Who I Am In The Dark

This is for my pastor, who took me to task for claiming there were lots of thought-provoking moments from our service on Sunday and then only posting a video from someone else.  (It was a jest-filled taking to task, like much of the evening was, but I still feel I owe him one.)  So, Pastor Tim, this is for you.

For the past several weeks, our pastor has been delivering messages about community and truly caring for each other:

• On April 15, we were challenged by John 21:1-19 when Jesus calls Peter to demonstrate his love for Jesus by feeding His sheep.  It was explained that Jesus had taken His disciples full circle.  He called them to Himself by making them fishers of men.  He called them, Pastor Tim said, to bring people from one kingdom into another--they were to rescue them from the sea (representative of chaos and despair) and bring them into peace and joy.  After His resurrection, Jesus again calls them to Himself by telling them to feed His lambs.  He called them to carry on His work of being an unconditional and true friend to to the broken by meeting their deepest needs.
• On April 22, Dr. Branson Parler filled in for Pastor Tim, and he preached about freedom.  His text was Galatians 5:13-6:2, and he spoke about the truth of freedom.  So often we consider Christianity as a list of don'ts, and we want to rebel against that.  The truth is that through Christianity, we are free to be whom God has actually created us to be.  We want to be free from others when God is calling us to be free to be with others and to care for them.
• This past Sunday, Pastor Tim taught on integrity.  Webster defines "integrity" as "firm adherence to a code of especially moral . . . values; un unimpaired condition; the quality or state of being complete or undivided."  I like the way that dictionary.com states that final definition: "the state of being whole, entire, or undiminished."  Being whole . . . undiminshed.  God calls us to a whole and undiminshed relationship with Him, and with others.  It does no good for anyone for me to pretend to be someone other than who I am.  When I do that, I'm hiding something--I'm in bondage to a facade, an act--and I'm not free to fully love others.  There's freedom in Christ.  There's freedom in the humilty of falling on my face at the cross and saying, "God, I don't have it all together."  There's freedom in admitting that same truth to others.  There's freedom in integrity, in being whole and undiminished, complete and undivided.

So, who am I in the dark?  Who am I behind my husband's back, my friends' backs, when my windows and doors are shutting my neighbors out?  There's the true answer, and then there's the answer I'd like to give.  How is that for integrity?  Or maybe I can just let you in on my little secret.  I'll quote Douglas Coupland (in one of my favorite books, Life After God) to share it right:

Now here is my secret; I tell it to you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God--that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem capable of giving; to help me to be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love.

That's who I am in the dark.

But there's something more that hit me. 

"Who am I . . . when my windows and doors are shutting my neighbors out?" 

Maybe that's one of the other reasons I need to keep my doors open to let my neighbors in.  If they're in, then I can't be someone else, can I?  Because I can't hide.  I'm not in the dark if I'm always willing to walk in the light--with Jesus and with others.

So this is the truth, who I am in the dark.  The truth is that I need God.  I am sick, and I can't make it on my own.  I need Him to help me give and be kind and love.  The truth is also that I need others.  Even when I want to be apart from them, I need them to keep me accountable and help me to be who I truly am.  Whole and undiminished.

The Nineteenth Sabbath

A different sort of hymn today: "Why I Hate Religion But Love Jesus."

Arriving Home

I recently had a conversation with some teenagers and young adults about heaven.  Even more than heaven, we were talking about one of the final parts of The Apostles' Creed: "From there he will come to judge the living and the dead."

We talked about that judgement, and what it might mean.  (Because they're teenagers, we also talked about whether "judgement" is spelled "judgement" or "judgment."  And, because they're teenagers, we had plenty of smart phones to use to determine that it is considered correct either way.  We all liked it better with the "e.")  We talked about how for Christians, when we arrive at the Judgement Day, we will be judged based on Christ's actions and His sacrifice for us.  We also talked briefly about how nonChristians will be judged by their own actions when they stand before Christ, because they haven't come under His righteousness.  And then we talked about why, if Christians have already been judged (and found worthy), there would be a second judgement.  Our curriculum explained that it is so that Christ will be officially and finally and completely glorified for His sacrifice by looking at us and proudly declaring us worthy.

With that "final" thought, I told the students to keep this in mind as we say The Apostles' Creed together in church.  I also told them that we could all take comfort from being reminded that we have been declared eternally worthy when we feel inadequate in life.  And then I was about to send them on their way.

Before I could do that, one of the young adults said, "But don't you think that judgement will still be scary?  I mean, when you get to heaven, and you're looking at Jesus' face, don't you think you'll be freaking out?"

The question sort of caught me off guard, but it didn't take long for a smile to spread on my face and tears to spring into my eyes.  "No," I whispered.  "No.  I think when I get there it will be like arriving home, and I've never been afraid to walk into my house.  I belong there, and my parents are there."

Maybe that's why the command from heaven to not be afraid truly is repeated in scripture more than any other command.  Surely God commands a holy fear.  We are to fear the Lord, in fact.  But that fear isn't the fear that is defined in most American dictionaries.  It's not a "distressing emotion" brought on by "impending danger."  It's an awe.  A reverence for this holy, holy God.  When I think of that "fearing the Lord," I'm reminded of the passage from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis when the Pevensie children are asking the beavers about whether Aslan is safe.  "Safe?" they are asked.  "Who said anything about safe?  'Course he isn't safe.  But he's good.  He's the King, I tell you."

We have that same comfort in approaching our God.  Of course He isn't safe.  And of course we should fear Him.  But we shouldn't fear Him, and we shouldn't dream for even one moment that walking into our final judgement or standing in front of His throne at our deaths should be scary.  Because He's good.  Because He's the King.  Because those of us who are found in Him have been saved and made perfect by Him.  And because when we get there, we're Home.  And it should never feel scary to walk into your Home.  You belong there, and your Father is there.

The Year Without My Father

It's hard to believe, but four years ago (today, if my memory serves), we were in Taylor, MI, to greet my dad's unit as they returned from serving a year in Baghdad.  Megan Leigh met Robert Lee for the first time (at three months old), and we got to regain some sense of normalcy in our lives.  In honor of that great day--and that hard, hard year--here is something I wrote for Women's Lifestyle Lakeshore.


The Year Without My Father


“Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.” Gloria Naylor

I have been here before—in this hotel, in a room not far from this one. That time with my father, and this time waiting for my father. “We made it,” I sigh to myself as my head drops to the pillow. And when I wake, he will be here.

My father is a chaplain with the 177th MP Brigade of the National Guard, and in May 2007, his Brigade was deployed to Baghdad to take part in Operation Enduring Freedom. We were told he would be gone 400 days . . . standing on that end of it, the beginning, it is truly hard to imagine 400 days. At the time he left, my daughter was barely more than 400 days old and she had changed so much in that time. How would we change while my dad was gone? A little girl’s daddy is her entire world while she is young and half of her world when she is old. How would we ever make it through a year without my father—without my world?

I remember when my dad joined the National Guard. I was 13 and in 8th grade when he left for a one-month training. While he was gone, my sister turned 16, and our country entered the first Gulf War. War was so foreign to me at the time that I never thought he would actually be deployed anywhere, so our only concern while he was gone was what day we should take the trash out and where it should go. That war ended quickly, and since then we have been a military family who kept our soldier right by our side. In May 2007, the war came to our family, and our father left it.

Mom, my sister, and I stood at the armory in Taylor, MI, saying goodbye to him and watching him fight back tears as he climbed onto the bus, our own tears falling down our cheeks, anxiety flooding our hearts. Would Dad come home? Would we be the same if he did? Would he be the same if he did?

During his time away, we leaned on my husband and my brother-in-law when we needed a man (not for the trash, but for the grilling), and we leaned on each other when we could. We added yellow ribbons around our trees and National Guard deployment flags in our windows. And we lived each day tender, with empty hearts and tears ready to fall.

Four hundred days means far more than the thirty days he was gone before. This time my parents celebrated an anniversary apart. I turned 30 without my daddy. I announced my pregnancy over the telephone and wished there was a good way to send ultra sound pictures to Iraq. Dad had a birthday surrounded by soldiers and boxes packed with whatever gifts and goodies can travel into another country. My oldest daughter turned two. We celebrated one birthday for each person in our family, without Dad there to sing. On Thanksgiving, we huddled around a web camera, talking to Dad—joking about how badly the Lions would lose, remembering the time that the turkey was almost raw, laughing about the battle for the most turkey skin—all of the same things we share every year, but this time without the joy. My dad never says much, but every meal we shared together was quiet without him.

