are being made truly beautiful. Plus, we get "flashes" of joy (those things which the unbeliever confuses for ultimate joy) along the way to brighten our path - good music, mountain climbing, great sex, chocolate cake, cold beer. And then, finally, punch through the thin "atmosphere" of this short life into the vast expanse of "space" that lies beyond - an eternity of living in the presence of God Himself. Living with whole, healthy, vigorous bodies. With meaningful and satisfying work. Living with our brothers and sisters in relationships characterized by genuine and untainted love. No more sickness, no more tears, no more sorrow. Forever. Forever. Do you see how small is our sorrow, how infinite our joy?!

The pagan sees no further than the gray clouds suspended overhead, and says, "Such sorrow! There must not be a god. I will grab for myself what happiness I can, while I have time." The Christian sees past the nearer atmosphere of clouds and storms, sees past them to the brilliance of the stars and the sun, sees glimpses of the joy that lies beyond and says, "Glory!"

Yes, this life is hard. Yes, your soul will be downcast. But infinitely bigger than your sorrow is the great Joy that lies beyond. This is why we find the Psalmist and the Apostle Paul and gloomy Jeremiah, even while in the depths of melancholy, suddenly bursting out into joyful praise. Remembering anew the huge joy that lay before them, they could not help but sing, even in the midst of trials.

To quote G.K. Chesterton once more: Christianity satisfies suddenly and perfectly man's ancestral instinct for being the right way up; satisfies it supremely in this; that by its creed joy becomes something gigantic and sadness something small and special...Joy, which was the small publicity of the pagan, is the gigantic secret of the Christian.

BIG JOY

2011-11-15T08:13:00.004-06:00

Deon made a statement during Sunday evening's sermon that went something like this: "The whole world is governed by God for our salvation. We have to move beyond relying on our experience and emotions, to relying on faith and God's Word."

We are going through Isaiah on Sunday nights. Israel, because of its idolatry and immorality, was being disciplined by God. One foreign army after another marched through the land, devastating the countryside, slaughtering its inhabitants, and carrying the few survivors off into captivity. Famine, sword, pestilence, bondage. Huge, bitter pills to swallow.

But in the midst of such severe discipline, God assured His people that He would one day restore them. He would bring them home and remove all that oppressed them. In chapter 14, we have God telling His people to "take up this taunt against the king of Babylon" - God Himself would break the oppressor. We learn that even Babylon was under God's sovereign rule, and that, while the king of Babylon thought himself independent and great and powerful, he was instead little more than a surgical instrument in the hands of Almighty God.

I think one of the points Deon was making was that even our afflictions - even our very great afflictions - are ordained by God to bring us to salvation and to grow us in holiness. If I were an Israelite living during the Babylonian captivity, I might be tempted to think that God had abandoned me, or to even think God didn't exist at all. It is only by faith - and by firm confidence in the veracity of the Word of God - that I can look at trials in this life as instruments of grace wielded by my loving, merciful, all-powerful Father.

So, back to Deon's statement: "The whole world is governed by God for our salvation. We have to move beyond relying on our experience and emotions, to relying on faith and God's Word." I looked over my sermon notes this morning and spent several minutes meditating on that statement. Truths I need to consider and reflect upon daily. Then, I turned to my daily reading...and guess where I found myself, by God's good providence?

Hebrews, chapter 11! "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Then, account after account of those who lived "by faith" - I counted that expression at least 13 times in chapter 11!

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for..." So, all these people mentioned in Hebrews 11 lived by faith, lived in the assurance of that great thing for which they hoped, which was...what? What humongous thing am I, as a child of God, assured? What sure hope do I possess that is so big that it grounds a faith such as the faith of Enoch and Noah and Moses? The faith of even Christ Himself?

As I sat pondering this question, having just read Hebrews 11, I thought to myself, "This Big Thing which powers a hope which in turn undergirds an unshakable faith...this Big Thing, I am certain, must have something to do with joy..." I flipped back to the concordance. "Where is that verse...the one about Christ enduring the cross because of joy?" Funny, that verse was in Hebrews, chapter 12!

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." (Hebrews 12:1-2, italics added)

Past the wretchedness and horror of the cross, Jesus saw something so big and glorious, some fountain of joy so great that it was worth walking through the nightmare of Golgotha to reach.

Can you imagine a Joy so great, so compelling? A Joy which, to attain, would satisfy every longing, erase every hurt, make every trial and tear fade to nothingness by comparison? A Joy so big that it swallows all the suffering of exile and foreign captivity? That it swallows the pain of childlessness? That it compels a prince to leave his palace and wander instead in a wilderness? That it swallows up even the horror of the Cross?

Jesus knew such a joy. It was the joy of being in the presence of the Father. Of unfettered communion. Of standing before the face of God, and knowing, under that omnipotent, omniscient gaze, that He was God's Beloved.

If we go back to the beginning of the story (well, the written beginning), we find this is exactly the purpose for which we were created, you and me. We were created for pure and unfettered communion with God, to be an object of God's delight, to reflect His glory, to worship Him in His very presence.

And, in Christ, this is exactly what He assures us. Later in Hebrews 12, we read, "But you have come to Mount Zion and into the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word that the blood of Abel." (verses 22-24)

We are promised a very BIG JOY, sisters and brothers! And that, in turn, gives us great hope. And, as it is God Himself who has promised, and He cannot lie, we are assured of what has been promised, which in turn gives us great faith. Hallelujah!

If you're interested in considering this great joy a bit more, check in over at Tim Challies's blog: Finding Joy, Finding Hope and I Can Only Imagine. Good stuff!

WISH I COULD DO IT ALL

2011-11-11T08:58:00.003-06:00

"I'm really looking forward to tonight!" Steve enthused as we were getting ready for the day.

"Why? What's tonight?"

"The Reformation Conference!"

Oh, yeah...Derek Thomas is coming to Dyersburg, and will be speaking tonight and tomorrow on Romans 8. "How the Gospel Brings Us All the Way Home." This is going to be awesome, people.

But me...I'll be at Wal-Mart, bagging up groceries for frazzled shoppers. Blech. Seems here lately I've been missing so many good times of teaching and fellowship. Instead of gathering around a bonfire with family and friends, instead of sitting under the teaching of Derek Thomas, I spend my evenings in the tiny box of a cash register. Blip, beep, beep, blip... "Your total is fifty-seven dollars and fourteen cents."

This morning, I was thinking, "What a lousy trade!" And, yes, I was feeling a tad bit sorry for myself.

Then, I spent an hour on-line, helping three students register for spring classes at UT Martin. Everyone got the classes they wanted, at the times they wanted...no small feat. Yay! Once everyone was officially registered, we clicked over to check out the fee summaries. Wowzer!

Okay, NOW I remember why I'll be standing at a register at Wal-Mart tonight, instead of sitting in a pew at Dyersburg First Presbyterian Church. And, as much as I hate missing Derek Thomas, this is a trade I'm willing to make. This is only a season - a short season in my life and in the lives of my children. Very soon, college fees will be behind us, and, hopefully, this late-night job will be behind me, too. And when this season is past, maybe I'll have another opportunity to hear Derek Thomas.

If not, we'll have forever in Glory together, and I'll just have catch up with him then.

(If you're not scheduled to be on the clock tonight, I strongly encourage you to take advantage of this opportunity to enjoy excellent teaching and sweet fellowship. Tonight - 6:30. Saturday - 10:30 a.m. Click here for details.)

MRS. KENDALL

2011-11-10T08:21:00.000-06:00

So we've been looking at old photos and feeling a bit nostalgic lately, remembering dear friends and forgotten stories. Which brings me to today's post.

Steve and I married just weeks after he graduated from Middle Tennessee State University. We lived a few months in a duplex in Murfreesboro, before shipping out to Virginia and our new life in the Marine Corps. Wedding, honeymoon, a short visit in West Tennessee with family, and then, finally, we drove a few hours east to our very first home together.

420 West Bell Street. We rented one half of a very old house that had been sort of divided into a duplex. Mr. Woods, the 90+ year-old man who owned the house - and who shared it with us - lived in one side, and we occupied the other. On our side of the house, we had a living room (which we were never able to use because it was so heavily infested with fleas from Mr. Woods decrepit cat, Tom), a bedroom, and an enclosed back porch that had been converted into a kitchen just big enough for two people. We all shared the one bathroom in the house.

Steve moved into the duplex about a month before graduation so that he could begin cleaning, painting, flea-bombing, and making other badly-needed repairs. Let's just say that old Mr. Woods was way past the day of household maintenance, and things were in pretty bad shape! Still, the house was quaint, the rent was cheap, the neighborhood was old and established, and we had awesome next door neighbors.

Sadly, Mr. Woods died right before Steve and I married. His daughter Linda, who inherited the property, graciously agreed to let us continue renting. Actually, she worked out a sweet deal for us...instead of writing her a check each month for X amount of dollars, we agreed to put that much into the house each month in paint and materials. We would help her get the house ready to put on the market before we left for Virginia later that summer.

Two weeks after our wedding, Steve and I drove "home" to 420 Bell Street on a Sunday afternoon. Monday morning, Steve left for work at the city engineer's office, and I busied myself with the task of settling into our new abode. Cleaning, unpacking boxes, figuring out where to put stuff...a grungy kind of day.

Mid-morning, I heard a loud knock at the front door. Climbing over boxes and slapping fleas, I finally reached the door to find a lady holding a large bouquet of flowers. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"I have a delivery here for Mrs. Kendall." The woman held the flowers out toward me.

"Oh, there must be some mistake," I replied. "There's no one at this house by that name."

The woman pulled out a slip of paper with delivery instructions written on it. "Well, it says right here - 420 West Bell Street. This is 420 West Bell Street, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am, you've got the right address, but there's been some mistake." My brained whirred, trying to unravel the mystery. "Oh, you know what, the lady who owns this house...her name is Linda...Linda...Oh, I can't remember her last name. It's not Mrs. Woods, but I don't think it's Mrs. Kendall either."

Finally, the befuddled delivery lady turned and walked with the beautiful flowers back down the sidewalk to her car. Me, I closed the front door and headed back to work, still trying to think of Linda's last name. Mrs. Woods? Mrs. Stone? Wait a minute! I raced to the front of the house and bolted across the porch. "Wait! Wait!" I waved frantically as the delivery lady began pulling away from the curb. I ran over to her lowered window. "Hey! Those flowers are for ME! I'm Mrs. Kendall!"

After I'd worked so hard to persuade the delivery lady that no Mrs. Kendall lived at that address, it took a little effort to convince her I really was the intended recipient of the bouquet. "They're from my husband," I explained. "We just got married..." Steve had sent the flowers to brighten my first, very grubby day in Murfreesboro, while he was away at work. But, silly me, I'd forgotten that I had a new name!

Kind of like, sometimes still, when I forget that I have another new name, the name of my Eternal Husband. In the grunge and toil of life, sometimes I think He's "out there, somewhere" - like Steve was at work that day - and maybe He's not really thinking about me, or maybe it doesn't occur to Him that I'm tired and nasty and swatting fleas.

But He does care, and He is thinking about me. And when it seems that I have almost forgotten that I am His, He sends a "bouquet" - maybe in the Scripture I read today, or in the prayer of a friend, or in the beauty of the farm during a quiet walk. A message of tender, passionate, devoted love.

Steve was thinking of me that Monday morning. "Lots of love! - Steve"

And Jesus is thinking of me today. "To my beloved bride!"

BUSTED!

2011-11-09T09:21:00.004-06:00

"Mom! We found a picture of you in a bikini!"

Gack! This is how I was greeted when I drug in from my shift at Wal-Mart late last night. Seems Steve was looking for some old photos from his Marine Corps days, and he had recruited the kids to help him dig through boxes in the attic.

Sure, my kids had heard stories about the itty-bitty, black-and-white polka dot bikini, the bikini that couldn't quite handle the surf zone off the Pacific coast. But they'd never seen actual pictures of it.

The girls waved the offending photograph under my nose, giggling. "Look, Mom!"

So I pulled my reading glasses off the top of my head and checked out the thin, brown, long-ago me in the photo. "Girls, all I can say is, this kind of attire is not appropriate. Not even if your mom wore it a hundred years ago!"

A few other things hit me about that photo. For one thing, I was so thin. Funny, though, how that young 20-something me never felt thin. I don't remember feeling particularly fat, either, but I do remember a vague consciousness that fatness lurked like a hidden enemy, waiting to pounce on me if I let my guard down. I wasn't a dieter, but neither was I completely free to simply enjoy the body God had given me, the way He'd made it. Today, as a solid, "womanly" 50-year-old, I would not want to be as thin as that young woman in the photograph...but it's kind of sad, too, to think that Young Me didn't fully appreciate who she was at the time.

Another thought: how much we enjoyed that short assignment in California. Steve's school was at Camp Del Mar, right on the beach. At lunch time, I'd drive over to the base and meet him for a picnic on the beach, where we'd enjoy the sun and the wind and the crashing of the surf. Weekends, the beach was a cheap, relaxing date. And there were the after-dinner walks around the lakes adjacent to our apartment complex, at the park where Steve taught me to throw and catch a softball.

There were afternoon runs with my neighbor, Debbie Stevens. How I enjoyed the time to talk and decompress with this delightful friend after a day of work! Steve and I made forays into new and unfamiliar territory - touring San Diego with Pat and Teri Arter, California natives, in their totally cool VW bus. A weekend jaunt to Sequoia National Forest. The San Diego Wild Animal Park.

And once in a blue moon, we actually had a visitor from home, someone who spoke that sweet Tennessee twang.

Today, I am not thin, not brown, and you won't catch me dead in a bikini. I don't jog 5 miles every day, or try to see how far out from the shoreline I can swim. But I do not look at that picture of me from the past with longing, wishing I could somehow go back to the days of my youth. Nope. I look at that bikini-clad girl-woman and smile, and think how very grateful I am for the journey God has brought me on - thankful for where I've been, for the things He's taught me on this often bumpy and painful path, for the things He's showing me in this place today.

Anticipating the good things ahead, over the next hill, on the distant horizon.

WHEN, LORD?

2011-11-07T08:00:00.004-06:00

Pastor Billy referenced a Scripture passage in yesterday morning's sermon that I noted to look up again later, when I could spend a little more time thinking about it without getting distracted from the message at hand.

Acts 1:6-8 reads, So when they had come together, they asked him, "Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?" He said to them, "It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by His own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth."

Yesterday, it was the last verse of that passage that particularly caught my interest. I want to know what it is to be empowered and emboldened by the Holy Spirit to share the gospel of Christ, and I want to see and redeem opportunities to share this gospel with others, both here in my community and elsewhere. This has been a prayer of mine for some time now, yet I feel like I am still waiting to see it answered. God is not answering my prayer the way I sort of imagined - you know, like Peter at Pentecost. Nope, nothing spectacular at all. But I keep praying, and yesterday, this passage encouraged me to keep on praying and to keep my eyes open for opportunities, however small, to speak to others of God's grace shown to us in Christ.

However, it wasn't until this morning that I actually sat down and re-read the passage. Funny how, this morning, it hit me in a totally different way.

Today, I woke up with a heart heavy over a broken relationship that I have long desired to be mended. No, not depressed...rather, just a sad weariness. Despite years of praying, despite years of others praying alongside me, this particular relationship - once such a delight! - is still characterized by very little intimacy and no honest communication. Oh, how I long for restoration, yet it seems impossible. Lord, how long?!

Then, I sat down for my morning read - several chapters in Jeremiah and a few in Hebrews. Before setting my Bible aside, I pulled out yesterday's bulletin. What was that passage I wanted to look up again?

"Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?" Christ's disciples asked Him in verse 6. For me, the question seemed vaguely similar: Lord, will you at this time restore this broken relationship? Lord, at this time will you make right what has gone horribly wrong? Lord, at this time, will you make all things new?

Christ's answer? "It is not for you to know..."

That might not seem like a very encouraging answer at first. I'm kinda tired here, barely hanging on, Lord. I feel like giving up. It really would be nice to know that soon - very soon - You are going to step in and make everything right. I think I could hang in here a little longer if You'd just tell me that restoration is very close at hand.

"It's not for you to know..." Not a very encouraging answer, except for what follows. "It is not for you to know....BUT..."

Don't you just love that word? BUT...

"But you will receive power..." God has assured me that He will give me the strength I need, when I need it.

"...when the Holy Spirit has come upon you..." That strength will be the presence and power of God Himself, dwelling within me in the person of His Spirit.

"...and you will be my witnesses..." The effect of the presence of God in my life will be that I will indeed be a witness to my Savior, Jesus.

I will receive power, through the Holy Spirit, and I will be His witness. The language in this passage is emphatic. It will happen...no possibility that it will not. That is huge encouragement indeed, both as I look for opportunities to share Christ with others and as I struggle to honor Christ in the midst of a broken relationship. Looks like I need to struggle less with When, and rest and glory more in the God who has made such a great and sure promise.

JESUS WITHDREW

2011-11-03T08:43:00.003-05:00

One night out of the week at home. One single, solitary night, not of my choosing, but assigned by some computer program in Bentonville, Arkansas.

Last night - Wednesday - was my one night for the current week. And I stayed home. Steve and the kids headed out the door for Wednesday classes at church as I began carrying dinner dishes to the sink.

It was my choice to stay home - how I miss being at home! - but the choice wasn't made without a few pangs of guilt. I wanted to be with my family, and with my church family. But I also wanted, very much, to have the household chores checked off before a ridiculously late hour. Even more, I wanted some quiet time alone to read and think and pray. I had to make a choice - I couldn't have both - and I made the choice to withdraw to a quiet place, an empty house.

Dishes washed, laundry folded, floors swept...I took a long hot shower and then put on a kettle for tea. Finally, tea in hand, I settled in to catch up on reading J.I. Packer's Rediscovering Holiness. I was several weeks behind in the material we're covering in Sunday school.

In Chapter 4, Holiness: The Panoramic View, Packer describes several "takes" on holiness, different ways that holiness has been described or understood or practiced by Christians throughout the ages. Of the several schools of thought described, they all had one thing in common. Whether holiness was understood to be more internal (prayer, contemplation of Scripture, meditation, etc.) or more external (kindness and patience toward others, industry, self-discipline, etc.), all the views were built on the understanding that growing in holiness means growing in Christ-likeness.

Growing in holiness, therefore, involves growing in Christ-likeness in all these areas, both in the contemplative and in the acting out of this faith. This idea is not something new to me, but considering it anew last night provided such encouragement at this crazy, stressful season of my life.

I need periods of quiet. Without them, I get strung out, dis-oriented, disquiet. Yet, I have always felt somewhat guilty for needing such pauses - like, if I were physically stronger, or if my faith were greater, I would be able to take everything in stride, to walk unruffled through the muck of life. Other people don't seem to need so much rest. Some even seem to thrive on constant activity and stimulation. What's wrong with me?

So why did I feel so encouraged last night? Because I considered anew the truth that Jesus withdrew. Jesus - the God-man, my perfect Savior, the older brother to whom I desire earnestly to be conformed - Jesus Himself sought out quiet places of solitude, places of intimate communion with His Father.

What's wrong with me? Very much. But what about this weakness of needing quiet, still moments to study and think and pray? No, this weakness, felt most keenly in the frantic, crazy seasons of life, is a gift from a loving, gracious God.

But he (Jesus) would withdraw to desolate places and pray. - Luke 5:16

HALLOWEEN FUNNY

2011-11-03T08:34:00.002-05:00

"I'm going to be the Incredible Hulk. You think this is enough paint?" The ginormous, muscle-bound body builder standing at my register laid six thumb-sized tubes of green Halloween face paint on the counter. His tight T-shirt testified to the fact that, yes, he was indeed qualified to play the part.

I've already told you I was a little crazy that Saturday before Halloween. I looked at the six tubes of paint, looked up at him, looked back at the paint. "Well, that depends. Are you just going to paint your face and neck - or your whole body?"

He met my stare, the gears in his head obviously turning. "Hang on a minute...I'll be right back."

BURIED TREASURE

2011-11-02T08:13:00.001-05:00

I have sought to constrain the Holy Spirit, hiding Him away like pirate treasure in the banded, wooden casket of my heart, buried deep. Secret. Safe.

Today, instead, I would that He were as common a companion as walks each step of this mundane life with me, as familiar as air. Not secreted away, hidden, guarded, but exhaled easily and freely and naturally as breath. Exhaled into the world around me.

Not secret. Not safe.

Alive, visible, moving...moving me into that unknown, frightening, dangerous, and eternally safe place that is the will of God.

Today, Lord, disinter your treasure from the humus of my timid heart. Bring it out of darkness, to the light of day. Open the casket and circulate anew the gold that is Yours.

LONGING FULFILLED

2011-11-01T08:03:00.002-05:00

Where did we leave off yesterday....Oh, yeah, I remember.

It was Saturday morning, October 29th, and there I stood scanning groceries and cheap Halloween costumes, trying to sound sane and to not cry as I said, "Hello! How are you today?" At 4:30 that afternoon, a great horde of people - people I love and wanted so badly to fellowship with - were going to begin arriving at my house, and I wouldn't be there. Yes, the kids had cleaned up the house and the yard, but, nope, I still hadn't gotten out to buy foam cups and marshmallows and ingredients for hot chocolate and spiced cider. At 7:30, an angel choir would begin singing in the Union City Civic Auditorium - but I wasn't going to get to hear them. Sometime between 6:00 and 7:30, I would meet T---- and hand off the tickets.

My feet hurt, and my back hurt, and I was so tired that I was making all kinds of squirrelly mistakes at the register.

Yep, Saturday was NOT looking good.

Heading to the back of the store for a much-needed break, I spied my friend Melissa on the paper-goods aisle. I jogged over for a quick hug, then started crying. "I've got this, Camille. I'm on top of it..." Melissa wasn't shopping for herself. She was buying supplies for the party at my house. "Don't think another thought about it - get back to work." She hugged me again and shooed me away. What a tremendous burden she lifted off my weary shoulders! For now, I only had to worry about surviving my shift.

I finally trudged out to the car at 6:15 Saturday evening, unlocked the door and climbed into the driver's seat. Too tired and too numb to think clearly. I didn't want to go home...I didn't want to go to a concert...I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to be still and quiet. So I sat there and cried. Yep, had a full-blown pity party.

Lord, I am crashing... How do you pray when your body and your soul and your heart are so very tired, so very at the bottom? I'm not inclined to ask for signs from God, but...Lord, I need some very direct communication from You right now...

Brrrrng! I blew my nose and dug in my purse for the cell phone. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Camille, this is T----. We're at your house right now at the Reformation Party. We're getting ready to head to Union City for the concert. Where should we meet you to get the tickets?"

I really needed to be getting home. At 7:10, I found my young friends on the steps to the auditorium. They had brought a few other folks from the party, too, including my daughter Martha. "Mom, just go to the concert." Martha is bossy like that sometimes. Emotionally, I was in something like a fetal position - I needed a little bossing around. "Mom, just stay with us."

So I did.

The theme for the concert was love. The first half of the program, classical choral music from Europe. Scripture set to music. God's love for His people. Christ's love for His bride, the church. At one point, the young girl sitting next to me leaned her head on my shoulder and whispered, "Mrs. Camille, if I woke up in heaven right now, and the angels began singing, I think this is how it would sound."

"Yes, I think you're right."

For two hours, God's messengers sang love songs straight to my heart. Thank you, Lord.

When I pulled into the driveway just before 11:00 Saturday night, only one car remained from all the guests who had been at my house that evening. Steve stood at the kitchen sink, washing the last of the dishes. Thomas ran out to the coals left from the bonfire and roasted a hot dog for my late supper. A hot dog, a glass of wine, and finally bed. Whatever good or bad, wrong or right, that had transpired during that long Saturday, it was over.

Sunday morning at Grace, the singing was awesome - and that's saying a lot, coming on the heels of a Chanticleer concert! The preaching - a passionate call to consider anew the glory and majesty and sovereignty of our great God. The Lord's Supper: "What food luxurious loads the board, when at His table sits the Lord! The wine how rich, the bread how sweet, when Jesus deigns the guests to meet!" (Charles Spurgeon, Amidst Us Our Beloved Stands)

When I am bottomed out, exhausted, at my lowest, that's when I need most desperately to remember and to contemplate earnestly the great truths that God is sovereign, God is good, and He loves me very much.

This weekend, I was too tired to think, to weak to remember...so God tenderly told me again Himself.

HOPE DEFERRED

2011-10-31T08:14:00.002-05:00

When the Community Concert Association published the list of concerts for the 2011-2012 season, I was amazed to read that Chanticleer was one of the groups coming to Union City. I accidentally discovered this vocal group about 12 years ago, driving down Covington Pike one dark winter night. Actually pulled over and turned off the car's engine so that I could better hear every single note. The following day, I began a search for my first Chanticleer CD. I don't listen much to music, people - I am already auditorially overstimulated. And I never buy CD's. So let's just say, I really like this group.

Reading through the announcement in our local paper, I progressed emotionally from disbelief to excitement, to the pragmatic realization that - however awesome it was that Chanticleer would be singing in my nothing little corner of the world - well, there was no way we could afford the tickets anyway. Still, I saved the newspaper article, taped it to my kitchen cabinet, reluctant to quash the hope that maybe...

Seems we always have some kind of a fund-raiser going on in the break room at Wal-Mart. Spaghetti supper on Thursday - $3.00 a plate - all proceeds donated to Walk-of-Hope. That kind of thing. Last month (September), we had a silent auction. People donated everything from MP3 players to a collectible model of Sam Walton's pick-up truck to...What's this? Tickets? Tickets to....Chanticleer?!

I couldn't believe my eyes. And no one - NO ONE - was bidding on them. Obviously, folks around here don't know a good thing when they see it! Long story short, at the end of the week I laid one ten-dollar bill on Mrs. Paula's desk, and she handed me 6 tickets to Chanticleer and 6 tickets to hear the Carpe Diem string quartet. No, not the $60 a ticket you'd pay to hear these guys sing in New York. Six tickets plus six tickets: ten dollars. Do the math and you'll understand why I felt like God had just handed me a birthday present.

Now, if only I could be so blessed as to not be scheduled to work at Wal-Mart the evening of October 29th. Lord, do you think maybe....? Hope springs eternal in the human breast.

Fast forward a couple of weeks from the day I walked joyfully out of Wal-Mart with 12 tickets tucked miraculously in my purse. It was time to hammer out details for the annual Reformation Party hosted here at Kendallville. Usually, we have the party in lieu of Wednesday night service, last Wednesday of the month of October. This year, Saturday seemed like a better day - we could start earlier, which would allow us more daylight. More folks would probably feel free to come...wouldn't have to worry about leaving work early or about being out on a school night. Yep, Saturday definitely seemed like the better choice. But which Saturday?

Well, you guessed it. After multiple phone calls back and forth between the various parties involved in this shin-dig, the party was set for Saturday, October 29th. I spent the next week and a half doing mental gymnastics, trying to figure out how I could play hostess for a hundred people at my house AND go to the concert. Nope, didn't seem to be any way to make it work. Finally, counting down the last week to the party, I emailed a young friend who also knew and loved the music of Chanticleer. Would you guys be interested in some free tickets to Saturday's concert?

Thursday, I planned to do my grocery shopping after I got off work. Supplies for Saturday's party, for Sunday's fellowship dinner, for meals for the week ahead. Didn't happen. Friday, school and babysitting all day, work at Wal-Mart 'til 11:00, too tired to grocery shop. I got home to find all of my children still up - glad to see them, yes...but everyone was emotionally strung out, and one child in particular had some painful issues to deal with. One weepy child who needs to talk, one wild child ripping an electric guitar in the background, one child babbling pointlessly because her mouth is the only thing keeping her awake... Ever feel like you live in a zoo, Mom? It was almost 1:00 by the time I crashed into bed.

Saturday - THE Saturday - up early for a 9-hour shift at Wally World. Yes, God had allowed me to have part of the evening off - I'd be clocking out at 6:00!

If you've stuck with me this far, you probably realize that Saturday is going to be a disaster. But you'll have to read tomorrow's post if you want to know the rest of the story.

APT WORDS, PRECIOUS JEWELS

2011-10-28T08:04:00.004-05:00

I've had over half-a-dozen people come up to me this past week and unexpectedly bless me.

Towards the end of a late-night shift at Wal-Mart, the young woman pulling her bags of groceries off the carousel to place them in her shopping cart: "I really like the way you bag the groceries. Thanks! I appreciate that." Here I stood, doing a nothing kind of job, wishing I could get off my feet and home to bed. Tired, but trying to live the truth that, yes, even bagging groceries can be done to honor God. The young woman's words were life and health, and because of them I felt a little less tired.

"There is a note for you in the CSM podium." My manager whisked past as I headed to the front of the store and another night on a register. Oh, no, I thought, what have I done wrong this time? My shoulders slumped. I shifted white plastic trays until I found the dreaded note. "Camille, thank you so much for ...." In spite of all the things I've done wrong at this job, someone had noticed something I'd done right...and then taken the time to tell me. That note is now in my box of precious things.

"Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was awesome!" I don't get to hear this much any more, since I'm not often home at dinner time. All the left-overs are put away and the dishes washed by the time I drag in at night, and folks have either moved on to other activities or are already in bed. Funny how, even after almost 30 years of cooking three meals a day for other people, these words just warm my heart. There must be a little bit of Grammy in me!

"Hi, Mr. H----! How are you today?" We are only casual acquaintances, and it had been months since we last spoke. "I am so glad I ran into you today," he replied. "I just want to tell you how much I appreciate the articles you wrote recently...just what I needed to hear." My writing - through this blog, or the articles for the Messenger - are basically just vomited into a great fathomless void. Does anybody read any of this stuff? If they are, am I giving them a blessing or a curse? I feel like ET, sending signals into the dark cosmos. But then, every once in a while, a signal comes back. These rare blips on the radar screen are so humbling and encouraging and edifying - this is a big world we live in, and I yet God allows even me, every once in a while, to connect in some small way with one of His children.

All this to say, I don't know if we can truly comprehend the impact of even the smallest word of encouragement. A tiny thing, with tremendous life-giving energy. And, spoken at just the right moment to that person who, unknown to us, is feeling weary or disheartened...a word of life and light and hope.

So I challenge you today - speak life to someone. The clerk at the gas station, the mom herding small children through the grocery store, the man you pass on your afternoon walk, your pastor's wife, the teenage girl who babysits your kids. Just find someone! Speak a good word, and you'll be sowing seeds of life.

Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: but a good word maketh it glad. Proverbs 12:25

A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver. Proverbs 25:11

AUTUMN WALK

2011-10-26T09:35:00.000-05:00

I walked back to the Three Sisters yesterday afternoon...such a beautiful day to be outside. Granddaddy Kendall was mowing one of the great sleeping hills, the bush-hog whop-whop-whopping through thigh-high weeds. He was mowing because the sky was blue and the air was bright, and because he simply loves driving the tractor...but I like to think he was mowing especially for me. So much easier to walk when I don't have to goose-step over tall brambles!

In the springtime, the air is softly sweet with honeysuckle and wild roses. In summer, the fresh-bread aroma of hay baking in the sun's oven. But in fall, the scents are spicy, acidic, earthy, intense...delicious. Ripe leaf tannin, cured nettle, dried aster. And the colors? Nature is dressed for a revel!

There is an ironwood tree along the trail, back beyond the old green barn. Thomas told me about it a couple of years ago. "Ironwood? Which tree is an ironwood tree?" I asked.

Thomas explained, "Just past the gap behind the old barn, look to your left. It's on the edge of the tree line. You can't miss it - if it were an Ent, he would be totally ripped." He was right. I couldn't miss it. There stood a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, in tree form.

I haven't seen Ripped Ent all summer. He's been modestly cloaked in green draperies. But today, with all the trees riotously throwing their festival clothes off, there he stood like some buff body builder ready for a day at the snow beach. We throw off our clothes in summer heat, to better feel the slightest breeze: nature sheds her clothes in autumn, anticipating the icy winds of winter.

Acorns, acorns everywhere...the deer fatten. And the raccoons, Persimmon drunk.

FOG

2011-10-25T09:51:00.004-05:00

Normally when I look out my kitchen window in the morning, I see rolling green hills, white fence posts standing sentinel on the far edge of our property, cars passing on the highway beyond. I see all the way to the distant tree line on Mrs. Mabel's farm across the road. Sometimes I see deer, in our field or in Mrs. Mabel's. Or cows next door at Mrs. Jean's farm, black dots on the grassy pasture lining the highway just east of us. I see Jackie's roosters strutting about her yard, way up at the end of our long driveway. I see Grammy and Granddad's house, next door, and check their driveway to see if Granddad has left yet to go have morning coffee with the old men at Autry's.

Today, on this particular morning, a thick white fog pushed right up to the house, obscuring everything but the front porch and the scrawny maple sapling just outside my kitchen window. No fields. No fence. No highway. No cows or deer or roosters. No next door neighbors. Nothing but shifting, misty white.

Of course, all the big wide world was still out there. The high blue sky. The far green fields. The distant trees, painted orange and brown and yellow. The cows and the traffic and the million lives that stretch from here to the other side of the globe. It was all still out there, but I just couldn't see it. I knew the world was out there, waiting, and I knew that as the sun crept higher in the sky, minute by minute, it would slowly burn off the fog and open once again a view that stretched to the horizon.

Something about the fog makes you look. Makes you strain your eyes to see further, to see more, to bring the vague shadows lurking in the mist into sharper focus. It's like waking up with brand new eyes. Like seeing for the first time things that just yesterday had been old and familiar, and thus overlooked or taken for granted.

I can't help but think this is something like the faith journey we are on. Today, I discover anew an implication of God's grace, an aspect of His holiness, the surety of His faithfulness...something I saw so clearly just yesterday or last week or last month, but then forgot about or overlooked because it seemed so close and so familiar. Like waking from a misty haze, my heart eyes are straining to see better, to see more clearly, to see further.

And as this spiritual haze lifts, burned away by the brilliance of the the Son Himself, I realize that there are far horizons that I have yet to discover. Beyond my green pasture, another farm, another family. Beyond that, a continent of souls. Beyond that, faces and languages and customs that I can't even imagine. There is so much more to discover about God's holiness, about the gospel of Christ, about the power and influence of the Holy Spirit. And over all of that vast expanse, near and far, the Spirit of God, moving and working and dispelling the fog.

Thank you, Father, for the fog, and the rising sun, and the dissipating mist. Thank you for clouding my vision so that I can learn to see with new eyes. Thank you, Father, for the hope and the assurance that one day, these eyes will see all the way to Glory.