Our most desperate time may have been Christmas. Tradition for our family dictates that we spend Christmas Eve at my parents’ house, opening our stockings, filled to the brim with more gifts than we could ever need; eating a huge dinner; and opening still more presents. This year, we all moved with mixed emotions toward a holiday that is considered a family favorite in normal years. Dad arranged for his leave time to fall just after Christmas, so we decided to hold off on most of the family celebration until he was back. Still we knew that the day itself, the day that was marked for family, could not be spent apart. So we gathered in a house that felt empty without its spark. I had spent the weeks before Christmas frantically buying gifts that my father could give to my mother, and I tried my hardest to make light of the fact that I filled a role that should have been his. Together on Christmas Eve, we talked with Dad over the computer, but any time that your call travels ocean and most of the way to the other side of the world, the conversation lags in timing and lacks in heart. How do you celebrate such an important day with someone who is present but nowhere around? And how do you share joy while the man who was your world for so long is now a world away and all alone? How does your heart not break?

Dad came home in January, on leave, and we relished each moment, celebrating Christmas again and hanging on every word he spoke. He left again far too soon.

When my daughter was born, it was night in Iraq. That did not stop my dad from rushing to a telephone where he could call us to welcome his fourth granddaughter and learn that this one, named Megan Leigh, shares his middle name. She is the only one in the family to have that honor, in part because he was gone when she was born and in part because, in the end, he really is still my world. That night, as a February blizzard blanketed the city outside our window, I whispered to my baby girl my hopes for her life. They were hopes for peace, joy, love, wisdom, a sense of humor . . . and the gift of being held by my father.

We learned so much during our year apart. We learned about ourselves, about the geography of the middle east, and about each other. We learned about the emptiness of having someone so central to our lives so far away. And we learned that we are stronger than we thought we were.

My dad is home now, for the holidays and the meals and the celebrations. He has held my daughter and participated in her baptism. Life is normal again. But while he was gone, I missed him so.

Strange Whom He Chooses to Use

This morning was a rough time.  Ellie and I really struggle in the morning--she's too much like me for me to handle in a mature manner, and she's too much like her dad to be a morning person.  That combination leads to most mornings beginning with a fight and tears from at least one of us.  This morning it ended up being both of us.

As I cried my way through most of my morning shower--alternating between complaining to God and pleading with Him--it dawned on me (again) how hard it is to be a parent.  Many days I'm not even positive that I enjoy parenting, and most days I'm confident that I don't have what it takes.  I think most mornings I allow the arguing and the nagging and the crying and yelling (all of which come from both of us most days) to settle into my brain with a resounding, "Beka, you are a shitty mom."  Forgive the language, but that's where I settle.  Today was one of those days.  I prayed that God would help me love my job of mothering His precious girls and that He would help me figure out how to be good at it.

After searching for shoes, getting stuck combs out of hair, and reminding everyone that there isn't really time to chat while we're brushing our teeth, we left the house a bit late.  The rain made it clear we wouldn't arrive to school on time (every tardy Ellie gets is a reflection on my ineptitude as a mother, you know), so  I was still grumbling in my spirit.  Then, traffic slowed to a standstill on the highway, and my battery light popped on.  No. Time. For. This.  I pulled off at the next exit, drove around for a couple of minutes, and the light went off.  Deciding not to drive on the highway in monsoon conditions, I opted to take the back roads.  As we stopped at our first traffic light, the battery light popped on again.  I said a quick prayer that we'd make it to both of the girls' schools before the van stalled completely and continued on with our morning routine.

After we dropped Meg off, Addie and I headed to AutoZone to get the battery tested and replaced.  I was still feeling like a royal failure at everything and felt on the verge of tears.  We've discussed Addie's obsessive question-asking in the past, so it should surprise no one that she had to touch every item in the display under the cash register and ask--several times--what each item was.  I can't count the number of deep breaths I took as I patiently attempted to answer each question with both the identification and an example of use in our lives (only because she asked for it, mind you--my high school Geometry teacher could have used my question-answering skills!). 

As I handed my debit card to Tony, the kind AutoZone man, he said, "You're a great mom, by the way."

Me?  A great mom?  How did you know I needed to hear that?  He went on to explain that most parents just tell their kids they don't need to know the answer and swat their hands away.  So there was his answer.  The world's answer.  But I know that he could just as easily have said, "Huh.  Most parents don't answer their kids' questions in here.  Good work, Mom."  Instead, he used the exact words I needed to hear: "You're a great mom, by the way."

Thank you, Tony.  God used you to answer the cry of my heart. 

And thank you, God.  For both the message through Tony and for the reminder that I, too, could be the person You use to answer the cry of a mother's--or a father's or a teenager's or a stressed-out worker's--heart around me.

Book Eight

In, just under the wire to keep me on track for two books a month!  Whew!

The Pawn
Steven James

My DearWriter/PublisherFriend gave me this book.  She told me it was good but that mine might be better and told me to get writing.  All I can say is that if mine is half as good, I'll be pleased, and that mine won't be nearly this complex!  Wow.

The Pawn was published in 2008, so I'm a bit late to the game. I'm actually grateful for that, because now I don't have to wait for the next book in the Patrick Bowers series. This is the first in a proposed 8-part series from "The Patrick Bowers Files." Bowers is an environmental criminologist--he uses geography and environment to help build a profile of the killer he is pursuing. In The Pawn, we are introduced to Bowers and his unique line of work, and James weaves his back story in to a fast-paced political and psychological thriller.


As is an indicator of good story telling, I truly found myself coming to care for the main characters and be repulsed by the psychopaths. Bowers, his step daughter, and his partners are well written. The villains (yes, there are many in this book) are, too. And, even when James doesn't include it, the reader can sense a depth to the characters that will make them fun to get acquainted with in future stories from the files. Perhaps the most exciting part for me was believing I had identified the killer then believing I was wrong only to believe I was right again before--oh, I don't want to give it away. Just know it's worth the ride.

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, publishes The Patrick Bowers Files, as well as Steven James's other books. Typically I shy away from Christian fiction, because I find it lacking in depth, lacking in thrill, or preachy. I'm pleased to say The Pawn is none of those things. Bowers wrestles with God in a way that feels authentic, and the family drama isn't neatly wrapped at the end of the book. Just like real life.

A Lesson from my Dad

Because The Eighteenth Sabbath reminded me of my dad and one of the most important lessons a girl could ever learn, here is that lesson for all of you, too. 

In July 1989, my dad took a call at 36th Street CRC in Wyoming, MI.  It meant a family move to Grand Rapids from South Dakota.  It also meant I would start 7th grade in a new town, at a new school, with no one that I had ever met before.  My sister was in high school, so she had to go to school to register on a Monday.  I wouldn't start until Tuesday, so my dad took me to Meijer on Clyde Park to pick up a few things for school. 

Riding in the car with my dad has always meant listening to music, and it's usually meant listening to it loudly.  That's what we were doing that day.  It must have been 99.3 (WJQK), because WCSG (91.3) usually played sleepy music in the late '80s and early '90s, and WAYFM didn't exist yet.  We had just pulled into the parking lot, when a song by DeGarmo & Key came on.  My dad had me sit and listen to it, and then he said, "This will get you through tomorrow and every other day, kiddo.  If God is for you, then no one else matters."

It's a hard lesson to learn and an even harder lesson to remember.  When the pressures of the world stack up, and I feel like I don't measure up, the last thing I'm thinking about is that it doesn't matter what others think, because God is for me.  It's easier to think that if I was just something more, something different, then the world would be nicer to me.  But, the truth remains: if God is for us, who could be against us?  No power on earth can take His love away.

When you rest in that, you can truly rest.  Thanks, Daddy.  It really does get me through every day.

The Eighteenth Sabbath

Water, You turned into wine
Opened the eyes of the blind
There's no one like You
None like You

Into the darkness, You shine
Out of the ashes we rise
There's no one like You
None like You

Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is healer
Awesome in power
Our God, our God

Into the darkness, You shine
Out of the ashes, we rise
There's no one like You
None like You

Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is healer
Awesome in power
Our God, our God

Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is healer
Awesome in power
Our God, our God

And if our God is for us
Then who could ever stop us
And if our God is with us
Then what could stand against

And if our God is for us
Then who could ever stop us
And if our God is with us
Then what could stand against
Then what could stand against

Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is healer
Awesome in power
Our God, our God

Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is healer
Awesome in power
Our God, our God

And if our God is for us
Then who could ever stop us
And if our God is with us
Then what could stand against

And if our God is for us
Then who could ever stop us
And if our God is with us
Then what could stand against
What could stand against
What could stand against

"Our God," by Chris Tomlin, Matt Redman, Jesse Reeves, Jonas Myrin

Random Thoughts from the Sabbath

I wanted to write something about my day yesterday, but there are several "somethings" in my mind.  At this point they don't seem too connected, so we'll call it random for now and see where we end up.

Thought #1
Dr. Branson Parler, Kuyper College professor and member at Fourth Reformed, preached about freedom yesterday.  It was an ironic message topic since Beau and I were "free" from our kids for the weekend and were enjoying that the noisy kids in the service weren't ours for a change.  As Branson preached on Galatians 5:13-6:2, he talked about how the world so often views freedom as just that--freedom from something.  The reality is that God wants to free us for something.  He frees us for Himself and He frees us for others. 

Yes, God does free us from sin, but it is so that we are free for living the lives that God created us to live.  To reclaim some part of that peace and joy and communion with Him and others.  One of the things Branson pointed out is that when you chop off your finger (because we all do that, right?), you haven't actually freed it from anything.  You have only condemned it to death.  The only way a finger can actually be a finger and do finger things is when it is attached to the body.  The same is true for us.  The only way that we can be ourselves, who we have been created to be and living out the gifts God has uniquely given to us, is when we are connected to the body.

Thought #2
Branson also quoted one of the most beautiful and gut-punching verses in the Bible.  It deserves its own thought, because it's just that good.  Galatians 5:6 "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love."

Thought #3
I have been teaching 7th-12th grade Christian Ed at church this year.  We're covering the Heidelberg Catechism, with varying degrees of success (as defined by the leaders' manual, I suppose), enjoyment (mine and that of my 7th-12th graders), and commitment (again, mine and theirs--I won't lie about that).  It's such lovely and weighty subject matter, and unfortunately I don't think our curriculum really speaks to my students or leaves them with much to hold onto.

As I reviewed this week's lesson, I just didn't feel good about what was in my manual.  It just felt cheesy and boring.  So I decided that since my "full" group would be there (we range from 2-10 on any given week) and we had six Q&As to get through, we would break into pairs and rewrite them.  I challenged the students to read the verses that went with the answers and then rewrite the answers in a more personal way.  We did Q&A 46 together.  Then I gave each pair Q&A 47-50.  I took Q&A 51 on my own, because we had only eight students.  I knew that what they could come up with could be huge, and I hoped they knew that too.  I was asking them to read scripture, think critically about how it applied to this question and to their lives, and then share it with everyone else.

They amazed me.

They shouldn't have, because I knew they could do it.  But they did.  And I'm so proud of what they shared.  I wish I'd recorded it.

Thought #4
As I said, I took Q&A 51.  We're nearly finished with the Apostles Creed portion of the Catechism, and these six Q&As are all about the ascended Christ sitting at the right hand of God.  The questions range from how is that possible to what it might mean for us.  I didn't mean to be so convicted by the one I "randomly" received from God.  As restated by me:

Q. How does this glory of Christ our head benefit us?
A. Christ has now been restored to full communion with God and the Holy Spirit, pouring the Holy Spirit's gifts out on us.  I, personally, have the gifts--and the personality--I have directly from the Spirit in order that I might use them to build up the body. 

Also, by sitting at the right hand of God, Christ has the full army of God ready and willing to do all that He commands.  Because He is with the father who created me and loves me, He will let nothing destroy me.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how God has gifted me and the personality that He has given me.  I have a passion to strengthen others--to build up the weak with encouragement and to challenge the strong with truth.  Could it possibly be that God has given that passion and the gifts to live out that passion?

Thought #5
This thought came today, while I was writing out my "random" thoughts.  I chuckle almost every time I use the word "random," because I don't believe for one second that God is a God of random happenstance.  I believe that God is a God of providential circumstance.  And because I've seen it often enough to know it's true, I sort of knew He would tie my random thoughts together as I wrote--at least as they apply to me. 

• The only way that we can be ourselves, who we have been created to be and living out the gifts God has uniquely given to us, is when we are connected to the body.
• "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love."
• I knew that what they could come up with could be huge, and I hoped they knew that too. I was asking them to read scripture, think critically about how it applied to this question and to their lives, and then share it with everyone else.
• I, personally, have the gifts--and the personality--I have directly from the Spirit in order that I might use them to build up the body.

My connection to the Body of Christ is essential, both in His figurative body and in the literal body of believers.  I will be worthless without that Body, because I have been uniquely gifted as Rebekah Marie (Bierenga) McDowell to do Beka things.  If I cut myself off, then I cut myself off to death.  And even more than that, if I cut myself off or refuse to do the Beka things that God created me to do, then I deprive the Body of what it needs to live out God's call for it.

This ended up longer than I thought it would be, so thanks for hanging with me on my rabbit trail.  I'm starting to wonder if any of it tied together for anyone but me.  Oh, well.  We always reach a conclusion; it just doesn't always resemble anything close to where we started or where we thought we'd end.  And it generally leads us to the beginning of another journey that we never expected but always sort of hoped was waiting for us.  That's where I'm standing today.  And, as my DearWriterFriend (DearPublisherFriend?) likes to say, "We are living the epilogue."  Thanks for sitting in on this page of mine.

The Seventeenth Sabbath

In Christ alone my hope is found,
He is my light, my strength, my song;
this Cornerstone, this solid Ground,
firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My Comforter, my All in All,
here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone! who took on flesh
Fulness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness
Scorned by the ones he came to save:
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied -
For every sin on Him was laid;
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay
Light of the world by darkness slain:
Then bursting forth in glorious Day
Up from the grave he rose again!
And as He stands in victory
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me,
For I am His and He is mine -
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me;
From life's first cry to final breath.
Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home,
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.

 
"In Christ Alone," Stuart Townend and Keith Getty

Overheard at the Ballpark

Today my husband and I went with some dear friends of ours, Matt and Jillian, to a Detroit Tigers game.  Our journey there began in early March when Matt and I were chatting via Facebook message about Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back, Josh Hamilton's autobiography.  Matt, Jillian, and I had recently read the book, and Matt and I were discussing how fun it would be to watch Josh and the Texas Rangers play when they made it to Detroit.  It happened to be this weekend, and today worked perfectly for all of us. 

Last night, my husband and I sent our kids off to Grandma and Grandpa's house, enjoyed dinner out at Licari's Sicilian Pizza Kitchen, slept in a bit this morning, and then climbed into Jillian's Honda Pilot for the trip to the Big D.  It was cloudy.  It was windy.  It was disappointing, because a rainout Friday night pushed the pitching off by a game, and we didn't get to see Justin Verlander pitch.  It was COLD.  And the first inning was terrible.  Rick Porcello let 8 runs cross the plate, and only one of them was a home run (go, Josh!).  The Rangers made it all the way through their batting order 1 1/2 times.  In the 1st inning.  The Tigers wouldn't get that far until the 5th.  Things settled in, but it was still cold and ugly.  And we were in the bleachers, and there were rowdy people all around us, and there were a lot of funny things to overhear.

So, here it is.  As overheard in the car and at a cold and windy blowout game at Comerica Park:

*NOTE: Names have NOT been changed to protect the guilty, and context is provided only when it serves my purposes.

"Why can't Verlander pitch both games?"  Random lady in line at the Mexican place

"I don't know anything about baseball.  I just know that Verlander is my next husband."  Same random lady after Jillian explained that Justin's arm would fall off if he pitched two games

"The case of Natty Ice I drank before coming here doesn't really help the situation any."  Drunk girl sitting behind us

"I hate these nail-biter games.  They make me so nervous!"  Beka's dad, in a text message during the 1st inning, when the score reached 8-0

"Oh, is there a game going on?  I thought it was Rangers batting practice."  Beka's response

"Lady, I'm going to rip your visor off and take your bubbles."  Jillian

"That's not your real hair." Matt, as muttered under his breath and subsequently overheard by the woman with the fake hair sitting several rows ahead of us.  She then lifted her visor off to demonstrate.