DARK DAY

2011-10-24T15:17:00.004-05:00

Underlying the monumental endeavor of rearing and schooling a house full of kids, there exists a constant tension. As a mom, I want to push my children to do their best, but I don't want to be overbearing. I want them to strive for excellence...but don't want them to be enslaved by perfectionism. Structure to our day and to our activities is essential...but I must not be obsessively bound to a calendar or a clock. I want to respect their personalities...but I don't want to cater to their personal sins. Add to all of this the struggles I have with my own sinfulness, my own wrong attitudes and motives.

Always, in the back of my mind, there is the question, "Am I doing what's best? Am I asking too little of my children, or am I asking too much?" This question is a thin blanket over the fear that all my prayers and good intentions and hard choices and personal sacrifices and lifelong labor are working not to build up my children and encourage them on the path to godly adulthood, but rather are warping and twisting them into self-absorbed, perverse, angry malcontents who know nothing of the holiness, grace, and mercy of God.

There are good days and bad days in this mothering journey.

What makes a particular day "good" or "bad"? Maybe it's just that today is gray and cold, whereas yesterday was warm and sunny. Maybe it's the anticipation of a fun weekend ahead, or the emotional come-down after a holiday. Maybe it's a particular day in my monthly cycle. Maybe it's that we all are well-rested and well-fed...or exhausted and due for some comfort food. Maybe it's unresolved issues with my husband, or undesirable influences of my neighbor.

So today is a bad day. Oh, we got all our schoolwork done. The laundry is caught up. Dinner is in the oven. I even got to go for a walk back on the farm - but I spent most of it crying, wondering what on earth I'm doing, and why am I doing this, and did I just totally misunderstand what I thought was God's direction in my life so many years back, and am I just screwing up all the people I love most? Praying, God help me! Make something clear! Show me what You want, and help me to obey!

What's to be done with the bad days? With the heavy emotions?

Before starting supper, I checked Facebook. A dear sister had posted this quote from Lydia Brownback as her status: "Real prayer includes letting go of your insistence on a particular answer or timing. If you have really prayed, you can simply rest and wait for God. Trust Him with your concern, and your anxiety will clear away."

Rest. Wait. Trust.

So it comes back to that again, to the Gospel. Where I have erred, Christ must redeem, in His own way and in His own timing. He died to cover my wife-ing, my mothering, my home-schooling...because I just keep smearing those precious things with sin. But, yes, I am confident that His grace is sufficient to redeem all of this.

And I must trust that His grace is sufficient to redeem the children that, as a sinful and twisted woman, I am mothering with a fallen, broken heart.

Trust. Wait. Rest.

NOT MY OWN

2011-10-21T08:08:00.004-05:00

A weekly newspaper column that I help edit is beginning a new series based on the Heidelberg Catechism. I was formatting one of the early articles, written by J.K. Jones, and was blessed to read and consider again:

Question 1: What is your only comfort in life and in death?

Answer: That I am not my own, but belong - body and soul, in life and in death - to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with His precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven: in fact, all things must work together for my salvation. Because I belong to Him, Christ, by His Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for Him.

I am free from the bondage of Self. I am not my own. Not now, not tomorrow, not in eternity. I belong to Jesus. That means I am free to release the death grip I've had on my own plans, my own goals, my own personal comfort...free to rest instead in the confidence that Jesus, my faithful Savior, has plans and purposes for me that are greater than I can imagine, plans that He will indeed accomplish. Free from the bondage of having to promote and protect myself...free instead to honor and glorify my King.

I am free from the tyranny of the devil. I have been bought by Jesus. Paid in full. The transaction is a done deal. Although the voice of my old master is too familiar in my head, I do not have to listen to him or obey him. Satan and sin are not my master. As I endeavor to leave sinful patterns behind and to walk in the holiness which honors my Master, I am learning to recognize and respond to the lovely voice of One who loves me so much that He bought me at the cost of His own life.

I am free from the fear lurking like a dark shadow around today's struggles and the uncertainties of tomorrow. God - the Sovereign creator and sustainer of the universe - knows my needs and meets them perfectly. If He brings me plenty or want, if He brings me health or pain...whatever He brings, I can rest in the confidence that He applies every single circumstance of my life, lovingly and precisely, for my good and His glory.

I am free from the struggle to maintain and live this faith on my own. Free from my own doubts and insecurities, from the frailty of my weak faith. Christ Himself kneads into me faith, and works out in me faithfulness, through His Holy Spirit. "A cord of three strands is not easily broken." Oh, the incomprehensible strength of the three strands woven together around me to secure my salvation - the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!

Set free, like one released from the darkness and stench and terror of a slave galley. Set free, like one who feels the weight of heavy chains dropping away, clanking to the ground. Set free, to walk in the life and light and love and hope of knowing and serving my great Savior.

Set free.

I am not my own - hallelujah! - I belong to Christ!

That is comfort enough for this life, for death, and for the ages to come!

HELLO

2011-10-19T07:50:00.002-05:00

I don't always have a positive attitude about my work at Wal-Mart. Out late, getting to bed at midnight or later, then up before dawn...that's hard on someone who is so very sleep dependent. School and babysitting during the day, rush to get dinner started late in the afternoon, assign evening chores, fill up my water bottle and hit the road. I hatehatehate leaving home and my family in the evening...feels like I'm always leaving.

But, this job definitely has an up side. There's the pay - not huge, but I'm grateful for it. There's the employee discount - woohoo! There's the delight of getting to know new people - my co-workers, supervisors, and even the customers who make a point of coming routinely through my line.

One aspect of my job for which I am particularly grateful is that it has made me comfortable with talking to absolute strangers. For someone who once suffered from crippling shyness, that's a really big deal! Yes, I can talk to just about anyone now.

"Hello, how are you today?" Eye contact, a smile. People are so hungry for someone to talk to. The lonely widower, the woman exhausted from caring for her invalid mother, the young dad out with the twins so his wife can have a few hours at home alone. The homesick truck driver, the chatty preschooler, the 8-year-old explaining the manufacturing defects in a rubber whale that should have baleen instead of teeth.

I can't really enter into their lives in any significant way, but for a few minutes I can listen. The ability to say "hello" and then to engage and listen, even if only for a short while, is such a gift...a sweet blessing during a long shift at the register.

"Hello." A gift for which I'm grateful. A gift that I pray I steward well.

STUFFAPALOOZA

2011-10-14T08:40:00.001-05:00

The 30-something man in the gray business suit had been standing at the end of my register for 15 minutes, talking earnestly on his cell phone. I assumed he was taking care of a bit of work-related business while his wife shopped elsewhere in the store. Suddenly, he snapped his phone shut, grabbed a CD case from the display behind him, and bolted up to my register.

Breathless, he held out a new video game, grasped firmly between his two hands. Gears of War, on sale for the great value of only $58.96. "You have no idea how badly I need this game!"

Me, the cashier, I'm a near-50-year-old mother of seven. I just don't have the mental largesse for such nonsense. I looked the young man straight in the eye: "Sir, you do NOT need this video game." (I'm also a little testy late at night after a long day of school, babysitting, and cashiering.) The fellow straightened, his eyes wide with disbelief. I continued, "You do not need this game - you want this game. And if you want it really, really badly, and if you have the money to pay for it, I will sell it to you. But let's be honest here, okay?"

He stood with his mouth open, gulping air like a grounded fish. Finally, he croaked, "That's exactly what my wife was just telling me on the phone!"

Then there was the young mother, winding up a shopping trip for her two-year-old's upcoming birthday party. Two shopping carts, full. Piled up. Grandmom pushed one buggy while Mom wrangled the other. Grandmom made some quiet protest about didn't it seem excessive, getting all this stuff for a birthday party? "You're only 2 once!" enthused Mom, unloading her cart onto the conveyor belt. Streamers, balloons, party favors, games, paper plates and napkins, snacks, presents. Her total bill? $500.03. "Yes, sir! I even nailed my budget!" Mom counted out 5 crisp one-hundred dollar bills, then dug in her purse for the remaining 3 cents, elated at her careful shopping.

I struggled against the urge to shout, "Lady, are you crazy?! $500 on a boatload of crap, for a birthday party for a 2-year old? You've got to be kidding! You think he's really going to appreciate all this?" No, that wouldn't do at all. Swallow hard, cough, "Have a great afternoon!" There, my CSM would be proud of me.

All this to say - Folks, it's only 71 days until Christmas. (In the retail world, Christmas is the axis on which everything turns.) Have you started your holiday shopping yet? No? Me neither. Let me exhort you, as Christmas draws nearer, to exercise some restraint, to infuse a little sanity into your shopping.

After working 8 months in retail, I've learned that many Americans are living a life of non-stop stuff orgy. We think we have to have, and we think more is better. And we are so very blind and deceived, missing entirely the things of eternal value in our obsession with the junk lining the shelves of our local discount store -and, like the Mom above, we're even passing our addictions on to our children.

People, step away from the giant Kiddie Combo pack of blechy candy. Step away from the gadgets and games and beeping lights. Resist the mind-numbing siren song of the marketeers.

Keep it simple. Keep it sane.

I challenge you to step back and take a deep breath...

Breathe the free air.

FULL

2011-10-13T08:46:00.003-05:00

My local church gifted me recently with a weekend in Atlanta, where I was blessed to attend the Amazing Grace 360 women's conference. Grace Pres. covered my conference fees and lodging - a HUGE gift.

But there was this little problem of how to pay for meals. For someone trying to live on a dental-floss budget, even the dollar menu at McDonald's is depressing. I was going to need enough money to cover six meals, but after paying the last of Tom's fees at university, my checking account held only $12. Strangely, I wasn't too stressed, praying just a week before we hit the road, "Jesus, I need some cash for this trip. Where will it come from?"

Less than a week before the conference, I received in the mail a check from my kids' dentist's office. "Refund for overpayment." Now, I don't pay anything for my kids' dental care except a modest co-payment. Someone had obviously made an error. I called the dentist's office and explained the situation. "I have this check, but there's been a mistake...I think this refund needs to go to the insurance company."

The receptionist on the other end of the line answered, "No, no mistake. We were reconciling our books and discovered that you overpaid on your co-payments way back in January. We're sorry we didn't catch the error earlier. The money is yours."

My throat tightened. Thank you, Jesus! I thought I was going to cry. "Wow. I can't tell you how timely this is," I explained to the receptionist.

"Well, we were excited to be able to mail you the check...we kind of felt on this end, for some weird reason, that it was something you might need just now."

Then, there was the sweet fellowship with my Grace sisters on the trip, and a reunion with one sister who moved recently from Tennessee to Georgia. Trading "How we met" and childbirth stories, sharing current struggles, laughing and joking in the car on the long ride to and from. It was like stepping from the weight and weariness of daily labor into a small patch of sunshine, a pocket of heaven.

And then there was the conference itself. Ever feel like God organized a denominational conference and assembled 2000 women especially so that He could set the stage for a personal conversation with you? I've been working through some particular things mentally of late - last weekend, it seemed that every testimony, every speaker was speaking with laser-point accuracy to the questions of my heart.

And the music? Well, with 2000 women praising God together, it seemed we stood on the very threshold of Glory.

During a break before the Indelible Grace concert Saturday evening, I received a text from my son. "Mom, Mrs. Shannon is there in Atlanta where you are." My heart did a somersault. My sister was right here in the room with me! I began walking up and down the aisles. "Hi, where are ya'll from?" How on earth could I find one woman out of 2000? Impossible. But God led me right to her! Shannon and I opted to skip the concert, heading off instead to a quiet table where we could talk. A three hour friend feast!

At midnight, when my young friend Jessica and I finally headed up to our room on the seventh floor (Jessica had joined Shannon and me after the concert), I sighed, "I am SO FULL."

"Why, what have you eaten?"

"My soul is full. My soul has feasted, and my heart is full to overflowing."

God's love toward me is not indulgent. He disciplines and refines me, and sometimes, the circumstances and trials He sends feel as though they will truly destroy me. Lord, I am undone! I cannot endure! While I honestly do not always delight in the Lord's discipline, I am grateful that He loves me enough to give me the hard stuff, to burn away the dross, to refine me.

No, God's love is not indulgent, but it is extravagant. Extravagantly displayed in the life, death, and resurrection of His Son, Jesus. Extravagantly poured out in the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. And extravagantly lavished in those sweet moments, like this weekend, when He seems to draw me all the way into the Sanctuary, where He binds my bruises, then lavishes gift upon gift, pouring sweetness and affection all over me. It's as if He says, "Put down your toiling for a while. Let us rest. Come and celebrate with me!"

ASHAMED

2011-10-11T11:07:00.006-05:00

A friend asked me recently to complete a personal assessment on her. On a scale of 1 to 10 (with 10 being you are doing very well in that area), how would I rate my friend on personal growth? on her faith? her marriage? How would I rate my friend's parenting? her friendships? how she handles her finances? How does my friend rate when it comes to impacting her community, and the world?

One difficulty I encountered in completing this assessment lay in the fact that this friend is such an extraordinary woman, a woman who has so greatly impacted my own life and faith, that I simply wanted to write, "10! 10! 10! ....." Of course, that probably wouldn't have been very helpful, and it wouldn't have given my friend anything to work with. It would have been like saying, "My friend is perfect! She's just exactly like Jesus!" (In which case, my friend would already be riding the Glory-vator to Heaven, instead of mucking about with folks like me, right?)

No, my friend is not perfect. I know that. But she is very much like Jesus. So much so, in fact, that there have been times - my kids can testify to this - times when I've stopped and asked myself, sometimes even out loud, "What would B--- do in this situation?" Sort of like the WWJD phenomenon, only more colloquial, more concrete to this feeble-sighted sister. I'm not really sure what Jesus would do in this situation, but I have a pretty good idea what B--- would do, and I know that she knows and loves Jesus.

Another difficulty I encountered was the distress I felt when I paused to think, "What if someone were asked to complete this assessment on me?" What if someone who knew me intimately sat down and truthfully rated me on my personal growth, my faith, my marriage, my parenting, my friendships, my impact on my community? I have children raised under my mothering who are struggling to live sane lives, and a marriage that is held together only by the grace of God. Yes, I feel like I am growing personally and in my faith...but through much, much brokenness. My "career"? I stand looking blankly at the road ahead of me with only questions: where does God want me to be? I'm grasping blindly for answers. My impact on my community, on the world? Maybe the equivalent of a grain of sand on a beach.

If someone assessed my life, I wouldn't be scoring any 10's, no 9's....nope, I'd be lucky to pull 3's and 4's. Just thinking about it makes me nauseated. I feel like I'm going to throw up. Now.

Ever feel totally naked, exposed, ashamed? Maybe nobody knows your personal weakness, the frailty of your faith, the selfishness of your heart, the narrowness of your vision or ministry, your absolute inadequacy to walk the path to which you've been called. Maybe nobody will ever be asked to do an assessment of you, praise God....but you know the truth. And sometimes, when you sit down and really think about it, it weighs you with such shame and guilt that you just want to puke.

I was blessed last weekend to attend a women's conference where Nancy Guthrie spoke to us from the book of Hosea. Nancy gently - but painfully - exposed the truth: I am Gomer. Sinful, willful, shameful, belligerent, insisting on believing the lies I tell myself. Maybe you don't see it, perched on the edge of my life, but I see it. I know my heart. Blech.

Thankfully - hallelujah! - Nancy also spoke to us of the God who loves just such women as Gomer. The God who pursues the Gomers of this world, woos them, even goes to market to purchase them back from slavery.

I love this encouragement from Hosea: Therefore, behold, I (God) will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her...And in that day, declares the Lord, you will call me 'My Husband'... I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord. (Hosea 2:14, 16, 19-20)

When my heart is weighed down with shame, with guilt, with frustration at my inclination to compromise, with an overwhelming sense of my own inadequacy, I have found one solace that unfailingly dispels the weight and gloom - meditating on the loveliness of my Betrothed. He loves me, and He is making all things new - my heart, my faith, my life, my relationships. Yes, I'm a mess, and there seems to be so much work yet to be done...but He has promised to faithfully complete every bit of it. He loves me.

He loves me.

And under the gaze of such wondrous love, there is no longer room for shame. There is only room for praise.

What wondrous love is this, O my soul! What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss to bear the dreadful curse for my soul!

PLAYING

2011-10-03T12:02:00.003-05:00

Martha sat down at the piano yesterday afternoon and played.

Not the Praeludium, or the Pathetique, or any of the myriad other songs she has memorized.

Not one of the songs she is currently working to master. No, no piano book on the music stand at all.

She sat down, placed her hands on the keys, stared quietly ahead for a moment, and then began playing. She felt her way up and down the keyboard, through broken chord progressions, weaving her way into and out of new melodies. No thought of where to begin, or really of where she was going. Just Martha and the piano in a beautiful, easy, elegant dialogue.

Yesterday, Martha crossed some invisible line from playing the piano, playing what was written...to simply playing. And it took my breath away. I stood in the kitchen, transfixed, straining to hear every note. My chest tightened with the weight of some inexplicable joy. My heart felt like it was dancing.

Later, yesterday evening, the writing group at Grace met in the parlor behind the sanctuary to map out our next series of articles. Martha had ridden in early with me so she could practice the hymns for the evening service - she loves every opportunity to play on the beautiful piano at the church! Tunes of familiar hymns crept softly under the door, providing lovely background music as we batted around ideas and planned and perused calendars.

As the discussion was winding down, one of our writers sat forward in his chair, tilted his head to one side, and froze mid-sentence. A pause. Then a whisper, "That is so beautiful...I love that..."

Martha was no longer playing the piano...she was playing again. Some magical synapse between her heart and her fingers and the keys and the strings.