"Stop it.  This isn't a wedding."  Jillian

"I've never been afraid to say how I feel."  Jillian

"That's why you scared me."  Matt

"Yes.  That's why I was afraid of you."  Beka, at the exact moment Matt was responding

"Now she's dancing.  That's why I don't like women."  Beka

"I used to get the two cheeseburgers meal supersized.  When I was ten years old."  Matt

"I can't stand Ben Roethlisberger as a person."  Beka

"Well, I'm not really talking to him much personally, so I don't mind all that."  Matt

Less than two hours later:

"I can't stand Ty Cobb.  He was a terrible person."  Matt

"I'm not too excited about Trader Joe's.  Isn't it just some big flea market?"  Matt

"Do you realize that you never see baby pigeons?  You only see adult pigeons."

"...There is no such thing as baby pigeons."  Random drunk girls behind us, arriving at this conclusion after a five-minute conversation consisting of comments exactly like the first line

"I'm going to start calling you guys camels and bring you a vat of water."  Red Robin waitress to Beau

"Sister, you just keep driving your handicapped car!" Jillian

"That's so racist!"  Matt, to Jillian

"I didn't say anything!"  Jillian, pretending there was a defense for her actions

"I knew what you were thinking!"  Matt

"I made a White Power shirt."  Jillian

"Well, we had a Black Power one, too, so we were equal opportunity."  Matt

"You were right two times today, Beau."  Beka

"No.  I was right three.  That time and two others."  Beau

"You cheated!"  Beka, Matt, and Jillian

"Not every time."  Beau

"Oh, s---."  70+-year-old woman, after realizing she and her husband were on the kiss cam

"Is there a rest area coming up?  I need to stop.  I drank a lot of water."  Beau

"Where's the hump where you store your water, Camel?"  Matt

We had a great time!  Can't wait until our next double date with the crazy Gajtkas.

Things I Think I Think #49-61

A "mothering" edition, because it is just so appropriate today . . . even though it would be better suited in May.

49. I don't actually need Ellie to tell me that she hates to clean.  I remember that from the last time.

50. There comes a point where the whining needs to stop.  Even if it's by me putting my fingers in my ears and shouting "La-la-la-la" in my head.

51. My kids make me laugh.  Every day.  And it catches me off guard almost every time, because I can't figure out how they are so funny.

52. My kids also make me cry.  Almost as often.

53. I check on my sleeping girls every night when I go to bed, and I kiss my finger and put it on their noses.  I've done the same thing nearly every night of their lives.

54. One of these nights I'm going to crawl in bed with Meg and sleep there until morning.  Mostly because I can't fit in Addie's crib, and I'm concerned about climbing up onto Ellie's top bunk.

55. I'm pretty sure that I love one of my girls more than the others . . . and the one changes by the minute.

56. I hope that one of my girls sings, one of my girls plays soccer, one of my girls writes, and one of my girls goes to the University of Notre Dame.  They can all be the same one.

57. It makes me tear up every time someone tells me my kids are kind and good friends to other children.

58. I really hope that my girls are good friends to each other as they grow up as well and that the four of us enjoy spending time together when they are grown.

59. The hardest thing about being a mom is having your heart walk around outside of your body in the form of a little person.  The second hardest thing is patiently saying something for the hundredth time.

60. When I look at my girls I see the negative things they have inherited from me and none of the positive things.

61. I would happily give up all of my dreams for my kids as long as they serve God and follow Him with all of their hearts.

The Sixteenth Sabbath

Thou lovely source of true delight
Whom I unseen adore
Unveil Thy beauties to my sight
That I might love Thee more
Oh, that I might love Thee more

Thy glory o'er creation shines
But in Thy sacred Word
I read in fairer brighter lines
My bleeding, dying Lord
See my bleeding, dying Lord

'Tis here, whene'er my comforts droop
And sin and sorrow rise
Thy love with cheering beams of hope
My fainting heart supplies
Oh, my fainting heart's supplied

But ah!  Too soon the pleasing scene
Is clouded o'er with pain
My gloomy fears rise dark between
And I again complain
Oh, and I again complain

Jesus, my Lord, my life, my light
Oh come with blissful ray
Break radiant through the shades of night
And chase my fears away
Won't You chase my fears away

Then shall my soul with rapture trace
The wonders of Thy love
But the full glories of Thy face
Are only known above
They are only known above

Thou lovely source of true delight
Whom I unseen adore
Unveil Thy beauties to my sight
That I might love Thee more
Oh, that I might love Thee more

"Thou Lovely Source of True Delight," Anne Steele

Things We Know Nothing About

This is yesterday's blog post, take two.  Along with knowing nothing about the beautiful future and plans God has for us, sometimes we are forced to acknowledge that we know nothing about the days God has numbered for us or the countless ways He protects us every one of them.  Today is one of those days.

Addie is madly in love with horses.  She especially likes to see the "horsies in the sand" at a riding school we discovered on Michigan in between Grand River Drive and Crahen.  She asks to see them every day after we drop Ellie off at school and again after we pick her up.  Most days I comply, because I like the drive up the hill on Michigan, and, let's be honest, there's just something about horses.  Today I told her we had to hurry home from picking Ellie up so we could wrap Beau's birthday presents and the girls could make cards for him.

So there we were, on the highway.  We took the Fulton entrance onto I-96, like we normally do.  I was grumpy, because the cars in front of me were not accelerating on the entrance ramp.  They were holding us back.  We managed to get on the highway (at about 55 MPH), and I merged into traffic, quickly getting my speed up to 70 MPH. 

Just west of the East Beltline overpass, I noticed something flying through the air a few car lengths ahead of us.  It looked like a rod or something, but my brain struggled to process what I was seeing.  All I could think was there was nowhere for me to go but forward.  At 70 MPH it doesn't take long to traverse a few hundred yards, so it didn't take long before it became clear that there was going to be an impact between my van full of precious girls and this object.  I had enough time to slow down and pray that it wouldn't come through the windshield just as it seemed to land on the road in front of us.  With no other option, because I knew swerving would be the worst thing I could do at that speed, I drove over it.  The thunk it made startled the girls and was quickly erased by the ding of my check engine light.

Deciding I should head straight to the car shop--it was 4:00 on a Friday, after all--I drove to our normal car repair store where they were able to get our car right in to assess the damage.  After about an hour, we learned that the damage was close to $2,000.  I'll end up getting a new bumper, air conditioning compressor, ambient air sensor, and maybe even a new radiator!  Exciting times.  We have insurance to pay for the damage after we pay our deductible.  The money for that is in the bank, and it may even end up being only a comprehensive claim, which will save us $800.  Jehovah Jireh.  God provides.

But, as I reflect on it, none of that is the point.

The point is that there are things we know nothing about.  If I had it to do over, obviously we would go see the horsies in the sand today.  But I didn't know anything about what was on the highway, so I made the choice based on the 20 minutes it would save us to avoid that extra stop.  I also didn't know anything about the rod of metal flipping through the air on the highway.  If I had, maybe I'd have been grateful that the car in front of us didn't accelerate fast enough and held us back.  Maybe if it hadn't, we would have been a bit further down the highway where our windshield would have met a metal rod at 70 MPH.

How many times in my day, in my week, am I in the middle of things I know nothing about?  How often has God had me be just far enough to the right or just fast enough or just late enough that I missed a disaster?  When my dad was in Iraq, there was story after story about him or others he worked with being in just the right place or leaving where they were just in time or "randomly" not being where they always were at that time--those stories meant the difference between their lives and their deaths.

It's no different for any of us.  So thank you, God, for having me and my precious daughters in the palm of your hand.  Thank you for having Beau there, too.  And for having such care for all of us that nothing can happen to us without it first passing through Your hands.

What is your only comfort in life and in death?

That I am not my own, but I belong, in body and in 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.

Heidelberg Catechism, Q & A 1

Becoming More Than Yourself

I have recently begun to enjoy watching golf on television.  During that time, I've gotten to "know" a few of the golfers on the PGA tour and enjoy following them.  Typically my favorite golfers seem to develop a curse once I admit to liking them, and they don't do well, but then again I do like to root for the underdog.  That made it especially fun to see Bubba Watson and his pink driver win the Masters on Easter Sunday.

What made it the most fun, perhaps, isn't the way he won or even the fact that he never had a professional golf lesson growing up.  It is summed up in this simple statement: "I never got this far in my dreams, so this isn't a dream come true."