I wonder if there is a similar synapse in this life of faith. Some leap from studying and practicing, knowing the composer, learning the "notes" and memorizing the music...to simply playing.

Playing, playing like children.

Playing like children of God.

I can't help but think that when we cross that line, our Father's heart dances.

COMPROMISED

2011-09-28T13:54:00.005-05:00

I've worked outside the home on a couple of occasions since giving birth to my first-born over 23 years ago. I'm working outside the home now, as a cashier at Wal-Mart. Part-time, an average of 25 hours a week.

And I have to say it again: When Mom works a significant amount of time away from the nest, the family is compromised. Not the identity of the family, perhaps, but the soundness of the family, the family's heart. It has something to do with the soul of the home, something I can't quite put my finger on. Trying to understand this, I feel like I'm straining to get a clear view of a shadow in my peripheral vision.

I am not writing this as a holier-than-thou stay-at-home mom who is shaking her head and clucking her tongue at all those "career-minded women who sell their children for a paycheck, " or those confused women who think that raising someone else's children or working for someone else's husband gives them more significance than pouring their talents and energy into their own families. No, I am writing this as a woman who has a family, who loves and values this family above every other earthly relationship, and who drives away from the nest every night to pull a shift at Wal-Mart.

Steve has put it this way: We are a one-income family trying to make it in a two-income economy. However you put it, the reality of trying to raise a family and the expenses that entails - even just the very basics of shelter, food, clothing - in today's economy, that almost demands the household have two-incomes. A gallon of milk is going for the "great value" of $4.28 in Union City this week. A jug of milk, a loaf of bread, and sales tax - that adds up to one hour behind the cash register. And we've got to eat, folks, even if it's not beef and fresh asparagus.

Do I enjoy my job at Wal-Mart? I like it just fine, and I work with a super bunch of people. Am I glad I have a job? Yes indeed I am. I am thankful for this job every time I swipe my employee discount card at Wal-Mart, knocking about $25 a week off our grocery bill. I'm thankful for this job when I pump gas into the car. I'm thankful for this job today, as I write out a check for the last payment for the fees for Tom's classes at the UTM. Hallelujah!

Is my working outside the home a good thing? Yes.

And No.

My husband and my children no longer get the best of me. Oh, they get the best of me that's left now that I'm running on six hours of sleep a night. Yes, they get the good dinner I put in the oven before I left for work...but they don't have me at the table, participating in the conversation and laughter. They get me less stressed about some of the financial issues...but more stressed about how to juggle schedules. They get me struggling to wake up in the morning and hurrying to get everything done before I leave in the evening.

Women who have never worked outside the home would, I think, have difficulty imagining the thousand small and not-so-small stresses their working sisters shoulder, stresses that inevitably seep out into the life of the family. Likewise, women who have never dedicated themselves to staying at home full-time cannot conceive the thousand small and not-so-small benefits of this more centered lifestyle. All this to say...

This life sure can be hard sometimes!

I know as I write this that some woman will read what I've written and write in defense of her decision to work outside the home, or in defense of her friend. She'll tell me that she really can have the best of both worlds, do it all and do it all excellently. And I can tell you now - she's wrong. She's believing a lie. She may be juggling two worlds without dropping and smashing either, but she is not giving either world her best.

Someone else will read this and say, "That's why I stay home," smugly implying that because she doesn't work outside the home, she must love her family more than the woman who does work. That is a lie, too. While many career women are no doubt motivated in their work by purely selfish reasons, I think many more are working precisely because they do love their families, love them sacrificially.

Wouldn't it be awesome, ladies, if each of us could do it all, could be Wonder Woman?

But, then again, Wonder Woman didn't nurse babies. Even with super-human powers, maybe she understood that she just couldn't do both and still pretend to be a super hero.

ALEXANDER'S SISTER

2011-09-19T08:50:00.004-05:00

"I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day! I think I'll move to Australia." Such was my reply when asked how I was doing as I arrived at a ladies' Bible study Saturday morning.

It had been a l-o-n-g week. Late nights at Wal-Mart, along with a few rather distressing incidents while on-the-clock. Not enough sleep, partly because there just aren't enough hours between midnight and 6:00 am to get well-rested, partly because I haven't been able to breathe through my nose for almost three weeks and a person just can't sleep soundly if she's breathing through her mouth. (Amazing how Sahara dry your tongue, cheeks, palate, and throat become - Cough! Choke! Gack!) By the time I flopped into bed Friday night, I was bone-weary, half-way sick, and frustrated at my inability to juggle all the things I needed to handle.

Saturday was going to be my one and only day to sleep late, to hopefully catch up on some badly needed rest. Maybe after a good night's sleep, the world would be a brighter place.

I awoke to banging in the kitchen, a sliver of light falling through the cracked bedroom door. The clock glowed 5:21. Who is up at this ungodly hour? I groaned. Maybe one of the kids was sick... I should probably go check. I stumbled into the kitchen to find two boys decked head-to-toe in camouflage. They were rustling up some breakfast. "What's up guys?"

"We're going dove hunting...wanted to get out in time for the sunrise."

"Oh." Normally, if I know an early morning hunting trip is in the plans, I'll hear the pre-dawn shuffle in the kitchen and then just roll back over and go to sleep. But I hadn't gotten the message about Saturday's dove hunt. So here I stood, a little more than halfway awake, wondering if it would be worth the effort to try to rediscover the delicious refuge of deep sleep. You know how it is - once you're awake, you just kinda flop around in the bed, dozing a little, on and off, but not really resting.

I stumbled back to bed.

I was in one of those gray fuzzy places that is Almost Sleep when Steve rustled. "Time for me to get up if I'm going to get Martha to Martin on time." Martha was participating in Agape House's Walk of Life Saturday morning. Steve rolled out of bed and hit the shower. Where he started singing. It's a good thing that the man sings in the shower - but I wasn't very happy about it Saturday morning. I was glad he was happy and felt like singing...but I was angry that I still wasn't getting to catch up on sleep, on my one day to sleep in late. I pulled the blankets over my head.

Thirty minutes later, I gave up the battle for sleep. Anyway, I needed to make muffins and review my lesson for the ladies' brunch. As I pulled a pan of muffins from the oven, my dove hunters returned, chatting excitedly about their morning's success. In the bubble of conversation, Nate commented that Jake would be getting to the house around 10:00.

"What?!" I asked. "Jake's coming? Today?"

"Yeah. Remember, I told you a couple weeks ago that Jake was going to come up one day so we could site in some rifles together."

"Well, I remember you mentioning it, but I didn't know you had a definite date lined up."

"Yeah. He and Mrs. Donna are coming up today. They should be here in about half an hour."

"But I won't be here!" I wailed. Donna is my sister, and few things feed my soul like time spent in her presence. Here, all of a sudden, I learn that Donna is making the hour drive to my house and that I won't be here to see her. I was mad at my son for not giving me the details of his plans sooner. I was frustrated with myself - what kind of "hostess" has house guests, but isn't home to receive them? I was mad because I felt robbed - it was like knowing the sun would be shining on this particular hill for a few hours, while I was on another hill somewhere in my gray, weary world. I did not leave the house in a very good mood.

Then, I spilled coffee all over myself on the way out of the driveway. And the fuel light came on in the car. And I still couldn't breathe.

As we settled into our study at Laura's house, Ginny asked me to read the first part of our Scripture passage. (Maybe she sensed that I needed to say these words out loud to myself!) "And now, little children, abide in him, so that when he appears we may have confidence and not shrink from him in shame at his coming...See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are...Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is..." (from 1 John 2 and 3)

We were reminded Saturday morning of our own desperate brokenness and need; of Christ's sufficiency and loveliness; of God's great, unfaltering love for His children; of His sustaining, life-transforming presence and power as we labor to walk as His children.

I was still tired when I pulled away from Laura's house. I still had an afternoon full of too much to do and a night at Wal-Mart ahead of me. But I wasn't as tired when I pulled away as when I had arrived.

There is rest...and then there is Rest.

BEAN AND CHICKEN SOUP

2011-09-15T16:11:00.003-05:00

I first tasted this delicious soup at a friend's house. She shared the recipe with me: white beans, chicken, onions, Rotel tomatoes, evaporated milk, 3 tablespoons ground cumin, and 1 tablespoon basil flakes. How's that for specific measurements! This friend is accustomed to cooking for crowds, and commented that the recipe can be expanded as needed by adding extra beans, chicken, broth, or whatever to make it stretch the ratios/proportions are pretty much up to you.

My girls asked if we could have this soup for supper one night this week, so a pot is simmering on the stove as I type. How nice of the weather to turn off cooler just in time for a steaming bowl of spicy soup! Smells so good - I love cumin.

Here's the basic recipe, with measurements I've created over time. (Although tonight, I'm out of evaporated milk - substituting cream instead. Also, instead of using canned white beans, I soaked a pound of dried white beans overnight and then cooked them earlier this afternoon before adding to the soup pot. If you like a little more heat, add an extra can of Rotel. Obviously, this recipe can handle your personal variations!)

Katherine's Bean and Chicken Soup

3 bone-in chicken breast halves
4 15-oz. cans of white beans (great northern beans)
1 can Rotel tomatoes with green chilis
2 large cans evaporated milk
2 medium onions, diced
3 Tbsp. ground cumin
1 Tbsp. dried basil leaves

Cover chicken breasts with water; bring to boil; reduce heat and simmer until tender. Cool. Remove meat from bones and shred; save the broth. In soup pot, saute onions in a little butter or oil until translucent. To softened onions, add chicken, reserved broth, white beans, and tomatoes. Simmer. About twenty minutes before serving, add cumin and basil. Stir evaporated milk into soup just before serving.

I love this soup because it is spicy and creamy - a wonderful combination. Usually, we have mostly liquid left over in the pot after we've dished out bowls of soup for dinner. I save the liquid and add another can of beans for my lunch the next day.

HI-CARB DIET

2011-09-13T08:06:00.003-05:00

Pancakes for breakfast this morning - Yum!

I'm on a high-carb diet, and, man, is it working. Amazing how quickly my jeans have become uncomfortably tight!

When I get home from Wal-Mart at 11:30 or 12:00 at night, I'm really not in the mood for a normal dinner. Blech. So I just kinda fumble around the kitchen grabbing whatever sounds good until I decide that sleep is a bigger issue than food. Friday night, for example - Martha had made some super-scrummy bread, so I had a slice of that, with butter of course. Something hot would be good, so I heated up a bowl of leftover rice. I love rice...could eat it every day. And I had a beer - that's my country girl alternative to Lunesta. Then, I went to bed and fell into a sound sleep, while all those carbs spent the night permanently attaching themselves to my behind and my middle.

Other random thoughts....

Thomas bought an amplifier for his electric guitar last week. He also discovered Chuck Berry last week. (Mr. Berry now joins a long list of favorites, which includes ZZ Top, ACDC, Muddy Waters, Shinedown...) The house is rocking.

Tom also got his driver's license last week, and now drives himself to classes at Martin each day. Can you say FREEDOM?! I have learned over the years that if I would be slack or lazy in praying, God allows finds a way to spur me to diligence and fervor.

The coffee fast is OFF. No, I'm not back to half a pot or more a day, but I do drink one or two cups in the morning. Seems to be the only way I can get back on my feet after six hours or less of sleep. Zombies - everyone thinks they're after brains. Nope. It's coffee they want.

I met an old man at Wal-Mart last night who had lost his wife Helen back in April. "My youngest is named Helen," I told him. With no one in line behind him, he stood at my register for a long time, telling me about his wife's illness, the long hospitalization, the trips back and forth to Jackson. He had tears in his eyes the whole time he talked. I'm so glad he shared his Helen with me.

With the milder weather we've been enjoying lately, Martha decided to do her math outside on the front lawn one day last week. She spread a blanket under our one tiny tree (it's name is Elmer), sprawled on her belly, and opened her math book. I looked out the kitchen at one point and had to laugh - the cat was sprawled next to Martha on its back, furry belly exposed to the cool breeze. Three chickens pecked in the grass nearby. Every few minutes, one of the hens would meander onto the blanket, and Martha would push it back off into the grass without even looking up from her book. Gotta love life in the country!

I'm currently participating is a scientific research project. Med schools, doctors' offices, high school science labs,...these all need models of various parts of the human body. Of course, real bones and real organs, etc., would be rather pricey. How to mass produce such models in a cost effective way? Well, the inside of my skull was filled with a thick mixture, somewhat like wet cement, which has since solidified to form a perfect mold of my sinus cavities. When we can figure out how to remove the cast of my sinuses without having to break my skull open, we'll be in business! In the meantime, I can't breathe and am beginning to suffer symptoms of oxygen deprivation. [Yes, Dad, I took the Wal-dryl...but then I passed out at the kitchen table during Helen's math lesson. :( ]

What's going on in your neck of the woods?

WELL-TUNED

2011-09-09T07:43:00.003-05:00

Mr. Slack came and tuned our pianos Wednesday. (Yes, pianos. We have two - a blonde and a brunette. How we came to have two pianos is a story for another post.) Mrs. Linda, the girls' piano teacher, had asked Mr. Slack to drive down from Kentucky to tune her multiple pianos, and she wanted to line up as many other jobs as possible to make his trip worthwhile. I knew our pianos hadn't been tuned for several years and that they were probably a little "off," so I signed up for a visit from Mr. Slack. Anyway, he pulled out his tools, sat down at first one piano and then the other, and because twisting pegs. It took Mr. Slack right at two hours to get the job done.

Funny thing is, I didn't think they were particularly out of tune in the first place. Boy was I wrong.

I'd never heard so much creaking, cracking, and string-stretch groaning come from a piano before. Mr. Slack plodded along, adjusting string after string. Not only did he bring each string to pitch, he corrected a few other technical problems - a note here that struck particularly "hard," one here that tended to strike muted and too soft. Those pianos sound like completely different instruments today.

My girls love playing the piano, whether it's in tune or not. They even love practicing. Martha sits at the piano for well over an hour every day, working through song after song. Wednesday afternoon after Mr. Slack left, Martha sat down at the keyboard and fingered through a few scales and chord progressions. She paused. She sat back on the bench, closed her eyes, and breathed a sigh of delight. Then, her back straightened, she leaned forward, and her fingers pressed ecstatically into a song that ripped up and down the keys.

I hadn't realized how bad the pianos had sounded, but once they'd been tuned, I became acutely aware of just how far off-pitch they had both become. And suddenly, I understood the joy of hearing music as it should be.

In my read through the Bible, I am currently in Proverbs and in 2 Corinthians. Over and over, I am encouraged to seek wisdom, to receive reproof, to learn from correction, to forsake folly, to disdain self-promotion. To grow beyond needing just milk, to savoring meat. To rest in Christ's sufficiency, not my own. To find my identity in Christ. To experience the joy of God's presence through a life lived in faith and obedience to His Word. As I read, I learn what is the pure, clear music of a life lived in and for Christ, and I become uncomfortably aware of how "off-pitch" my own heart is.

At Grace on Wednesday nights, we're working through a study on evangelism by Will Metzger, Tell the Truth. (You can get a copy of this excellent book here.) Mr. Metzger hands out some tough assignments. In one appendix, he invites readers to do a self-analysis: Am I broken, or unbroken? It is those who are truly broken, who see their need for and dependence on the Gospel, who can then joyfully, boldly, and effectively communicate the Gospel to others. He asks, "Do you dare to look inside yourself?" Then, he lists and contrasts characteristics of people who are broken or unbroken. Reading through that list exposed how very badly "out of tune" with the Gospel my own heart is prone to be.

Do I have a critical spirit, looking at my own faults with a telescope but at the faults of others with a microscope? Or am I compassionate and forgiving, looking for the best in others?

Am I independent and determined to be self-sufficient? Or am I truly dependent on Christ and the ministry of the body? Do I recognize others' needs?

Am I self-protecting of my time, rights, and reputation? Or am I self-denying?

Do I desire to be a success? Or do I desire to be faithful to make others a success? To advance myself, or to promote others?

Do I feel confident in how much I know? Or am I humbled by how much I have to learn?

Am I self-conscious? Or do I have no concern with self at all?

Do I keep people at arm's length? Or am I willing to take the risks of loving intimately?

Do I deal in generalities when confessing my sin? Or do I deal with specifics?

The list goes on and on and on. Ouch.

It is good for my soul to consider what is good and right and true - whether through reading Scripture, or through the wise counsel of a fellow believer - and it is good for me to be made aware of how far my heart strings still need to be stretched before they sing in tune with my Master's heart. Lots of creaking, popping, and groaning in my own heart at present, but also the awareness that this painful tuning process is to a good and glorious end: under the Father's hand, all shall be made right. And I shall spend eternity praising my King and my Saviour...beautifully.

DISCERNING PALATE

2011-09-05T11:17:00.003-05:00

Emily's cheesecake. Her dark, velvety, decadent devil's food cake. Reuben and Martha's caramel pie. Mom's dutch apple pie. Grammy's chocolate chess pie. Helen's brownies.

On the very rare occasion that I get to eat out at a restaurant, I have no difficulty turning down dessert. When you've got desserts this fantastic at home, everything else is doomed to be a disappointment. The lemon icebox pie that everyone raves about at the local diner? Eeeeew. The chocolate lava cake at our one upscale restaurant? Gooey, but where's the chocolate intensity? Where desserts are concerned, my family has spoiled me. Home-made truly is as good as it gets. And once you've had the good stuff, everything else is just a waste of calories - may be pretty on the plate, but it will be flat on the palate.

Not entirely unlike worship.

Yesterday evening, J.K. introduced a new hymn to our congregation - "O Thou That Hear'st When Sinners Cry." Familiar tune, new words. Rich, savory, soul-edifying words. Six verses, and it was a delight to sing them all. Glancing at the bottom of the page, I wasn't surprised to discover this was another jewel penned by the master hymn writer Isaac Watts, a man peculiarly gifted at setting deep theological truths to music. Taste this stuff, and singing "Shine, Jesus, Shine" suddenly feels more like a Pop Tart binge.

The Word of God, preached clearly, boldly, unapologetically. Some of it encouraging, some of it sobering; some driving us to brokenness and repentance, other passages, to doxology. All of it ringing with the majesty and holiness and glory of God, with the great mercy He has shown us in Christ, with the claim and the high calling He has placed on each of us as His children. Rich, savory, soul-edifying preaching and teaching. Taste this stuff, and "Your Best Life Now" takes on the flavor of a bologna sandwich, without the mustard...may satisfy a craving, but it doesn't provide any substantial nourishment.

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it (Proverbs 22:6). I heard it explained once that the language used in this passage referred to "touching the palate." In other words, a Hebrew mother would take a small amount of soft food and touch it to her young child's palate, thus developing in him an appetite for certain kinds of food, an appetite and a preference that would continue with the individual throughout his life. Given the strict dietary regulations and the necessity of being able to distinguish between clean and unclean foods, it's easy to see why this would be an important part of a Hebrew child's education.

O, that God would give us, His children, discerning palates, that we would be satisfied with nothing less than knowing Him as He has revealed Himself in his Word. With nothing less than worshiping Him with all our hearts and souls and minds and strength. O, that we would be satisfied with nothing less than Himself.

A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN

2011-09-02T08:20:00.005-05:00

Questions couples should ask each other if they are considering marriage:

*Does the toilet paper dispense from over the roll or under the roll?
*Do you squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube or from the middle?
*Do you roll socks before folding them together, making a tight ball, or do you just fold them over into a loose tube?
*What kind of emotions does the "E" on your car's gas tank trigger in you?
*Do you consider an iron an essential household appliance?
*Do you prefer having all of the lights in the house On or Off?
*Is the opening day of deer season a significant day on your calendar, trumping any other family or church-related event?
*Do you consider vegetables an essential part of a healthy diet? Do you like vegetables?
*Red wine - room temperature, or slightly chilled?
*Do you sleep better in a dark, quiet room, or do you prefer some kind of soft light and a radio playing in the background?

When Steve and I first married, I thought we were so much alike. Two peas in a pod. We could never possibly disagree on anything, because we had the same likes and dislikes, the same values, the same quirks and preferences. A marriage made in heaven.

Boy, was I wrong! We both had a lot to learn from each other!

Nowadays, Steve always puts the toilet seat down after using the restroom. Me, I've learned to scrape the butter from the top of the stick instead of slicing a pat from the end. Nowadays, Steve turns his socks right-side-out before putting them in the laundry, and I don't get majorly freaked out by laundry piled in the floor.

How long did this learning to live together take us? Well, we're still working on it. And that's at 27 years and counting.

Yes, we get frustrated with each other. Sometimes, downright angry. We sometimes hurt each other's feelings, neglect each other's needs, disregard each other's concerns or preferences. But we are committed to this relationship and believe that, even with all of life's annoyances and trials, this marriage has real value, both now and for eternity. The value of the work that God is doing in each of us through the vehicle of marriage is huge compared against the bumps and scrapes and bruises of life together.

I do not always love my husband like I should. I do not love my children perfectly, either. My church family - do I always get it right there? Nope. And you know what? None of these people love me perfectly, either. But by God's grace, we are learning what it means - a little at a time, day by day - to have and to extend and to live the love of Christ.

I did not know 27 years ago that Steve's tendency to stack papers here and there would get on my nerves. (Me, I'm a "Don't pile it - file it" girl. Well, I used to be!) I did not know that closet doors left slightly ajar could be so offensive. But I did know that I loved that red-headed man. And I still do. My learning to live with the piles and cracked doors has been part of my learning to live with and to appreciate a unique individual.

My kids...this one has guns and hunting gear crammed in every nook and cranny. That one plays his music louder than I prefer. Another tapes things all over the walls. One writes notes all over her arms, like a grocery-list tattoo. One takes waaaay too long in the bathroom on Sunday morning. They are not like me - but they are beautiful, and I am learning to love and enjoy them. Because I'm their Mom, and I'm in this for the long-haul.

What about my church family? Am I committed to the local body of believers? Susie talks too much, and I think Sally dresses immodestly. Sam turns every single conversation into something heavy and theologically challenging - Lighten up, buddy! I don't think Stuart and Sarah control their kids very well - Can't you get them to sit still and be quiet? Shane sings too loudly and too slowly and drags the music down. Sharon always has way too many prayer requests. And Sandra, her life is all one great huge drama after another - exhausting!

It would be tempting to think, "I want to find a church where people are more like me. Where people look and act and think like I think they should...like I want them to act." But that's not what this faith is about. Christ didn't save me so that I could be a member of a family that would make me comfortable, that would meet my expectations, that would conform to my preferences. He made me a member of His family, where I can learn from and teach my brothers and sisters - not because we are exactly alike, but because we are unique individuals, with unique perspectives, experiences, and personalities. I've learned over the years: if I'm too comfortable at church/with my church family, I am probably not growing.

So what holds this messy, mixed-up family of faith together? Christ. He's in it for the long haul. He knows - and He is teaching me - that this body of believers, the church, has value way beyond my personal comfort, my likes and dislikes. Am I committed to my local church even through change and growth, through bumps and bruises? By God's grace (Help me, Jesus!), Yes. Because this truly is a marriage made in heaven.

SOLOMON'S NURSERY

2011-08-31T07:34:00.005-05:00

Psalm 126 encouraged me greatly Monday morning. Also that morning, I read Psalm 127. Short. Only five verses. Maybe because I was/am so tired, I got kind of tickled reading through this Psalm. (Did I mention that my brain gets oober-squirrely when I'm tired?)

"What's so funny about Psalm 126?" you ask.

First, remember that it was written by a man who had close to a thousand wives and concubines. And I think it's safe to assume that from that great harem of women came a plethora of children. Lots and lots of babies.

Remember the baby days, moms? The middle-of-the-night feedings? The all-night flu bugs? (How many sets of sheets can a child go through in one night?) Trying to catch up on reading, chores, etc., after the baby is finally in bed for the night, only to find yourself moving in a zombified daze? Waking up in the gray morning light with a drooling toddler standing right next to your head, staring into your face?

And Solomon wrote these two verses in succession: It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep. Behold children are a heritage of the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward...

Anyway, that particular juxtaposition hit my funny bone Monday morning. Had me chuckling to myself all day.

So, moms, do you think Solomon spent much time in the nursery?!

WEEPING

2011-08-29T08:18:00.004-05:00

I seem to have a chronic case of Tired these days...can't remember the last time I didn't feel like I needed some rest, both physically and emotionally.

When some folks get tired, they get sappy - everything seems very silly, a cause for laughter. Some get crabby. Some slip into Zombie mode. Me, I tend to progress from befuddled, to quiet, to weeping. When I'm really tired, just about anything will make me cry.

So I've been crying a lot lately. Which can be very frustrating. A friend says, "Hello!" I cry. Their cheerful expression changes to a look of great concern. "What's the matter?" No, no one in my family died this week. No, I have not been diagnosed with some terrible illness. Really, I'm just tired.

My church family at Grace can testify to this perverse tendency. Sunday morning is the low point/high point of my week. I drag into Sunday morning service with an empty tank...except for the tears. But I walk out with a heart that is full, strengthened, encouraged, not so overwhelmed by thoughts of the week ahead.

I missed worship at Grace yesterday, and am already wondering how on earth I'll shoulder the responsibilities of a new week. No matter how I needed or desired the blessing of corporate worship, I just didn't want to spend another Sunday morning falling apart all over my sisters and brothers. (Yes, Teresa, I'm still battling that pride monster....grrrr!) I wanted to be all alone with my Father instead.

After the kids left for church, I spent a good hour and a half on the front porch swing. A cup of coffee, a cool breeze, and God's Word. It was like taking a long "bubble bath" in the Bible...much better medicine for a weary soul than anything Calgon can offer!

Then, a long walk back on the farm...hadn't gotten out for a walk all week. The trees looked so fresh; the fields smelled so delicious! This wasn't my typical 40 minutes/4 hills workout. No, this was a slow, I'm-in-no-rush-to-get-home kind of hike. Back to the Robin Hood Tree, the Cowboy Hideout, the Great Hall, up the creek, around to visit the Three Sisters, down through Narnia, up to the old fallen-down barn...

I prayed, and listened, and thought. Let my mind run down insane rabbit trails, so that it could put a burden down at the end of each one before coming back around to more prayer.

It was a very good Sunday morning. A private mini-retreat. A Sabbath rest.

I'd like to say the day ended in such glorious sunshine, but, no, it ended in shadow and more tears. Had to claim again the promise that, in God's economy, not a single tear is wasted. He has good purposes in all the circumstances of my life.

Still reading through the Bible. This morning, found myself in Psalm 126. Coincidence? I think not. Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him! (v. 5-6)

Nope, not a single tear is wasted. God has a good purpose for each one. A purpose that, ultimately, leads to joy. A good word, a sweet Providence on Monday morning for a weary woman prone to weeping.

HERE COMES FALL

2011-08-26T07:52:00.004-05:00

The clock glowed a blue "6:35."

Why did I oversleep so long?! I bolted out of bed and raced to the shower, praying the baby wouldn't arrive before I had dressed.

It stays darker later in the mornings now. Used to, the sun was already washing the sky by 5:30. Now, the sky stays sleepily gray until after six. And the sun is setting earlier, too...seems the parking lot at Wal-Mart grows black much too quickly.

Fall is coming.

Our high temperatures for this week are predicted to be only in the upper 80's. No 90's. No 100's. And folks have stopped talking about the heat index. Nighttime? We're looking for the mid-60's. Feels delightful outside in the morning and early evening!

School. The rush to buy notebooks and backpacks is over, and all the local kids are settled back into their school routines. My older boys are back on campus for fall semester. Those of us at home are clicking through math and grammar and World History.

Two of my boys have been busy recently working on deer stands and practicing with their bows. How many days until deer season opens?! Dove season begins next week - I sold a case of shotgun shells to a fellow last night who was stocking up for opening day.

Reuben planted turnip greens in the garden last week, and harvested the last of the summer honey.

It's not too hot outside to split wood.

The hens are going to bed earlier, sleeping in later. (Wish I were a chicken!)

The sky is a washed-out blue, like it's been faded by the summer sun. The air is cooler and softer and less dry.

I don't really think about how white my legs are anymore.

Martha mentioned hot chocolate yesterday, and a bowl of soup or chili sounds great for dinner.

Everything furry is suddenly frisky - the cat, calves, the horses, even the squirrels in the trees behind the house.

The sassafras trees are beginning to turn. One red leaf here, another there, among a thousand dark green ones.

The corn is drying into yellow-brown stalks. Soon, combines will be running around the clock.

A new lineup of Bible studies and classes at church!

The county fair has come and gone, and the high school football season is officially under way.

Mums, pumpkins, apples, cider.

This year is positively racing by!

BRIGHT STAR

2011-08-23T07:21:00.005-05:00

Long, long ago in a land far, far away, there lived a young couple who desperately longed to have a child...

Married just over three years, Steve and I decided it was finally time to expand our family. What an exciting, fearful, joyous, earth-shaking decision, to take that leap from "not yet" to "Now!"

What we didn't know - like many young couples - was that getting pregnant wasn't as simple as we'd thought. It would take more than just desire and a romantic evening. Month after month, the red flag of disappointment. Sigh! Would we ever have children?

Graciously, God gave us wise friends, friends who had faced and who were facing similar disappointment. "What do we do?" I asked Pam. "Well, I can tell you this - your doctor won't even talk to you about infertility problems until you've been unable to conceive for at least a year. You just have to keep trying." Then, she shared some practical tips from her doctor.

I went shopping for boxer shorts for Steve, instead of briefs. We drank copious amounts of orange juice. We learned about basal thermometers and calendars and "scheduling." Month after month, no baby.

We were living at the Naval Air Station in Corpus Christi at the time. I still remember base housing, the stark white walls and glass-bright linoleum floors. And I distinctly remember the time I contracted a flu bug that made me incredibly sleepy. Three days straight, I got out of bed in the morning to see Steve off, then immediately crashed on the living room couch where I slept until he returned from work. Then, after struggling through dinner, I moved like a slug through the evening before shuffling off early to bed. I simply could not wake up.

"I think you need to see a doctor," Steve commented on the evening of day three. "Something seems to be really wrong."

The morning of day four, I felt a little better. We decided to get out for some fresh air while I felt capable of walking. Steve waited for me at the front door. "You sure you feel okay?"

"I feel fine," I assured him. Then, without any warning, I threw up all over the entry hall.

I threw up almost every single day after that for nine long months.

Back in those days, an ultrasound showed little more than a red blinking light on a dark screen - the baby's heartbeat. Month after month, that blinking light produced in me an indescribable euphoria. At last, a baby!

Aside from my being green and nauseous for nine months and having to forcefully gag down food that wanted all-too-much to come right back up (ever had to eat tuna or peanut butter, on doctor's orders?), my pregnancy went well. And the delivery? Well, after walking through a couple hours of contractions in the wee hours of the morning, Steve and I headed to Hardee's for breakfast - me, I had a plain biscuit and Sprite. Wanted something "safe," in case this was the real thing.

My OB's office opened at 9:00. We drove over to have him confirm that this truly was labor. He smiled, sent us to Onslow Memorial Hospital, and shortly after noon, baby Emily made her debut in the world.

You know that passage in Psalms that talks about being knit together in a mother's womb? When they handed me that baby - the baby we thought we would never have - it was as if my hand, for a moment, for a split-second, brushed the hand of God. God Himself was handing me that red, squalling infant.

I had never seen anything so beautiful.

Twenty-three years later, with six additional kids (isn't God funny sometimes?!), I still get a lump in my throat when I consider what a beautiful, amazing, priceless gift God gave me in Emily.

We've been through some really hard times lately, Emily and me. Hard battles, difficult conversations. Sometimes, I think we lose sight of the fact that the enemy we are fighting is Satan and sin, and not each other. But when Emily is sitting at the counter quietly working a crossword puzzle, I look at her and am struck anew with the beauty of this young woman.

She moves like a fairy. She draws cartoons that crack me up and writes poetry that breaks my heart. She loves her sisters and brothers and her husband in a thousand sparkling ways. She makes gargoyle faces when you compliment her, sings silly songs and dances with the baby, draws Sharpie tattoos down her arms and her legs, falls asleep in Sunday school.

What about the one that is missing, Dennis?

That one is a bright star that is sometimes almost too radiant, too glorious, too weighty to hold. The first of God's most precious gifts. A reminder every day that God heard the prayer, long ago and far away, of a young woman's heart, and answered that prayer in a way more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.

That one is precious because she is Emily.

SUNNY DAY

2011-08-22T07:40:00.002-05:00

Working three jobs - Mom/teacher/home-maker (wait, that's three right there), babysitter, and cashier - I find lately that I am usually very tired and more than a little strung out. Feels like I have fuzz for brains. Okay, quick side note: if you think most cashiers at Wal-Mart are dim-witted ninnies who can't process even the simplest tasks, RETHINK. Perhaps they are simply exhausted. You try operating day after day, week after week, on six hours or less of sleep. I appreciate these weary people so much more today than I did six months ago!

Okay, back to our original programming...

Anyway, I find that I am learning to appreciate even more the small bits of sunshine that manage to break through the fog of this current way of living. (I'm also finding that I have less and less patience with and tolerance for the unnecessary and self-produced clouds of smoke and darkness that occasionally pop up, in myself and in others. Got some real issues? Let's talk. Just in a bad mood and want to spout negativity? I'm not the girl you want to unload on.)

So this Saturday...WHAT A SUNNY DAY!

After several nights of getting into bed after midnight, I didn't know if I'd have it in me to get up and drag myself to our ladies' study Saturday morning. Managed to auto-pilot it over to Gaye's with Martha and Helen along, their bright conversation pulling me out of my sleepy stupor. What a blessing to study God's word with sisters in Christ! Ever felt, at a group study or during a Sunday morning sermon, that God was talking directly to you? Like He gathered all those people together just so that you, in the midst of the crowd, could hear a particular, precise word from Him? That was our study in 1 John Saturday morning. Yes, I was still tired when we pulled away from Gaye's, but I was also greatly strengthened and encouraged. God is so very good!

Then, arrived back at the house to discover that my four young men had taken it upon themselves that morning to pick up the house, sweep and mop the floors, clean the bathrooms, start the laundry, and mow the yard. "We knew you were tired and that you had to work tonight, so we decided to knock all this stuff out while you were gone," one son explained. That's some serious Sunshine! Yes, this Momma felt loved!

Here are a few other bursts of light from Saturday -

Martha and Helen finding they had some free time on their hands. "Let's do something fun." "Yeah." "I know, let's go sit on the swing and talk!" So they fixed drinks and snacks and headed for the front porch. Their laughter and conversation bubbled inside, where I was working in the kitchen. I love the way these girls love each other!

I headed out for a walk on the farm (that is sunshine in and of itself). On the porch, I found Reuben and Benjamin sitting cross-legged among an assortment of tools, nails, and wooden slats. Ben was helping Reuben construct a new super for his bee hive. I love the way these boys help one another!