That really got me thinking.  I have a lot of dreams.  But I can't even begin to dream where I'll really end up in my life, what is actually in store for me. 

Several weeks ago, I entered a contest to get a devotional printed in a new Moms' Devotional Bible that Zondervan is publishing.  I never expected to make it through to the final round, and I burst into tears when I got the email from them telling me that I was a finalist.  Now, there are two days left until I hear whether my devotional or the other entry is the winner.  I've gone through several emotions since learning I was a finalist, and I keep thanking God for taking it this far--and asking Him to prepare me for when if I don't win.  I don't want to be too disappointed.  And, to be honest, like Bubba Watson, I never got there in my dreams.  I never dreamed about being published in a devotional Bible.  I never really dreamed about being a Christian author.  I have dreams that involve my stories, but the truth is that I have no clue what my future really looks like. 

When I start to get cocky about my writing or about my teaching or about any work that I'm doing, there's a voice that reminds me of the reality of who I am.  I'm a child of God.  He has given me the talent that I have.  Thomas Kincaid's mother told him when he was young that his talents were God's gift to him.  She went on to say that what he did with his talents was his gift to God.  That's what I need to remember, too.  So when I live out what I think are my dreams, instead I need to just live out my love for God.

In my Bible reading this morning, I came across these words of Jesus (as recounted in The Message in Luke 14:11): "What I'm saying is, If you walk around with your nose in the air, you're going to end up flat on your face.  But if you're content to be simply yourself, you will become more than yourself."

I need to cut that out and hang in on my music stand when I sing on the worship team on Sunday morning, on the mirror in my bathroom, on my computer, on my dashboard . . . I need to write it on my heart and engrave it on my hand.  Whether being simply myself is using a pink driver in my golf game or writing from my heart or singing loudly, that's who I need to be.  Because that's who God made me.  And, when I give it to Him--do it for Him--it's more than enough.  And He will make me more than myself.

Vacationing From Excuses

Oh, brother.  I took spring break off of work so I could play with my kids and begin the (not so) fun task of potty training my youngest.  Along with my vacation from work, I apparently took a vacation from all of the self discipline I've been working to cultivate.  I ate what I wanted, went to bed when I wanted, slept in almost every day, worked out not at all, fell behind in my Bible reading, and barely blogged.  Sounds awful to me.  Well, the relaxing and sleeping in was nice.  So was the eating out.  And somehow I lucked out and only gained 1.8 pounds, so perhaps I've learned some healthy eating-out habits.  But, still, I hate what I did.

In an attempt to get all of my excuses out of the way now and find my way back to how well I did in January, I give you every excuse I've used since February:

* I'm so tired.
* I ate well yesterday and have reached a weight lower than where I've been in almost a year.  One day won't hurt.
* But Hawaii Five-0 is on at 10:00 Monday nights--I can't wake up at 5:00 a.m. after I stay up that late.
* How many times will you get to eat from the ice cream store in March?  (For the record, I can give you three.  But they were all once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.)
* It's my vacation.  I deserve to sleep in.
* My workout buddies aren't going, so why should I?
* The kids barely slept last night.  I need one more hour.
* I'll work out tonight.
* I'll work out extra hard tomorrow.
* I'm out with friends, so I should get to eat whatever I want.
* I deserve this snack.
* Easter only comes once a year.
* If I eat it all in one day then I won't be tempted tomorrow.
* These workouts aren't working anyway.
* This headache is killing me.  I can't work out.
* Oh, I bet these sniffles are becoming a cold.  Better get extra sleep.
* I'm sore from yesterday's workout.  Better rest my muscles.
* I already screwed up--go big or go home.

What am I missing?  And what are your favorites?  Let's get them all out, start right now with the good choices, go to bed on time, wake up early, and do those bike sprints.  Instead of vacationing from good habits, I need to vacation from excuses.  Hopefully it will be even more painful to come back from that vacation!

Easter Sunday - The Fifteenth Sabbath

It's Resurrection Sunday!  And because of it, our entire lives are different.  Our pastor asked this question today: What if the resurrection is true? 

Indeed.  What if it is?  What does that mean for my life?  It means that everything is different.  It means that I have hope.  It means that the wounds of my life and my darkest days can be and are used by God to bring about my deepest joy.  The resurrection IS true, and because of it life is unspeakably worth the living.

God sent His Son--they called Him Jesus,
He came to love, heal, and forgive;
He lived and died to buy my pardon,
An empty grave is there to prove by Savior lives.

Because He lives I can face tomorrow,
Because He lives, all fear is gone.
Because I know He holds the future
And life is worth the living, just because He lives!

How sweet to hold a newborn baby
And feel the pride and joy he gives;
But greater still, the calm assurance:
This child can face uncertain days, because He lives!

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,
Because He lives, all fear is gone.
Because I know He holds the future,
And life is worth the living, just because He lives!

And then one day, I'll cross the river.
I'll fight life's final war with pain.
And then, as death gives way to vict'ry,
I'll see the lights of glory, and I'll know He lives!

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,
Because He lives, all fear is gone.
Because I know He holds the future,
And life is worth the living, just because He lives!

"Because He Lives," Bill and Gloria Gaither

Good Friday

Tonight our church held its traditional Tenebrae service for Good Friday.  For the first time we were joined by two neighborhood churches, and all three pastors and music teams, as well as members from each congregation, participated in the readings.  The pastor of New City Church gave a homily to start us off.  Something he said really struck me.  I think it's especially poignant as we spend so much time now talking about injustice--both in and out of the courtroom--and whether or not justice was actually served.

[Jesus' crucifixion] was the single greatest act of injustice our world has ever committed.  And yet it was the single greatest act of justice that God has ever committed.

Amen.  And then amen again.

Seven years ago today, I spent my first Good Friday with a child growing inside of me.  There would be two more of them, but I remember that first so well.  At the time I worked for a Christian school that had "mandatory" staff devotions every morning.  That year for the Good Friday devotions, we met at St. Andrew's in downtown Grand Rapids where we participated in the Stations of the Cross. 

The day before, I had a doctor's appointment where my doctor noted that my white blood count was elevated, so she recommended that I have an early ultra sound to make sure everything was okay.  Now, I know very little about medicine or the human body, but I knew what she was thinking of.  She was concerned my white count (the fighter cells) was high because my body was trying to fight off the baby.  That, and the fact that my ultra sound couldn't be scheduled until the following Wednesday, was fresh on my mind as I proceeded through the Stations.

At Station Four, where Jesus meets His mother, I very nearly passed out.  Then I had a panic attack.  I spent the rest of the Stations in the bathroom trying to decide whether I was going to throw up, pass out, or just curl up in a little ball.  I called my mom.  And she told me something that I will likely never forget, as it has proved to be so true: now that you are a mother, Easter will never be the same again.

Pastor JT from New City Church went on in his homily tonight.  He talked more about the injustice of the justice of Jesus' trial.  He talked about Jesus hanging on the cross and how his pleading in the Garden the night before had been about more than simply not wanting the physical pain of being crucified.  He wanted the cup of being the sacrificial lamb to pass before Him, because He knew.  He knew what He would take upon Himself and He knew how ugly He would become . . . to His Father.  To the holy God who cannot be in the presence of sin.  To the holy God who cannot even stand to look upon sin.  To the holy God who abandoned His own Son because of our sin.

As a mother, I can't imagine looking at my child with that much disgust.  As a mother, I can't imagine watching my child die a horrible death for people who are gambling for his clothing.  As a mother, I can't imagine raising my children in a world where all of that hadn't happened.

It is finished.  Three simple words that summarize all of the history of the world since creation.  Three simple words that declare the culmination of all of God's plans.  Three simple words that unite us with God for eternity.  Three simple words for my marriage and for my beautiful children and for those winning their battles against cancer and for those losing their battles with life . . . three simple words that make this a good Friday indeed.

Book Seven

Swamplandia!
Karen Russell

I actually finished this book a week or so ago and just haven't had the chance (or the internet access) to post my thoughts about it.  It turns out that might actually be a good thing, as I've needed that long to process it.  A friend of mine said, in reviewing this book, "I have never read a book like this."  There is a lot of truth in that statement.  I haven't either.  So I don't really know what to say about it.