Back from my walk, I discovered Tom and Nate fighting to clear a western town of outlaws. "Hey, cover my back! These guys are tearing me up!" Okay, I admit - I do not like the PlayStation at all. Not one bit. But, I love hearing my children laugh together!

And that was just Saturday. Sunday - feast day! - was still to come.

THE JOY OF BATTLE

2011-08-20T15:00:00.004-05:00

I think I am just beginning to understand, perhaps the tiniest bit, the joy of battle. JOY. "They sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them..." - is this not the call of the Christian?

From our ladies' study this morning:

Many Christians look for some secret to make their lives free from struggle, but no such secret exists. The Christian life is always a battle. If people don't realize this and fruitlessly wait for the fighting to abate, they will either think that God is not faithful (since He is not providing an end to the struggle), or that they are doing something wrong. Either way, such persons will be continually frustrated....Only people who look reality right in the face and realize that they are engaged in a lifelong war against their sin, the world, and the Devil will live the Christian life with zest. It is in this reality that we apply the gospel, resting and rejoicing in Christ's sacrifice.....Struggle changes us, preparing us to live in God's presence.....the battle belongs to the Lord. - Tim Keller, study notes on 1 John

Reminded me of this post from back in December 2010:

RIDING HARD TO GLORY
December 10, 2010

I am halfway through the third book of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings - I am going to hate for this story to end.

Last night, I read of the fall of Theoden on the fields of Pelennor and of the fall of Denethor in the tomb of his father. Could the deaths of two men be any different?

Against the evil forces of Mordor, each was faced with certain annihilation. As the day of battle dawned before the gates of Gondor, both Theoden and Denethor understood that they would not see another sunrise. But consider how each faced death....

Theoden, king of the Rohirrim, rode into battle - rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before: "Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered, a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!"

Hours later, as Theoden lay dying on the gore-strewn field, his last words were: "My body is broken. I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed....A grim morn, and a glad day, and a golden sunset!"

Eomer, to whom Theoden had given the charge to rule the Rohirrim, honored his fallen king thus: "Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing. To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking: Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!" Tolkien writes of Eomer, And then wonder took him, and a great joy; and he cast his sword up in the sunlight and sang as he caught it..." Having paused to consider his fallen king - his example in life and in death - Eomer passionately led yet another charge against the terrible army opposing them.

But consider Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Faced with imminent death, Denethor despairs and sinks into madness. Fleeing the conflict, he takes his wounded son Faramir to the tomb of his fathers and there builds a pyre on which he plans to destroy both himself and his son. He has no hope for himself or his son or his country - if Sauron and evil are eventually going to triumph anyway, why not at least choose the time and mode of their own deaths? Racing to save Faramir, Gandalf confronts Denethor: "The houses of the dead are no places for the living..." But Denethor replies, "...soon all shall be burned. The West has failed. It shall all go up in a great fire,and all shall be ended. Ash! Ash and smoke blown away on the wind!" Although Gandalf is able to save the wounded Faramir, Denethor leaps to the top of the bier and lights the wood at his feet, thus destroying himself.

Theoden lives fully, right up to the moment of his death - and his last words to those around him are a reminder that this life is not all they have. This life is worth fighting for, and dying for, precisely because of the glorious life that comes after. He passes from pain and broken-ness, through a "glorious sunset," into the sunrise of life eternal with his fathers. The Rohirrim are not afraid to fight, to live gloriously, because they are not afraid to die.

Lord Denethor, on the other hand, had only Here and Now - this present life was all the glory to be had, and it had all come to ruin. He was terrified of death and shadow and of fading into nothingness. Unlike Theoden, Denethor saw no "glorious sunset" - he saw only ash and smoke, blown away on the wind. Denethor wanted desperately to live a glorious life...yet was impotent to do so because of his overwhelming fear of death.

Thankfully, life for most of us isn't as horrific at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. But still, in small struggles or great, I yearn to face this life's difficulties and trials with a heart like Theoden's. A heart riding hard to Glory.

...the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in (Theoden's) veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Orome the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled,and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City. - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

ENCOURAGEMENT IN STRANGE PLACES

2011-08-19T00:21:00.006-05:00

Run home from afternoon piano lessons to cook dinner. Slam that down, jump in the shower, run off to Wal-Mart. An emotional engagement with child #1 that had me walking into work fighting hard just to not cry. I was exhausted after a long day of babysitting, school, running errands, and household chores.

Clock in. I'm on Register 2. My hand scanner doesn't work. That means I have to lift every suitcase of Coke, every single ginormous bag of dog food and kitty litter up and over my register. I discover that I have no change - completely out of quarters and pennies. Why do some cashiers leave their drawers in such awful shape? I have no bags, no paper towels. No register tape and no way of getting more. I'm raiding every register around me for supplies. Imagine - this much fun for minimum wage!

Neither of the two regular night cashiers are in tonight. It's Connie's night off, and Sherry is on vacation. My line is snaking down toward the freezers and no one is around for backup. A customer needs help at the door - they want to make a return, never mind that the Customer Service/Return desk closes at 10:00. Another customer comes in and thinks she has left her cell phone somewhere in the store - could I find someone to help her look for it? Another customer wants to know if we have any fresh strawberries in the back - never mind that it's almost midnight and the produce crew has already gone home for the night. Never mind that I have a growing line of frustrated shoppers queuing up.

I am So. Very. Tired.

A lady and her teenage son step up to pay for their handful of school supplies. She plops her keys on the tiny shelf beneath the card reader as she digs in her purse for a wallet. As I scan a binder and three packs of looseleaf paper, one key on her key chain catches my eye. "Jesus's key."

"What is that?" I ask. "What is 'Jesus's key'?"

"Oh," the lady looked down at her keys. "Well, I was at this shop in Memphis and they had these really cool key caps. I couldn't find one with my name on it. Then, I saw this one. I just got it because I figured, hey, Jesus is the closest thing to me."

"Oh."

She laughs and smiles, like she feels kinda silly.

I smile back. "Your total is $8.27."

"It'll be debit."

"Here are your groceries. Thank you for shopping Wal-Mart."

"Thanks. You have a blessed night, you hear?"

DIFFERENT

2011-08-17T07:19:00.004-05:00

"He's....different." (Said while twirling hands over head in motion that indicates the kid doesn't think or function like others.)

This is a line from one of my family's favorite movies, Fantastic Mr. Fox. It is spoken in reference to Mr. Fox's young son, Ash. It's also a frequent quote used around our house, adopted like so many other movie one-liners into our Kendall-ese vocabulary.

On Sunday mornings at Grace, we have just begun working through a study by J.I. Packer - Rediscovering Holiness. Nope, we're not talking about the holiness of God here. We're talking about your holiness and my holiness - our personal holiness as followers of Christ. Packer makes the point early in this book that while the church once valued and stressed the importance of personal holiness, it has in more modern times gradually given up its emphasis on holiness, focusing instead on emotional experience and a consuming interest in end-times prophecy.

We have become just another group of fans in an enormous stadium, instead of the players sweating it out on the field. We look just like the world around us, to our detriment and to theirs.

Why?

In working through this past week's lesson, a couple of thoughts came to mind. For starters, I think we have become so enamored with the idea that "God is love" that we have almost completely forgotten the truth that "God is holy." We live under grace, right, and it doesn't matter how we live, as long as we aren't grossly immoral - Christ covers all that, right? I heard a hit song on a contemporary Christian radio station that expressed it thus: "God loves you just the way you are." WRONG. God loves you in spite of the way you are, and He loves you enough to begin the difficult, often painful work of transforming you (and me) into something truly lovely, the likeness of our elder brother Christ.

Then for some of us, there is often a kind of "letting go" in this journey of sanctification. We know that we possess no holiness in and of ourselves, that only God can transform us and infuse us with the holiness He requires. If that is true, then what part do we play? We adopt the attitude, "I can't do anything to make myself holy, so I'll just 'let go and let God.' It's all up to Him anyway." That, my friend, is one of those perverse distortions of truth that takes something very right and transforms it into something very wrong.

Sanctification, by God's grace, is a synergistic process. Yes, He initiates and works out this transformation by His Spirit. But He doesn't leave us like corpses floating on the scummy sea of life, pushed about by His tide or another. No, He breathes life into us, gives us a direction, and then teaches us - commands us - to swim.

But maybe, like me, you protest, "I know I can't be holy in this life, no matter how hard I try. Everything I do will be tainted with sin. I will only be truly holy when I am glorified in heaven. So, why should I even try?"

My Sunday School teacher, Tim Williams, must have been reading my thoughts. "We can't be perfect in this life...that won't happen. But we do have to be different."

Tim's comment got me to thinking about all the times Scripture refers to the people of God as holy, meaning set apart/different. The Old Testament sacrifices were not perfect -they were set apart. The people of Israel were not perfect - they were set apart, called to be different. The Apostles were not perfect - they were called out. Different.

What made them different? The presence of God, the presence of Christ, the presence of the Holy Spirit in their lives...God working out in them the holiness He commanded.

Suddenly, this terrifying call to holiness seemed a tiny bit less scary.

Christ is with me, today, really and practically. Speaking to me through Scripture, interceding for me in heaven, nudging and correcting and strengthening me through His Holy Spirit.

No, today I will not be perfect. But today, I can be different. One choice, one attitude, one action...first steps toward holiness.

Yes, I can come down out of the bleachers and onto the field.

Today, let it be true of me: "She's...different."

GOOD, GOOD GIFTS

2011-08-12T08:59:00.003-05:00

Ask me how I'm doing as I'm walking into the church building on Sunday morning and I may start crying all over you. Ask me how I'm doing as I'm walking out after worship and you'll get a totally different answer. Study and fellowship with other believers, then an hour of feasting, singing, and reveling in the beauty of my Savior...Sunday truly is a good, good gift from my Creator!

I think of my dearest friends in terms of perhaps odd metaphors. One I think of as a Red Hot Chili Pepper. Her vivacity, intensity, directness, and honesty stand in sharp contrast to the banality of so many relationships. Even her physical appearance and presence charge the air around her with a somewhat spicy electrical buzz.

Another dear friend is like dark chocolate, strong black coffee, or dry, dark wine. Complex. Intense. It takes time and long talks to truly savor the richness, the powerful emotions, the depth of love and thought and passion of this woman. Like deep water. Splash in the shallows and you won't know this woman at all. Dare to dive deeper and she will absolutely change your world.

Another friend is Sunshine. Even if you have never met this woman, stand in her presence five minutes and your spirit will feel noticeably lighter, brighter. Not that her life has been one of airy ease and innocence. Rather, like Gandalf, she has fought dragons in dark places...and has emerged glowing with the radiance of heaven.

And then, there is the Garden, all that is fair and lovely and green and growing. Bright blossoms bobbing in a gentle breeze. Deep roots, strong branches, cool shade. The gurgle of water and the buzz of bees. A fullness of life and of living, stretching up-up-upward, tendrils reaching out to embrace the world around her with grace and gentle welcome.

Spice. Wine. Sunshine. An oasis in an arid, often brutal landscape.

Today, I am reveling in this truth: God gives very good gifts indeed.

THE MAN WITHOUT A NOSE

2011-08-08T14:34:00.002-05:00

There is a man in my neighborhood without a nose. I see him sometimes when I'm out running errands, at Dollar General, at the grocery store, at the gas station.

Did he have to have to have his nose removed because of some cancerous growth? Was it torn off in a fight? Was he born without a nose? I don't know what happened to his nose. I just know that when I see him, I smile and say "Hi" and he nods in answer. It is very, very hard to look someone in the eye and smile when there is a hole in the middle of his face.

I passed the man without a nose as I was driving down the highway last week, and seeing him again got me to thinking. Does he have a family? Grandkids? Does he like to eat fish at the lake, or to drink coffee with the old guys at Autry's? What makes him laugh? What makes him smile? Where does he work? Does he prefer Wranglers or Levis?

In my tiny little mind he is simply The Man Without a Nose. But unknown to me, that man has a wealth of life experiences, of stories, of personal likes and dislikes. He has a history - he is somebody's son, somebody's brother. He is so much more than a man without a nose.

Years and years ago, Steve and I attended Narcotics Anonymous meetings with young Marines as part of his job as the Substance Abuse Control Officer. "Hello, my name's Bob, and I'm an addict." "Hi, I'm John, and I'm an alcoholic." Although I understand there was some purpose in uniting attendees this way, something about that ritual disturbed me. I understand better now what it was. It narrowed each person into the one big, nasty thing wrong in their lives. It reduced them to an addiction, a broken past, a history of failure.

Sort of like my neighbor. When you first see him, you notice one big, nasty thing wrong with him. I wonder how many people get past that one thing to find out anything else about him. And I wonder how he sees himself.

In this fallen world, we all have big, nasty problems. Addictions. Deformities. Sexual perversions. Spitefulness. Critical attitudes. Pride. Gossiping tongues. Discontent hearts. It's a long list of disgusting sins, and we are all on that list somewhere, every single one of us.

But for the Christian, we are not defined by our sin...we are defined by who we are in Christ. By Christ's work on our behalf. By God's unfathomable love for us. By the Spirit's ongoing work of sanctification in each of us.

I am not what I once was. Scripture tells me that in Christ, I am a new creation. That even now, God is making all things new, including me. Although huge chunks of it still cling to me, although daily I must struggle against it, my old sin nature no longer defines who I am. It would be wrong for me now to try to shrink my understanding of myself down to the Big Ugly Sin that plagues me. Nor can my brothers or sisters rightfully pigeonhole me this way either. Bigger things are going on here now...huge, eternal, cosmic things that are swallowing up my sin in the enormity of God's love and grace.

As messed up as I am, I am Christ's beloved, a daughter of the High King of Heaven, an image bearer of God.

I wonder if the man without a nose knows about the amazing love of God?

BACK TO THE THREE SISTERS

2011-08-05T09:00:00.001-05:00

I've missed my walks back on the farm this summer, but working days at Wal-mart kind of wiped out my energy and enthusiasm for tromping through the weeds and the creek bed.

However, with school starting back up this week, it looks like maybe my crazy schedule will allow some time to get outdoors again. School in the morning and early afternoon, evenings at Wally World. In between, I've been managing to squeak in my 40-minutes-and-four-hills. So good to get reacquainted with the Three Sisters!

Monday, I spied a flock of turkeys in the valley below the green barn. They spied me, too, and nervously trotted toward the cover of nearby woods. The bull was taking an afternoon dip in the big pond, lolling about in the shade of maple and beech trees that grow down to the water's edge. Grasshoppers, grasshoppers, grasshoppers everywhere, bzzzzting and flitting in brown clouds with each step I took in the tall grass.

It is too hot to wear jeans when I walk, but shorts aren't really a great option, either. Bare legs in nettles....ouch! And then I'm always a tiny bit wary of inadvertently stepping on some nasty snake hiding in the grass. Yes, jeans and boots would feel a tad safer. Cooler weather will be here soon.

Some folks, when they walk or jog or bike, like to listen to music or to recorded sermons or books. Me, I just like the quiet. My mind never seems to "Shut up!" Always whirring, churning, processing. How exhausting! But for some reason, I find I'm able to gear down the engine when walking back on the farm.

I listen. For the rackety-tap-TAP! of a woodpecker. For squirrels, who crash through the underbrush like tiny buffalo. Who'd have thought such a small animal could make so much noise? For an owl hooting from the far hill. For deer stepping fairy soft through mouldering leaves. For whatever tiny quiet thing might make the next faint sound.

And I look. For paw prints along the creek bank. For shadowy shapes moving suddenly under the dark shade of the trees. For a pair of bright eyes peering from behind a rotting stump, a flash of brilliant orange.

And I smell. Hay, toasting in the sun, like fresh home-made bread baking in the oven. The dank punkiness of the creek bed where isolated pools of slimy green water simmer in the heat. The tang of sneeze weed. A herd of black cows, nodding Hello as they loll in the shade, with that distinctive rich, wholesome aroma that testifies, "You're in the country now."

And I feel. The crunch of dry grass underfoot. The scratch of horse nettles and pigweed on bare legs. The cool shade of maples here, the sizzle of a ripe August sun on the next hill. The burn in my legs as I climb the massive shoulders of one, two, three great sleeping giants.

I don't hear the phone or the buzzer on the washing machine. I don't see the computer or the unfinished school project spread out all over the kitchen counter. I don't smell the gas-soaked jeans of the son who's working on his truck, or dinner cooking in the oven. I don't feel the coolness of the AC or the sluggishness induced by too much time indoors.

And I don't think about work, or school, or finances, or so-and-so's health issues, or the size of my waist, or what I'm going to write for next week's article.

Forty minutes. Four hills.

It's good to be walking again.

WHAT TO DO?

2011-08-04T09:31:00.003-05:00

My oldest is in Des Moines with her sweet husband. The two little girls, they're in Maine with Grammy. Reu is meeting with Mrs. Doris to go over illustrations he is painting for her next book. Nate, Tom, and Ben are hauling hay. (Yes, they knew how hot it would be before they left. Actually, they hauled hay yesterday, too, in 100+ degree weather, with a heat index of 116. They consider the temperature and humidity a challenge - some kind of a Man thing.) Baby M should've been here at 6:30 this morning, but was running a fever. Grandma is keeping her today instead.

Anyway, what that means for me at the present is that I am sitting in my house, all alone. Ever heard of a blue moon? Guess we should be expecting one tonight! Well, here's a question I haven't had to answer in a long, l-o-n-g time: What do I do with a morning home alone?

Hmmmm......

First, I started the laundry. The hay-hauling clothes from yesterday were already funking out the laundry room, so they went into the washer first thing after my lonely little breakfast. Then, I started a pot of sauce for lasagna - am getting a head start on tomorrow's dinner and fixing a pan for the freezer. A nice long phone call from the adventurers up north - sounds like Martha and Helen are having a grand time exploring coastal Maine! A bit of book-keeping and paperwork. Some physics and math homework to check over.

It is Way Too Quiet in this house.

My hay-haulers should be home by lunchtime. Reuben and Dad have just pulled up in the driveway. This afternoon, we'll be back at schoolwork and regular household chores, and I'll have a household of rowdy young men crashing about, laughing, wrestling, debating, pontificating. And in a few days, I'll have my girls back, too, chattering non-stop about their East Coast adventures. My favorite kind of music.

OPEN UP

2011-08-03T08:20:00.000-05:00

I tend to be a very private person.

Okay, maybe that sounds weird coming from someone who writes in a public forum, processing life and thoughts on a blog that just about any Joe or Sally can read.

What I mean, at least partly, is that when I am struggling with some great difficulty or painful issue, or when life gets too big and hairy, I tend to hunker down, pull in, and close the blinds. I need to process things internally before I can deal with them externally. Only after a period of quiet reflection and several long, deep breaths am I able to open my eyes to the help that is mine in the friends that God has given me.

That's changing, though. I'm not nearly as private as I used to be.

I enjoyed lunch with a friend from church recently...not one of those bosom friends, but still a gracious, godly sister in Christ that I have known and loved for several years. During our meal, she asked rather cautiously about a particular issue that my family has been confronting and struggling with for a long time. "Well, I hesitated to ask you about this...I didn't know if this was something too private and sensitive to bring up."

"Sherry," I replied, "if there is anything that I am learning in the midst of this, it is that I can't afford to be private. Everything has to be out on the table. Secrets kill. We need the prayer and encouragement of every available soldier."

Not to say that we all need to go indiscriminately publicizing the nitty-gritty nasty details of the struggles we face. I'm not saying that at all. But we do need to be open, honest, transparent, and vulnerable with someone...with family, with trusted friends, with our church family. And we certainly do not need to labor at maintaining some facade that hides our hurt, that proclaims to the world a lie that everything is fine.

Of course, there's no guarantee that those we confide in will respond appropriately. They may be judgmental or critical. They may offer unbiblical counsel. They may exacerbate the problem. They may even gossip or make light of our trials. No way around it, life in this fallen world is just messy!

But I need to learn to be honest about my struggles, and my sister needs to learn to relate to me in this with grace and integrity. And vice versa. Sanctification isn't a Lone Ranger process for any of us - we truly are all in this together, learning from each other's trials, mistakes, wisdom, and experience. And we can't even begin the business of pointing each other to Christ and to the much-needed balm of Scripture if we simply hunker down, pull in, and close the blinds.

GOD'S WORD, A LIFE TRANSFORMER

2011-08-02T09:00:00.002-05:00

Our pastor challenged the congregation to read through the entire Bible: “Read the whole book. And when you finish, read it again.” Frustrated by the daunting pace of trying to read the entire Bible in one year, I received encouragement from a wise older brother: “Don’t try to race through. The main thing is, read some Scripture every day, and just keep on reading.” Reading through the Bible took me a little over two years.

I can’t express the euphoria I felt when I finished the last verse of Revelation. Yes! I had read every word that God had written to me! Did I remember it all? No. Did I fully understand everything I had read? No. Did I glean from Scripture all God had to teach me? Absolutely not. Which is why I immediately started over again, back at Genesis 1:1. You know what I discovered on my second read through the Bible? And the third? This Book just gets better and better.

In Knowing God, J.I. Packer gives two reasons we should be reading the Word of God. First, we should be reading and believing and obeying God’s Word because He told us to. We are His creation, subjects in His kingdom, and it is our duty to obey His command to know Him by knowing His Word.

Second, we should be reading and believing and obeying God’s Word because it is true. Psalm 119:160 says: “The sum of your word is truth, and every one of your righteous rules endures forever.” (English Standard Version) Jesus prays for His disciples, “Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth.” (John 17:17) Scripture tells us the truth about God and the truth about ourselves. As Packer puts it, Scripture is “the index of reality.”

God’s law “gives us a working definition of true humanity. It shows us what man was made to be, and teaches us how to be truly human, and warns us against moral self-destruction,” writes Packer. Just as our physical bodies need nourishment, so our souls are created to be fed and strengthened through worship, truthfulness, self-control, and the like. By refusing the good spiritual food served in Scripture, we not only become de-humanized: we become miserable. Packer writes, “We are only living truly human lives just so far as we are laboring to keep God’s commandments; no further.”

God’s law is true. His promises are true, also. Herein lies the great strength and solace of the Christian. Throughout Scripture, God speaks promises that still stand today. Knowing God’s promises and meditating on them empowers Christians to live by God’s promises.

Packer concludes: “What is a Christian? …he is a man who acknowledges and lives under the word of God.” A Christian is one who knows the God of Scripture as Father, and Jesus Christ as Savior. He lives a life of obedience to God’s commands, strengthened by God’s promises. God’s Word – because it reveals God Himself – is the Christian’s very life. Does that describe you, Christian Reader?

God’s Word is the life of the individual believer, but what is it to the corporate body, the church? Look at Acts 6:7: “And the word of God continued to increase, and the number of the disciples multiplied greatly in Jerusalem, and a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith.” The church was being persecuted and its members dispersed, yet it continued to grow. Why? Because “the word of God continued to increase.”

In Acts 13, we find Paul and Barnabas preaching to the church in Antioch. The culture was against them. The established religion was against them. What happened? “When the Gentiles heard this, they began rejoicing and glorifying the word of the Lord, and as many as were appointed to eternal life believed. And the word of the Lord was spreading throughout the whole region.” (Act 13:48-49, emphasis added)

Today, many are saddened by decreasing church attendance and by the moral decline rampant in society and in the church. Satan seems to have a stranglehold not only on our culture, but on the church itself. While numerous programs have been developed to reach the unsaved and to encourage professing Christians to live godly lives, I think we often miss the obvious. We want a three-step program for salvation, and another for sanctification. God gives His children and His church something infinitely better – His Word. Read it. Believe it. Live it. Learn to love the God who wrote it.

GOD KNOWS ALL ABOUT YOU...WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HIM?

2011-08-01T10:13:00.005-05:00

(Today's post is taken from a series of articles written for my local paper last month. Part 2 tomorrow!)

We have been using J.I. Packer's Knowing God (available at Intervarsity Press - click here) as a springboard to examine and contemplate various aspects of the person and character of God. Recently, we have considered God's wisdom and majesty. Future articles will look at God's love, His grace, and His wrath. But how do we even know anything about God in the first place? And how do we make the cosmic leap from knowing about God to knowing Him personally?

Certainly, the world around us speaks about God. "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge." (Psalm 19:1-2, English Standard Version) The intricate detail and incredible precision of the tiniest cell astounds us. Massive planets hurtling through great chasms of space in a delicately choreographed ballet...this, too, challenges our comprehension! Creation is covered with God's fingerprints, so to speak, giving us glimpses of the great God who designed, created, and sustains our world.

Paul writes, "...(God's) invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they (those who reject God) are without excuse." (Romans 1:20) In fact, Paul tells us that denying the existence of and the holy character of God requires deliberate, intense effort on our part - we "press down" the knowledge of God, much like we might compress a coiled spring, holding it down only under great tension.

God reveals Himself to us through His creation, but we also learn of Him through the changed lives and the testimonies of others who have encountered Him. In chapter 9 of the book of John, we read of a man who had been born blind. When Jesus healed this man by restoring his sight, his family and neighbors were astounded. "Who healed you? How did he do this amazing thing?" Many responded by placing their faith in Christ. The religious leaders, on the other hand, questioned the man repeatedly, refusing to accept the miracle and to acknowledge Christ. Finally, the healed man answers them in exasperation, "I have told you already, and you would not listen." (John 9:27)

Likewise, many of us know people whose lives have been radically transformed by Christ, people who have moved from darkness to light, from bondage to freedom, from self-absorption to God-focused living. If we bump up against these people often, we must respond either by acknowledging God's work in their lives, thereby glorifying Him, or by persisting in resolute unbelief. Like a willful child plugging his ears, like the religious leaders mentioned in John chapter 9, we refuse to listen.

But maybe you say, "God did not reveal Himself to me in creation. No, my science teacher told me this world is a product of materialistic, naturalistic, evolutionary processes. I don't see God here at all."

Maybe you say, "I did not hear about God's justice, love, and mercy from my transformed neighbor. I have never heard of Christ's atonement or of forgiveness."

Yes, God speaks to us through creation and through the lives of others, but He speaks to us most clearly and most directly through His written Word.

J.I. Packer writes, "God...knows all about us before we say anything (Psalm 139:1-4); but we can know nothing about Him unless He tells us." Packer continues, "God sends His word to us...to woo us as well as to instruct us; it not merely puts us in the picture of what God has done and is doing but also calls us into personal communion with the loving Lord Himself."

God knows all about you, Reader. What do you really know about Him? Maybe you feel like God is angry. Maybe you think God is disengaged. Maybe you assume that God cares more about your personal happiness than your personal holiness. But what do you know?

God wants you to know Him and to love Him...and He's written an entire book for precisely that purpose. Today would be a perfect day to start reading God's Word to you. What could be of greater value than a life lived in personal communion with the Creator and Lord of the universe?!

ON THE JOB

2011-07-29T08:15:00.002-05:00

Funny things I've heard while working as a cashier....

Me: Hello! How are you today?
Customer, riding a motorized shopping cart: I'm doing great! I've been rather ill lately and not able to get out much, so it was wonderful to come do my shopping here today.
Me: I'm glad you're feeling better and able to get out now.
Customer: Yes, me, too. And I always see so many people I know here. I find lots of people to talk to. Like you, for instance. You're stuck behind that cash register and can't go anywhere, so I can sit here and talk to you for as long as I want. (Yes, she actually said that.)
Me, laughing: I suppose you're right!
Customer: (Tells me about her recent surgery, and a blog she writes, and a recipe for mozzarella-tomato salad. Several minutes after finishing her transaction, she starts her scooter, smiles and waves.) Well, it's been nice talking! I'll see you again next week!

Customer, a lively older gentleman: This must be my lucky day - I got the pretty cashier!
Me, laughing: Well, I think all the cashiers working up front today are pretty!
Customer, leaning across the conveyor belt with a twinkle in his eyes: Yes, but I got the prettiest!
Me: Thinking, Okay, you stay on that side of the register and I'll stay on this side and we'll get along just fine...

Customer, to his small child: Put that down and come stand next to the buggy.
Small child: fuss, whine, wail (not obeying)
Customer: Stop that bawling. You're making everyone here miserable.
Small child: fuss, wail, whine...(still not obeying)
Customer: If you don't be quiet and get over here, that lady (points at me - the cashier) is going to come around here and spank you!
Small child: (Looks at me with cow eyes and quietly ooches over next to Dad)

Customer (a large, sun-baked man who looks like he just stepped off his tractor; he holds up in front of himself two gingham sundresses, the kind with spaghetti straps and eyelet around the hem - one red, one white): What do you think? Which one do you think looks best?
Me, laughing: Well, personally, red is my favorite color, but the white really looks great against your tan.
Customer chuckles and grins sheepishly: Oh, these are for her. (He motions toward an invisible woman standing next to him.)
Me: Ooooo-kay. (I look toward the invisible woman.) Which one do you like better?
No answer.
Customer looks over his shoulder toward invisible woman, then turns a deep shade of red: Oh. D***. Well, I'll just take them both.

Then there was the time I keyed in the produce code for pineapples, then for "Quantity?" entered "50." I know....simply defies explanation doesn't it? Anybody want to purchase a pineapple plantation? See cashier on register 19!

Or the time a customer dropped a six-pack of canned sodas. One of the cans exploded, sending up a geyser that sprayed everyone in the adjacent two lanes. Thankfully, a quick-thinking fellow dashed over and aimed the fountain downward, saving us from the sugary deluge. What a sticky mess, all over everything. Sometimes, you just gotta laugh!

32-ROW PLANTER

2011-07-28T08:58:00.003-05:00

Buzzing home from errands in town one afternoon earlier this summer, I crested a small hill on Highway 21 and found the road barricaded by a 32-row planter. A huge tractor lumbered down the highway, dragging the immense piece of farm equipment. Well ahead of the tractor, another farmer drove a work truck, lights flashing, warning oncomers to find a driveway where they could pull off the road. The planter, it stretched from the white line on the right to the white line on the left. Our max speed as we doodled along for a couple of miles? I think maybe 15 miles per hour. We don't have shoulders on the highway out here, either, so there was nothing doing but slowing down and enjoying the ride.

Actually, I find ginormous farm machinery a bit fascinating. And there's something about the smell of diesel...not pleasant, maybe nostalgic?...perhaps it reminds me vaguely of pleasant times from my childhood. And then there's the whole thing about working the soil, planting the seeds, harvesting the crops: farming, although dirty and back-breaking work, really is a romantic occupation.

Yesterday morning, I glanced out the kitchen window toward the highway. A long line of cars, backed up out of sight, snaked along at a snail's pace. What's the hold up? Is this a funeral procession? I scanned the trail of cars and, just over the next hill, discovered the problem - a house in the road. Someone was moving a house. No, not a trailer. Not a double-wide. Not a modular home. A house. The front of the house bore scars where the porch had recently been removed, no doubt especially for this relocation. The creaking behemoth filled the entire roadway, hanging off on either side, lurching along at no more than 10 miles an hour. Three miles outside of Hornbeak, this slow parade still had a long way to go.

Some folks like the idea of living in the country, but then show their true colors when confronted with the particular realities of country living. Big machinery, slow traffic, mile-after-mile of snaking along behind a smoke-bellowing tractor...all a normal part of life out here in the sticks. Occasionally, I've seen someone lay on their horn (Do they really think the dude on the tractor can even hear them?), or weave agitatedly from side to side (as if there were a way around the blockage? Well, NO!), or even flail an arm out the window as if to say, "Get a move on up there!" Natives, we roll down the windows, turn off the AC, and turn up the country music...it's time to get out of the fast lane and enjoy a slow ride.

Seems in life, I've often found myself barreling along lickety-split, busy working my plan and getting things done. Then unexpectedly, it's like I crest a hill and find a 32-row planter plodding along in front of me - Screee! Hit the brakes! Might as well be a wall. My plans, the important things I wanted to accomplish, the deadlines, the rush....it all goes out the window while I creep along riding the brake pedal.

Sure, I like the idea of trusting God...but sometimes God uses the difficult realities of living this Christian life to expose my true colors. He sends roadblocks, trials and difficulties, to show me the real condition of my heart. So what's my attitude then? Do I shake my fist at God for allowing circumstances to mess up my plans? Do I weave back and forth, mentally pacing as I look for a way around this obstacle? Do I lay on the horn - complaining, whining, bemoaning my unfortunate state?

Or do I trust God's sovereignty and goodness and thank Him for the opportunity to slow down, breathe the fresh air, and listen to the music?

WHAT FEEDS YOU?

2011-07-27T08:40:00.000-05:00

"What does this feed in you?" My friend was asking her young-adult offspring how a particular relationship served to meet needs that should be met instead by Christ.

What a powerful question.

When I am discontent because my circumstances weary me and I long for rest, I imagine sleep will satisfy my discontent. Enough Zzzzzz's will mollify my disquiet. No, sleep will not give me a tranquil soul. Christ is my rest!

When I am melancholy because a relationship that should be intimate and joyful is instead cold and strained, when I brood over what should be and fret over what is, I fall prey to the lie that this relationship can ultimately satisfy my longings for fellowship and intimacy. No, no earthly relationship will completely satisfy my desire to know and to be known. I can only find that in Christ, my brother, my King, my Bridegroom!

Maybe I would feel significant and secure if I had a snazzier resume, or an impressive portfolio, or an address book with a red-carpet catalog of friends. I would feel successful if my kids grew up to be Super Saints who rocked the world. I would know I was really somebody if I impacted lives for Christ. No, it's not what I do FOR Christ - rather, it's who I am IN Christ. Christ, Christ, Christ alone satisfies my need for security, significance, and purpose.

How about you - Are you hungry to be beautiful? To be financially secure? To be known? To do great things? What are you hungry for? And, on what are you feeding to satisfy that hunger?

Feed on the bread that nourishes true life, the bread that satisfies forever. Feed on Christ.

For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink...Whoever feeds on this bread will live forever. - Jesus, speaking in John 6:55a, 58b

What food luxurious loads the board, when at his table sits the Lord! The wine how rich, the bread how sweet, when Jesus deigns the guests to meet! - Charles H. Spurgeon, from his hymn Amidst Us Our Beloved Stands

WHO NEEDS HI TECH?

2011-07-26T10:31:00.005-05:00

Baby MA is back with us for the new school year. Mommy has just started a new teaching job at one of those schools that doesn't really have a summer break. (Year-round school? Crazy!) I have no idea how I'm going to pack homeschooling four students, working at Wal-Mart, AND babysitting a toddler into each day. I am already tired, and we don't even begin our school here at the kitchen table until next week. But, all that said, it is such a delight to have a baby in the house!

Today's funny observation...