Swamplandia! is a coming-of-age story for three siblings as their family's alligator resort in the swamplands of Florida sees its last tourists.  Each family member deals with it in a different manner--one tries to save it by leaving, another tries to escape it, another tries to save it by staying, and another inexplicably disappears.  Even more than all of their efforts to save Swamplandia!, this is a story of a family trying to save a mother who dies in the first pages of the book.  In so many ways, Swamplandia! the resort is built upon this woman, this mother, this alligator wrestler, and it didn't stand a chance without her.  In just as many ways, Swamplandia! the novel is also built upon this woman, this mother, this wife, and a family that didn't stand a chance without her.

When I say this is a novel unlike anything I've ever read, I mean that I have never witnessed, firsthand, the destruction of a family when its matriarch is stolen from it.  And I saw it, page after page, as I was unable to put down the book.  I had to know if and how this family could survive when its life had been snuffed out. 

Many reviews called this a laugh-out-loud novel.  I can't say that's true, except in the guilty laughter that comes at the absurd way humans try to recover from losing their joy.  I would more say Swamplandia! was the achingly beautiful story of a family losing all it had and fighting its way back to saving itself.

The Fourteenth Sabbath

Hosanna, loud hosanna, the little children sang;
Through pillared court and temple the lovely anthem rang.
To Jesus, who had blessed them close folded to His breast,
The children sang their praises, the simplest and the best.

From Olivet they followed mid an exultant crowd,
The victor palm branch waving, and chanting clear and loud.
The Lord of men and angels rode on in lowly state,
Nor scorned that little children should on His bidding wait.

“Hosanna in the highest!” that ancient song we sing,
For Christ is our Redeemer, the Lord of heaven our King.
O may we ever praise Him with heart and life and voice,
And in His blissful presence eternally rejoice!

"Hosanna, Loud Hosanna" - Jeanette Threlfall






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Ode to Technology

I'm back!

After one (long) week without the internet, we now return to our regularly-scheduled (almost) daily blogging.  Whew.  It was a long week.  At one point toward the end, I said to a couple of friends, "You know, it's not so bad not to have the internet.  We just have a lot of questions that can't be answered."  It was a joke, but, as with all jokes, there was a grain of truth in it.

In that week, my husband and I learned a lot about ourselves:
* My husband discovered that he is addicted to an online game.  He can't let anyone pass him, so he had to check in every day, even to the point of using all of the data on his iPhone plan.
* We're even more grateful for our iPhones, or we would have been completely cut off.  Which would have been awful.
* Apparently I can't research anything without Wikipedia and IMDB.
* I also can't pay my bills or check my bank account without the internet.
* If I couldn't text, I'm also not sure I could have stayed connected with any of my friends.
* Strangely, it is extremely difficult to communicate with my new internet provider without some access to the internet.  Which I didn't yet have.

That really got me thinking.  How did two people who grew up without email addresses, internet research, or online banking and had to play board games or Minesweeper, wait for a bank statement to arrive in the mail, and dial 5-3-0-S-H-O-W for movie times end up here?  And why can't we fend for ourselves?  I had two people offer to let me go to their house to use their internet, and I very nearly went to ask my neighbor for his password so I could use his wireless.  It's rather like getting a calculator or cash register and then having to think hard about how to make change for a dollar.

Really, though, we're a society that depends on technology for almost everything.  The scale that weighs me in at the gym uses a computer.  The van that I drive around cannot function if the computer goes down.  I rely on weather.com and yp.com to answer questions that a phone call, check of the daily (HA!) newspaper, or flip through the phone book used to answer.  I track my weight gain and loss with my computer, work from home via remote access to my desk computer, arrange babysitters and double dates via email and texting, check restaurant menus and movie times on my phone . . . the list goes on and on. 

Technology can be such a gift.  And when it's taken away, it's hard to remember how life used to be before we had it.  In fact, when I look at my goals, there is really only one that I can accomplish without technology: daily Bible reading.  And it's the only one I'm going to meet this month.

Please Excuse Me If You've Heard This One

This morning in my Bible reading, I (re)read the story of the quadraplegic man whose friends bring him to Jesus.  Today's time through was in Luke, which is the more familiar text to me.  It's a story that I've heard many times in my life, and I even used to know a song about it (now lost somewhere between here and Vacation Bible School at Hamlin Reformed Church, I think).  Yet, it's one of my favorite stories in the Bible.

Eleven years ago I was in the middle of a rough year.  To call it a rough year is actually quite the understatement.  I know I've shared this, but I had several family funerals, illnesses and funerals for family friends, and my husband and I separated.  Through all this, I found it increasingly hard to get to Jesus on my own.  I just didn't think I had the strength to do it.  I would try, but I just felt so weary.  A dear friend of mine said, "Beka, we'll carry you there."

Exactly.  My friends would carry me.  And they did.  Just like the quadraplegic man with his four friends who carried him to Jesus and let nothing--even a climb on top of a house and the thatch roof--stand in the way of them setting him at the feet of the Savior.  My friends did that for me.  It was their pleasure, they said.  They did it because they loved me, they said.  They did it because it was an honor to them to bring me to the One who could heal my heart.

Fast forward through April and part of May and to a phone call from a friend.  She called to tell me that the twin brother of my dear friend's husband had died.  I was stunned.  Our mutual friend was stunned.  My dear friend was stunned.  Immediately I phoned her.  When she answered, she told me that she didn't know what to say or what to do.  Without thinking, I said, "It's really not so bad.  You just lie there."  And then we carried her.  It was our pleasure.  We did it because we loved her.  We did it because it was an honor to bring her to the One who could heal her heart.

Through the past 11 years, she's carried me again, and I've carried her.  Together we've carried other friends, and I know that we will continue to do that.  It always comes back around.  And it's always an honor. 

Surely it seems difficult to climb onto that mat and just lie still.  The quadraplegic man had it made--he couldn't move.  Too often we try to get up, because we just don't feel right just lying there.  But that's our job.  For that season, we have to just lie there, and it really isn't so bad.  For other seasons, we get to carry.  But if we never trust anyone to carry us, will they trust us to carry them?

Which side of the mat do you find yourself on right now?  Are you carrying someone?  Then you know the honor that is there.  Are you lying on the mat, being carried?  Then you know the love that is there.  This is family.  We're friends.  We do it because we love each other.  And because we know that there is no one else who can heal our hearts.

The Twelfth Sabbath

Oh, God, our help in ages past
Our hope for years to come
Our shelter from the stormy blast
And our eternal home.

Under the shadow of Thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure
Sufficient is Thine arm alone
And our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood
Or earth received her frame
From everlasting Thou art God
To endless years the same.

A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising son.

Oh, God, our help in ages past
Our hope for years to cmoe
Be Thou our guard while life shall last
And our eternal Home.

"Oh God Our Help in Ages Past," Isaac Watts

Why Do We Want to Go to Church?

Overheard at the dinner table tonight:

Addie: "Why do we want to go to church tomorrow?"
Ellie: "Because it's Sunday."
Addie: "But why do we want to go to church tomorrow?"
Ellie: "That's what we do on Sundays."
Addie: "But why do we want to go to church tomorrow?"
Meg: "Because we want to praise God."

Amen, and amen, Meg.  Because we want to praise God.  Why do we want to go to church tomorrow?  Because we want to praise God.  It ended the conversation at our dinner table, certainly.  But it also answers a question that our pastor asked us last Sunday:

Why are you here this morning?

So many of us struggled to find the church answer--or even admit our honest answer.  Leave it to Meg to get to the heart:

Because we want to praise God.

Things I Think I Think #35-48

In lighter news:

35. I have discovered that I have a serious passion for those sounds that carry great meaning without ever uttering a word.  You know them when you hear them.  If you don't, just ask Julie Schalk.

36. There is very little that calms me down more than driving down country roads with the windows open on blue-sky spring days.

37. I love March Madness in spite of the fact that I watch almost no college basketball during the rest of the year.

38. I get totally grossed out talking about teeth issues.  I can't imagine being a dentist and putting my hands in those dirty mouths.  (Sorry, Russ!)

39. At the same time--or maybe because of that--I hope to die at an old age with all of my current teeth.

40. My subscription to Entertainment Weekly resulted in a free subscription to Us Weekly.  When it (Us Weekly)  arrives in the mail each week, I drop everything to read it cover to cover.  When there's a double issue, I get a bit sad knowing next week won't have that gem in my mailbox.

41. I LOVE tacky "B" horror films on Chiller and SyFy.  That love of poor acting and excessive drama is probably what fuels my addiction to Days of Our Lives.