We have a quilt spread at one end of the dining/family room that serves as a collection site for MA's toys and as a launching off point for her toodles around the house. She never sits on the quilt for more than a few minutes - much, much more fun to play Chase around the sofa with Martha or Ben, or to bumble about the yard picking flowers.

On said quilt lies a colorful, high-tech assortment of toys: books that read themselves aloud as you turn the pages, a baby that cries when you squeeze it, a musical octopus that sings the colors of the rainbow in English, Spanish, and French. MA's toy of choice this morning?

A red potato.

She laughs hysterically as she and Reuben roll a small red potato across the floor to each other. Reuben sets the potato on the table, and she stretches up-up-up to just reach it with her tiny fingers. Reuben rolls the potato under the table, and she races on hands and knees to retrieve it, laughing baby laughs all the way. Bonk!-thud-thud. She throws the potato, giggling as it tumbles away from her, then races to pick it up again. (Is there any sound sweeter than baby laughter?!)

Me, I'm kind of fascinated that a small red potato has trumped Leap Frog story books and a musical blue octopus. Go figure!

SCHOOL DAYS....AAACK!

2011-07-20T08:31:00.000-05:00

With 18+ years of homeschool experience under my belt, I've learned to recognize the "emotional cycle" of the school year. It's sort of like having birthed several babies. Braxton-Hicks contractions, labor, transition, delivery...don't get too freaked out by it all: just take a deep breath push ahead. (Bwahahaha!)

In April, homeschool moms look longingly out the window at yellow school buses driving down the highway. Looks so easy, so tempting. Sigh. Nope, back to work!

In January, there is this moment of euphoria: Hey, look! We're over halfway through your math book! It's all downhill from here, a race to the back cover.

But right now, late in July, my traditional homeschool emotion is PANIC! All the books are spread out on the table, piled against the wall, stacked in boxes...they are everywhere. And me, I'm mapping out lesson plans for the semester ahead.

Sure, there's a thrill of excitement and anticipation that comes with receiving new books in the mail. I love stocking up on looseleaf paper, notebooks, pencils, and markers at the back-to-school sales. And there is something comforting about the thought of settling once again into our regular school-year routine.

But definitely bigger than any buzz that comes from fresh notebooks and unopened glue bottles is the looming fear: How in the world are we going to get everything done?! Physics, high school English, trigonometry, world history, 7th grade math, piano lessons, art, grammar...Aiyiyiyi! I'm starting to hyper-ventilate!

Breathe. Slowly.

After 18+ years, I know...I know...that the first week of August, we will sit down around the table and open our books. We will do the first day's lessons. And then the next. And the next. This panic will pass. We will find our pace and our breath and will begin chugging through the work ahead.

And next May, we'll look up from our work and blink in relieved wonder: We did it! We finished another year of school.

LIGHT BURDEN

2011-07-19T08:41:00.000-05:00

I collapsed into bed at 11:45, exhausted from the day just spent and weary at the thought of another day to come. Physically and emotionally spent, too tired to even sleep.

The tears started, streaming into my pillow. Lord, I am so tired, I wept. I simply cannot bear all that You have laid on me at present. This yoke is too, too heavy...

I don't know what prayer is like for you, but for me it goes kind of like this: I pray, silently "talking" through something with the consciousness that God is listening and cares about me. Then I wait. Then, I pray some more. Often, during those pauses, God brings a particular passage of Scripture to my mind. Sometimes, indeed, it seems we are having a conversation: my prayer, His Word, my question, His Word again in answer....

Last night, this was the conversation: Lord, I am so tired. I simply cannot bear all that You have laid on me at present. This yoke is too heavy!

Empty silence, and then...

Camille, take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for you soul. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

No, Lord, no! Your yoke is NOT easy! This burden is NOT light! I continued weeping, feeling crushed under a heavy weight.

More silence.

Lord? Are you listening?

Just silent darkness. I wracked my brain. What was God trying to teach me? My burden truly did feel heavy, overwhelmingly heavy. And yet I was confident that I was having to bear it because of God's will for my life at the present. How could Christ say that this burden He had given me was light? Light compared to what, Lord?!

Ooooooooh,......

Christ has borne my yoke and carried my burden. He has suffered the just wrath of our holy God. He has known the absolute darkness of separation from His heavenly Father. That...that was mine to bear, my burden, my yoke...unfathomable suffering and isolation. My burden forever.

Instead, Christ has given to me this other burden, under which I find my weak self buckling: to work for my family, to school my children, to pray for my church and its leaders, to grieve with the sick, to know the heartbreak of strained and broken relationships, to have too many demands and too little time, too many needs and too few resources. And He has promised to stand with me through all of these burdens. He gives the Holy Spirit to strengthen and encourage me - and to bring Scripture to mind when I need it most. He has secured for me the everlasting love of God the Father. He has promised me an eternity of joy in His presence when I am finally free to lay these burdens down. Lay them down forever.

My burden seemed too heavy, until I considered the one I had given in exchange for it. Now I find that, while this life's burden is difficult and truly exhausting, No, it is not so very heavy. Not so very heavy at all.

THIS IS THE GOOD STUFF!

2011-07-18T07:33:00.007-05:00

We practice a rather traditional order of worship at Grace on Sundays. We read Scripture responsively for our Call to Worship, then sing the Gloria Patri. Very early in the service, we have a time of prayer to confess our sins. At some point, the congregation recites one of the historic church creeds - the Apostles' Creed, the Nicene Creed - or we read aloud the Ten Commandments.

Some people think creeds are old-fashioned, out-of-date. Personally, I love them. I love the bond it gives us as followers of Christ, locally and around the globe. While I am standing in a small church in Troy, Tennessee, verbalizing the truth that yes, I do indeed believe in God, the Father Almighty, it thrills and encourages me to know that in Millington this Sunday morning, my sister Jenny is articulating exactly the same thing. And Larry in Nashville, and Alan in Chattanooga, and Bill in Scotland...It is so good to remember as a body the things that bind us together in faith!

Intercessory prayer, giving of tithes and offerings, singing theologically-rich hymns, reading Scripture together. As Brother Billy puts it, we read Scripture, pray Scripture, sing Scripture, see Scripture (in baptism and in the Lord's Supper), act on Scripture. No wonder Sunday morning worship is such a time of refreshment!

I suppose every Christian has a favorite aspect of corporate worship. Some particularly enjoy the singing; others, the prayer. I like it all, but at a certain moment every Sunday morning, I confess I feel a brighter, more distinct joy.

We read the passage to be exposited for the morning, followed by a traditional call and response: "He who has ears to hear, let him hear." Every Sunday morning, as we then settle into our pews for the sermon, I have this distinct thrill...Now we're getting to the good stuff!

I love the Word of God. I love to gather with my sisters and brothers in Christ to read and study and consider what God has written to us. And I am so very thankful for a pastor and for elders and teachers who devote themselves to thoughtful study so that I can feast week after week on such rich fare. This is the good stuff!

MURDERER! THIEF!

2011-07-13T10:47:00.004-05:00

Something was eating our chickens. About every five or six days, Ben would put his flock to bed at night and find that he was short one hen from the day before.

This was back in the spring, the same time I was scanning brochures, trying to select what type of chicks to order for our next flock. "I am not ordering little chicks until we know what is getting the chickens. They'd just be easy pickings for this varmint!" We had to solve this mystery before we could move ahead with our chicken farming.

So we waited and sleuthed and tried to discover the chicken-eating culprit.

Whatever the critter was, it also tried to make a meal of our cat. Kitty was big enough to fight back and survived the encounter, thanks to several rounds of antibiotics and over a month of indoor confinement.

Patton, our ferocious rooster, also suffered at the hands/paws/teeth of the fiend. Our noble defender-of-the-hen-house lost his spurs and his beautiful tail protecting his biddies. Apparently, Patton fought valiantly enough to put the thief at bay for a while, although the encounter left him meaner, grouchier, and crazier than ever.

Finally, months later, we had a positive ID on the chicken-killer. Ben went to let his chickens out one morning after a particularly rainy night and discovered very distinct, large paw prints around the coop: fox!

Alas, now we had a different dilemma. "The pelt will be worth waaaay more come winter...we can't trap that fox now, in the middle of summer!" Nate had a point. What to do? Guess we'd just have to be extra careful about battening down the hatches early each evening in an attempt to frustrate Mr. Fox until trapping season. And Kitty spends every evening and night indoors now, whether she approves or not.

Sadly, this is not the end of the tale. Patton, a mean rooster at best, must have been pushed too far by all the stress: he progressed from being ornery to being the Terror-of-the-Yard. I couldn't work in the garden or hang clothes on the clothesline without taking a chance that he would come racing across the yard to attack me. We couldn't take baby Maryanna outside for walks because Patton was always on the look-out, vigilant to attack any would-be threats to his harem. Eventually, his behavior grew so aggressive that it felt like we were being held hostage in the house - by a rooster, no less! Something had to be done.

One evening at dinner, after I'd worked a long day at Wal-Mart, Ben delivered the news: "Mom, I got rid of Patton today." Translation for any city folks: Patton is now in rooster heaven. Yes, I was a bit saddened by the news - he had been such a beautiful, hard-working rooster. But relief far outweighed any grief. "Thank you, Ben. Thank you so much." At last, I could get back to weeding my strawberry beds.

The remaining hens seem to be managing fine without their severe overseer to protect them. They are more social now, too, and will flock around you when you work in the garden or yard. Such sweet, pretty birds! And this fall, Mr. Fox will finally get to meet Mr. Nathaniel, so that next spring I can finally order a new batch of peeps.

So here is a summary of not-so-romantic life on the farm: Fox eats chickens. Fox severely injures cat. Fox attacks rooster. Rooster whips fox. Rooster attacks Mom and Sister and anyone else on two feet (except Ben, who is obviously at the very top of the pecking order!) Cat lives. Rooster dies. Fox - his days are numbered. And the rest of us, we're back at work in the garden, keeping a keen eye on the hens.

So we were talking the other day about people who have very sensitive hearts for animals. I'm one of those people - I was truly sad that Patton had to go. But there are those who are so extremely tenderhearted that they become irrational. The kind of people who think it is cruel to kill a fox, even if it kills chickens and cats. The kind of people who think that surely there must be a way to rehabilitate a demented, hormonal, crusty old rooster. The kind of people who really don't have any experience with animals on a farm or with the difficult realities of this life. Those folks....those are the folks I'd like to introduce to Patton. Bwahahaha!

This morning, the cat went out on the porch and took up her watch post underneath the nesting Pheobes. These beautiful little birds return every year to build their nest and raise a new family. Last week, we feared Kitty had successfully pounced Mama Bird. Bad cat! Thankfully, Mama Bird escaped. No, we're not going to kill Kitty... No way! Kitty kills mice! But we will keep a watchful eye on the Pheobes.

The drama just never stops here in the country...

WHAT WAS THE QUESTION?

2011-07-12T16:37:00.004-05:00

I've just finished reading the book of Job. Once again, new things were popping out at me in every chapter.

You know the story - Job, a righteous man, blessed of God, yet singled out and afflicted tortuously by Satan. Then, having lost everything - family, fortune, health, even the will to live - Job is joined by friends who just don't quite know the meaning of the word "encouragement." Over and over, Job cries out for an audience with God. Job knows he doesn't deserve the calamities that have overwhelmed him. He knows that his friends' accusations are false, and that their explanations of his situation don't address the deep hurting and the questions of his heart. Job wants to talk to God Himself - to ask God "Why?" and then have God answer. Only God can satisfactorily address his situation.

Job does get his audience with the Lord. He does NOT get his answers.

No, God comes to Job, speaking to him out of a whirlwind, and tells Job of His majesty, power, and sovereignty. Then God commands Job to "gird himself like a man," this frail creature who dares to contend with the Almighty!

Job is left speechless. All his questions fade away into silence.

I'm one of those people who likes a little resolution at the end of a story. You know, that "Aha, I see...yes, everything makes sense now!" kind of feeling. Like all the unexplained bits and pieces falling into place to complete the puzzle.

Job's story doesn't give us that tidy, tied-up-with-a-string kind of ending. Yes, Job is restored to health. He is given a new family. His fortunes grow to be greater than they had ever been before. And he lives to a ripe old age, enjoying the love and respect of his children and friends. You could say that Job lived "happily ever after" - but you can't explain the 37 chapters of affliction. You can't answer Why?

I love this story because it is painful and terrible and real, just like life. Not all tidy and squeaky clean. And I love it because, although I have never suffered anything like Job, I have often cried out with a broken and despairing heart, "Why, Lord?!" I love this story because, like Job, God has so often refused to answer my Why? Instead, He has simply overwhelmed me with His presence - I AM GOD ALMIGHTY! Job reminds me: that is enough. Even when life breaks my heart, it is all I really need to know.

MOTIVATION

2011-07-01T08:12:00.000-05:00

"Hang on...I'm going to grab a cup of coffee for the road." As the family scrambled to get out of the house Sunday morning, a couple of us filed out the front door armed with foam cups of steaming joe.

"Hey, Mom, if you give up coffee, I'll give up video games!" Thomas is so funny, so playful, so mischievous. This boy makes me smile!

I stopped dead in my tracks...hesitated a second... "Okay. You're on."

We locked eyes. A moment of silence. I could tell by the expression on his face the dare had been only a jest...no way would Mom ever give up coffee! (No way would Tom ever give up video games!)

"Really?" Tom asked in disbelief.

"Really. No more coffee."

"Hey, I was just kidding!"

"No backing out now, buddy. Your word is your word."

"Well, maybe just video games at home...playing at a friend's house doesn't count."

"Stop trying to rewrite the rules, Buster."

So during the fellowship time between Sunday school and church, I grabbed a doughnut and a cup of juice. Normally, I just have a cup of coffee, no doughnut. The doughnut was compensation for missing that extra dose of caffeine. (Hmmmm, this new undertaking may have some undesirable consequences...)

Wal-Mart keeps a pot of coffee in the break room for employees, and I have to admit that even a bad cup of coffee tastes pretty good after two or three hours at a cash register. But not this week, at least not so far. Now I take my recycled Gatorade bottle and drink about a liter of water during break. ("Code 404," by the way, translates into "Cashier on register 7 needs another bathroom break." This no-coffee thing definitely has some undesirable consequences.)

But, hey, I've made it five days without coffee....never knew I had it in me! Kids can be sooooo motivating. If I keep this up another couple of weeks, I may try cutting out tea and soda - just stick with water and alcohol. (Wine and chocolate, of course, are non-negotiables.)

Come to think of it, maybe Tom's little game could be played out in all sorts of helpful ways...

"Hey, Mom, if you give up desserts, I'll give up the Disaster Area motif I've got going in my bedroom."

"Hey, Mom, if you give up fixing Brussels sprouts for dinner, I'll give up whining about not getting enough drive time in the car."

Bring it on, kids...let's work this thing!

WISH YOU WERE HERE

2011-06-30T08:16:00.001-05:00

Another one arrived last week. One of those emails from an acquaintance telling me how she could never survive life if she had to live in my shoes, and she was so very thankful for her husband and her home and her family, and, what with all the trips to the orthodontist and the gym and needing to have her manicure touched up and her tires rotated, etc., she just didn't know how she'd manage without her housekeeper Jane to help with the kids, and....

Reading her news left me exhausted. And jealous.

I need an attitude adjustment.

Maybe my friend was trying to imagine how I did all the things she does in a week, without Jane or Daddy Warbucks on my team. Maybe it didn't occur to her that we simply don't go to the dentist, or maintain our cars, or visit the nail salon, or participate in the debate team or high school choir. Shoot, if she cut out all the things on her calendar, she might discover she had plenty of time to hoe the beans, fold the laundry, and make a pot of homemade potato soup.

Seems these "holiday postcards" arrive twice a year - Christmas and summer vacation. You know, the three-page newsletters sprinkled with color photos, telling all about someone else's wonderful life. How Jack Junior got a full scholarship to Harvard, but he's spending a month in India this summer ministering to less fortunates before heading off to college. Sally Jane was selected for the U.S. Olympic equestrian team, so she's decided to give up ballet and playing first violin for the symphony this year. Mom and Dad loved their month-long anniversary trip to France, except for the rude waiter who almost ruined their last night in Paris. Blah, blah, blah.

Whenever I read these letters, something perverse in me wants to write a response that reads like something penned by Darth Maul. I want to write and send pictures about how all three vehicles went down in the same week or how the washing machine broke and flooded the laundry room. The chickens and the cat are being mauled by Mr. Fox, and cut worms have wiped out our squash and melons. The man from the electric company keeps reminding us that we really do need to pay our bill, please. We worry that Bubba is being unduly influenced by his disreputable friends, and Sissy is pregnant, again, and doesn't even know the father's last name. My cousin and her sixteen children came for a weekend visit back in May and still haven't left, and we strongly suspect our new neighbors are cooking up meth in the shed behind their house. Blah, blah, blah.

Okay, maybe I'm getting a little carried away, a little too close to the dark side of the force.

But what I could write, in good conscience, is that I am being broken in new ways and to new depths that I could not have imagined a year ago. That I am learning what it means to live each day in conscious dependence on God. That "Christ is enough" is easy on the lips, but sometimes devastating on the heart. That I can say with absolute confidence that God is sovereign, God is good, and He loves me very much - despite my circumstances, despite people's opinions of me, despite life's trials, despite my often dishonest emotions. Jesus truly grows more beautiful with each passing day.

When you're lying prostrate at the foot of the cross, the view is glorious.

Wish you were here.