42. I have a friend who often shares with me what she and another friend did when they were younger, and I giggle inside because I have also done or would happily have done most of them too.  Or maybe I'd still do them.

43. Because we moved around so much when I was growing up, I don't have a best friend--or even a consistent one--who has known me through all the different stages of my life.  It makes me want that for my kids.

44. Every time the blowing wind takes my breath away I remember standing at my bedroom window in South Dakota and feeling that for the first time.  It amazes me that a feeling can still be so vivid after 26 years.

45. When I think about "home," I first think about my husband and my girls; then I think about my pillow and my bed; then I think about South Dakota.

46. I really believe I saw the tooth fairy when I was young.  I'm just not sure how that worked now that I'm an adult. 

47. Dirt and bugs are the number one things I don't like about camping and the only things I don't like about spring.

48. If I got to eat a couple of scoops of ice cream every day for the rest of my life, I wouldn't tire of it.  Even if I only got vanilla.

Quit Playing Games With Our Kids

{Steps onto soap box.}

An email came across my desk at work last week.  It noted $20 million in funds for the Victims of Child Abuse Act that had been excluded from the FY13 budget as proposed by President Obama.  For the first time since 1994, there was to be no funding for the National Children's Alliance, which means a cut in program support for every accredited children's advocacy center in the country (including the Children's Assessment Center, which is my day job) and virtually no funds allocated for emerging centers in counties where they don't yet exist.  Then, on Monday evening, another email came through.  This one stated that the FY13 budget further proposes to reallocate $365 million in funds from the Victims of Crime Act, which would mean cuts to--and possible elimination of--services for crime victims all across the country.  In Kent County alone that means a number of cuts to children: victim witness programs, domestic violence shelters, and the Center's counseling and victim advocacy services.  The real kicker is that the funds are paid through criminal fines and penalties and don't affect the size of the federal budget at all.  It is proposed that they will be used to pay for other line items in the budget outside of true crime victim services.

As we talked about it internally and formulated our response, our pleas to Representative Amash and Senators Stabenow (who has signed on to save the Victims of Child Abuse Act funds at least) and Levin, and our rallying cries to our donors, one thing kept coming up. 

"You know this is just a game, right?  It's political gamesmanship.  It's an election year.  Nobody is really going to cut our child victims of crimes out of the budget this year--but they will use them to get other earmarks they want."

I know this is likely.  I know it has been proposed before (by Bush, so let's not get too self righteous, friends), and there were no cuts.  But I also know that if we lost all of our funds from these two sources, that would mean eliminating our counseling and our victim advocacy and limiting our forensic interviews.  It would mean hacking out a third of our budget.  It's too big of a risk to take.

So I spent most of Tuesday formulating all of our responses and rallying everyone I know.  Every other email on the NCA listserv has been updates on who signed on and who didn't.  We've had conversations about face-to-face meetings with our representative and whether it is more likely that our senators will read a letter or an email.  We've also talked about whether we should combine the issues into one email or leave them separate and just send two responses to each person.  We should have been spending that time on our kids.  On raising new money.  On making new donor contacts.  On completing paperwork from another interview with a child who had been sexually abused.  But instead we spent hours on this--and have continued to spend hours more--because we can't take the risk that this is just gamesmanship.

Ridiculous.  Appalling.  Quit using our kids as pawns in a game that they don't care about.  They just want help.  They want the bad guys to be locked up.  They want to sleep safely at night.  They want their nightmares to go away.  They want to laugh and play like children should.

If you want to help, please do the following:
* Send your representative a letter asking him or her to sign the House Dear Colleague letter sponsored by Rep. Danny Davis (D-7th) of IL to fund the Victims of Child Abuse Act at $20 million for FY13.

* Send your senators a letter asking them to sign the Dear Colleague letter sponsored by Sen. Kerry (MA-D) and Sen. Baucus (MT-D) in support of funding the Victims of Child Abuse Act at $20 million for FY13.

* Send your representative and senators a letter asking them NOT to use money for victims of crime as a revenue base for its FY13 budget by asking for a $1 billion VOCA cap in FY13. Because the Crime Victims Fund comes entirely from criminal fines and other penalties—not taxpayer dollars—this cap DOES NOT ADD to the national debt or deficit.

{Thanks you for your time, and steps down from soap box.}

The Eleventh Sabbath

{NOTE: I once listened to this song on the radio as I drove through a lightning storm in the otherwise pitch black night.  As the flashes of lightning shocked my eyes every time it flashed, I realized that was like catching a glimpse of God's glory.  To have seen His entire glory would have been to be blinded by His power.}

I caught a glimpse of Your splendor
In the corner of my eye
The most beautiful thing I've ever seen
And it was like a flash of lightning
Reflected off the sky
And I know I'll never be the same

Show me Your glory
Send down Your presence
I want to see Your face
Show me Your glory
Majesty shines about You
I can't go on without You, Lord

When I climb down the mountain
And get back to my life
I won't settle for ordinary things
I'm gonna follow You forever
And for all of my days
I won't rest 'til I see You again

Show me Your glory
Show me Your glory
I can't live without You

"Show Me Your Glory," Mark D. Lee, Samuel Tai Anderson, Bradley B. C. Avery, David Carr, Johnny Mac Powell, Marc Byrd

Quotes Worth Remembering

From The Night Circus:

I find I think of myself not as a writer so much as someone who provides a gateway, a tangential route for readers to reach the circus.  To visit the circus again, if only in their minds, when they are unable to attend it physically.  I relay it through printed words on crumpled newsprint, words that they can read again and again, returning to the circus whenever they wish, regardless of time of day or physical location.  Transporting them at will.

When put that way, it sounds rather like magic, doesn't it?

- Friedrick Thiessen, 1898

{page 369}

"It is important," the man in the grey suit interrupts.  "Someone needs to tell those tales.  When the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative.  There's magic in that.  It's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict.  From the mundane to the profound.  You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose.  That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words.  That is your role, your gift.  Your sister may be able to see the future, but you your self can shape it, boy.  Do not forget that."  He takes another sip of his wine.  "There are many kinds of magic, after all."

{page 381}

"Why haven't you asked me how I do my tricks?" Celia asks, once they have reached the point where she is certain he is not simply being polite about the matter.

Frederick considers the question thoroughly before he responds.

"Because I do not wish to know," he says.  "I prefer to remain unenlightened, to better appreciate the dark."

{page 183}

Book Six

The Night Circus
Erin Morgenstern

What a delightfully, charming book!  I'm a total sucker for magic and mystery, and this book was full of both.  Morgenstern cleverly lays the book out in narrative sections, describing the night circus, and sections from two different time periods.  At first it was confusing, but once I started to get to know the story and the characters in each time period, it was easy to follow.  And when the stories came together, Morgenstern's quick transitions between different days instead of years added to the suspense.

The premise of The Night Circus is that two magicians--illusionists, really, who have learned to truly manipulate reality rather than use slight-of-hand techniques--have chosen students who have been eternally bound to participate in a challenge to determine which is the better illusionist.  It would actually be more accurate to say "determine which is the better teacher," because it truly is all about the elder illusionists.  Celia and Marco are kept in the dark about their opponents and the true conclusion of the challenge, and that makes the book even more engaging.  The imagination needed to create this story and this world is a gift--and made it especially fun to read.  Morgenstern's careful attention to detail in this imaginary world of the night circus made it easy to recreate in my head and made me wish for a red scarf of my own. 

My only true complaint is that I could not read the book quickly because I wanted to relish every word.

A Tender Day

I've been a bit tender ever since I opened the letter this afternoon.  It was a normal day, and it was a normal letter.  We often get letters from the principal over the listserv, so I started to open it without really thinking.  But then the subject caught me off guard this time: "Death of a Student."  I thought it was an accident--a high school student or someone from one of the other schools.  I figured it would hurt as I thought about it, but I never dreamed it would hit me this hard.

A 7th grader at a local middle school passed away yesterday.  He committed suicide.  He went to the same elementary where my oldest daughter is a student.  If we stay in West Michigan, then in a few years she'll be at that same middle school--with most of the same kids she started school with in Kindergarten.

I don't know why this young man, this baby really, decided to end his life.  I pray that some day his parents get answers and find hope again.  As I think about what happened, though, my heart breaks--for him, for his parents, for his friends, for his classmates, for his teachers, for my daughter.

Middle school sucks.  There's no way around it.  It's so, so hard being a teenager.  But it gets better.  It sounds trite, or perhaps it just sounds like I'm stealing it from something different, something that this might not have been.  All I know is that it's true.  And when I walked in my daughter's classroom to read to her class this afternoon, I was tender.  I looked at their little faces and wondered what middle school holds for them.  They have a little better than five years before they get there, and so much can happen in that time.  But all the same, I wonder.  These are Ellie's classmates.  They're beautiful children learning to read and be friends and eat from all of the food groups.  And I love them.

So this is a tender day.  May God wrap His arms of peace around this young man's parents and his teachers and his friends and his classmates.  May God protect those kids, those babies, from themselves and from the only choice that can't be fixed.  And may God help all of us know what to say, how to help, what to see, how to be tender.

God, I love those kids.  The big ones and the little ones . . . please keep them safe tonight.

Finding Us Faithful

There is a large dumpster in the driveway of a house a block or so away from my house.  It's a house that I walk by or drive by multiple times each day.  There's a gold van in the driveway that announces who its owner voted for in a past presidential election.  It used to drive by my house several times a week, and when I was outside of my house, the driver would honk his welcome--and I would nearly jump out of my skin.  That won't be happening anymore, because the owner of the house, of the van, is gone.  He has arrived in his eternal Home, greeted by his Savior and his beloved bride who preceded him Home by 2 1/2 years.  The man has probably been a member at my church longer than I have been alive, and in many ways he embodied our church.

When I got the email last week that John had passed peacefully, tears immediately filled my eyes.  I thought of the joyous welcome he received and what a gift it was for him to look around him and see that he was Home.  I described John to a friend who is new at our church, and I said, "You'd know him if you saw him--or rather, if you heard him."  John was mostly deaf, and he compensated for it by talking loudly.  It didn't really matter how loudly you talked back, because he didn't really leave too much time for you to speak.  That's probably because he couldn't hear you anyway.  Still, John was an amazing and welcoming man.  He was one of the first people to welcome my husband and me to church, nearly seven years ago, and I continued to see him be that welcoming, Sunday after Sunday.  John was love.  John was a gift.  And John was faithful.  Heaven got just a bit louder at his arrival, and our church got just a bit quieter.

Since we started attending Fourth Reformed almost seven years ago, we have been to several funerals for longtime members of the church.  Jerry was the first, and when the memorial service is held on April 1, John will be the most recent.  As I was thinking about John, I was struck by Whose he was as much as who he was.  John had two loves: his Savior and his beloved Jane.  There were things he really enjoyed--hunting, getting away from the city in his rustic cabin, talking politics, his children and grandchildren--but he absolutely and completely loved God and Jane. 

Some day they will all be gone, all the saints who have built our churches and who have been the sources of our wisdom, our examples.  Some day they will all have reached their final rest, and we will be the saints who are left.  We'll be the ones who stand as an example of what it means to love God and to love others, to give up our lives for our spouses, to work with integrity, to welcome.  It will be up to us.  May those who come behind us find us even half as faithful as we find those who have gone before us.

The Tenth Sabbath

Just as I am, without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee
Oh Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot
To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot
Oh Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, though tossed about
With many a conflict, many a doubt
Fightings and fears within, without
Oh Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind
Sight, riches, healing of the mind
Yea, all I need in Thee to find
Oh Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, Thou wilt receive
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve
Because Thy promise I believe
Oh Lamb of God, I come, I come.

"Just As I Am, Without One Plea," Charlotte Elliott

OCD Much?

Our youngest daughter has a problem.  I'm not sure it's an actual problem or would warrant an official diagnosis, but she fixates like no one I've ever met.  Now it must be said (because otherwise my husband will say it for me), that I'm a fixater, too.  If I'm lying in bed thinking about doing something the next day and some random item I'll need for the project is missing in my mind, I absolutely have to get out of bed to find it.  That moment.  It can't wait until morning, or I won't sleep.  So perhaps she comes by it naturally.

Every two year old goes through the "Why?" phase.  Addie seems stuck there.  No answer satisfies her "why," nor will any answer make it go away.  And, to make it all worse, she doesn't forget her curiosity.  So, we have a two year old who wonders why about almost everything she sees, and then she fixates on it.  For the next three days.

You think I'm exaggerating.  Last week Monday, we were picking Meg up from preschool.  On our way out the door, we started talking to our friend Kari, who was there to pick her daughter Maddie up from school.  Unfortunately for Maddie's little sister, Molly, we continued our conversation after Maddie had opened the door of their Jeep, and the wind caught Molly's balloon, lifting it out of the Jeep and sending it soaring into the sky.  Maddie was traumatized about what she'd done, Molly was devastated to see her balloon floating into the sky, Meg was grieving for all of the balloons she's lost to the clouds, and Addie was fixated.

As we drove home from school that day, Addie must have asked "Why?" two dozen times.  Finally I got tired of the question and could no longer ignore her insistance.  So, taking the advice of another parent I'd chatted with recently, I launched into a full and detailed explanation.  The plan was that this would confuse her so much that she'd be distracted from her question and would stop asking.  It went something like this:

"Well, you see, that balloon was filled with helium, and helium is one of the lightest gasses in the world.  It's on the periodic table before oxygen, and the air is mostly filled with oxygen.  When the balloon was in the car, it stuck tightly to the ceiling because it was so light, but it wasn't strong enough to go through the ceiling, so the balloon was safe.  When Maddie opened the door of the Jeep, the balloon, filled with super light gas, wanted nothing more than to fly into the sky, because it is lighter than all the oxygen in the sky.  Because it's so windy today, the wind caught the balloon and pulled it out from under the ceiling and into the air.  The helium was too light to stay down and instead it floated up into the sky and just went up and up and up.  It's sad, but that's what happens to balloons filled with helium when they are set free in the sky."

There was the much longed-for and planned silence.  Then, the two-year-old voice behind me said, "Why?"  Super, I thought.  What do I do with this? 

Before I could answer, the four-year-old voice in the far back of the van said, "Do you suppose it just keeps floating all the way up to heaven?  Do you suppose all of the balloons we lose are there?  And maybe the ones we write on for Baby Zion?  There in heaven, with God and Jesus and Nana and Papa and Grandpa Meyer and Baby Zion?"

Then Addie asked, "Meg, do you think we'll see them again when we get to heaven, too?"

"I hope so," came the seasoned, big-sister response.  "I hope so."

There was a long silence after that in the car.  As the tears filled my eyes from thinking about all that we have lost waiting for us in heaven where we will gain eternity, that wise four-year-old voice piped up again: "When do you suppose Jesus will come back for us, Mommy?  Because it seems to be taking a long time, and I really want to play with my balloons again."

Some things you just can't make up.

You can't make this up either: on Wednesday, when we drove Meg to school again, Addie said, "Mom?  Why Molly's balloon fly into sky?"  Maybe she just wanted to be reminded about heaven.

When You Don't Believe in You

I don't think you have time to waste not writing because you are afraid you won't be good at it.

DearWriterFriend sent me this Anne Lamott quote the other day.  And then a few minutes later she accused me of not believing in myself.  It would hurt if it weren't true.  (No, it wouldn't, because she loves me, but it certainly is true.)

I called her simply because it IS true.  I had just come from a meeting that might result in some contract grant writing for me, and they asked me to submit some writing samples--pieces I'm proud of.  Naturally, I panicked.  I kept up my confident "I'm a professional writer" face while I was still in the building.  As soon as I shook their hands and walked out of the building, my confident expression was replaced by "Holy crap, they're going to figure out I'm no good" eyes welling and throat closing off.  So I did the only logical thing.  I called DearWriterFriend. 

For the last ten years, DearWriterFriend has been believing in me when I don't believe in me.  She said all of the good friend things, encouraged me, told me that of course I was going to submit the writing samples, and called me a writer.  After she was done laughing hysterically at me, of course.  And then, within a few hours, she emailed me a link to a writing contest and told me I was doing that, too.

And that's what true friends are.  That is how you know your friends.  They're the ones who believe in you when you don't believe in you.  They're the ones who tell you what you need to do in order to meet your dreams, and they're the ones who make sure you do it.  Naturally, they're also the ones who laugh hysterically at you when you say, "What if I'm not really any good?" because they know you are good.  Because other people believe you are good.  Because maybe, just maybe, you really are.

At least until you're pretty sure everyone is about to expose you as a fraud.  Then they'll answer the phone and do it all over again.

Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10