A Love Story

Once upon a time a boy and a girl grew up, in separate towns, with different families.  After he graduated from high school, the boy made his way to the middle of the mitten to begin the rest of his life.  Two years later, the girl also left her home and her family to settle into a new town, make new friends, and (eventually) marry her high school sweetheart.

Because life doesn't always work they way it's planned, the girl's relationship ended.  Three months later, the boy accepted God as his Savior and began attending a Christian fellowship group.  There, the boy and the girl met.  One day, the boy and the girl were assigned to call each other with a reminder about their volunteer work for the group.  The boy made the girl laugh.  But that wasn't love.

The boy and the girl became fast friends, and they discovered that God wanted them to get married.  So, fourteen years ago today, they did just that.  They danced to "Shameless," and they were in love.  But that wasn't love.

Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death should separate you and me.  Ruth 1:16-17

Even though they had a beautiful wedding and made wonderful vows to each other, and even though their friends all wished them happily ever after, things went differently.  Three years after they married, the boy and the girl realized that they didn't want to be married to each other anymore.  They decided to separate.  While they were apart, they discovered that God truly had other plans for them and their marriage.  So they fought.  Instead of fighting with each other, they fought next to each other, for each other.  And that was love.

I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten.  Joel 2:25

Over the years, they have settled into a deep friendship and into their lives together.  There are now three beautiful girls and one child in heaven.  A household of two has become a household of five.  They haven't always been happy, but they have always been committed . . . to each other, to God, to their family.  And that was love.

It's hard to know--or even imagine--what life could hold next for the boy and the girl.  They have their plans and their dreams, but they don't know.  Today they are in love, and they are best friends.  God has helped them go and stay together.  One day death will separate them.  But until then, God truly has repaid them for the years of their marriage that the locust stole, and He has given them love.

And we're dancing in the minefields
We're sailing in the storm
This is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that's what the promise is for

So when I lose my way, find me
When I loose love's chains, bind me
At the end of all my faith, till the end of all my days
When I forget my name, remind me

'Cause we bear the light of the Son of Man
So there's nothing left to fear
So I'll walk with you in the shadowlands
Till the shadows disappear

'Cause he promised not to leave us
And his promises are true
So in the face of all this chaos, baby,
I can dance with you

"Dancing In the Minefields," Andrew Peterson

Beau, I love you.  I'd happily be the girl who went to Central and met you and married you and fought with you and fought for you and fought next to you and birthed our beautiful children and worked with you to raise them and spent fourteen years (so far) dancing through the minefields with you.  Because He promised not to leave us, and His promises are true.  So I'll walk with you in the shadowlands 'till the shadows disappear.  530

I'm Calling It A Success

I know what Memorial Day is about.  I know that it is recognizing the sacrifice that so many men and women--mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, children, brothers, sisters--have made for the freedom that we enjoy.  Freedom doesn't come free, just as nothing worth having (besides grace and eternal life) does.  Today I'm celebrating Memorial Day with my favorite veteren and wearing the shirt I wore when my family and I went to pick him up in Taylor, MI, four years ago after his year in Iraq.  It says, "Some heroes wear capes.  Mine wears combat boots."  And he does.

But I also know what the first weekend of summer is about.  Though we all go back home, and the kids (or at least the oldest one) has two more weeks of school, summer is official with Memorial Day weekend. 

* I spent three nights staying up too late with my mom and dad on the porch at Sandy Pines.
* We all woke up too early every morning when little voices started talking as the sun came up.
* Ellie learned to swim--even underwater!--without any flotation device.  And she has a red bracelet that says she can ride the water slide all by herself to prove it.
* I have four new mosquito bites.
* Addie decided to pee in the potty and has spent four days dry, except for one accident at the picnic table (much to Megan's disgust, since she was next to her on the bench).
* We have eaten grilled food for three days and will again today.
* We enjoyed ice cream instead of dinner one time and will again today.
* The deck is covered with towels, swimsuits, beach toys, and people relaxing in chairs.
* I received ramekins, both seasons of Downton Abbey, a beautiful new sweater, and lavendar sachets from my birthday celebration.
* I read the second half of a book in three days instead of the five weeks it took me to read the first half.
* We watched the Tigers win three games (in a row!) and the Angels do the same.

I'm calling this one a success.

The Twenty-second Sabbath

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister –
And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –
I, just wear my Wings –
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –
I’m going, all along.

"Some Keep the Sabbath Going to Church," Emily Dickinson

I'll be honest, because it's best not to lie.  I didn't go to church today.  Today I kept the Sabbath taking my kids out for donuts for breakfast and letting them put on their swimsuits and run in the neighbor's sprinkler and reading a book and watching my kids play at the beach.  And it was wonderful.

Most Sabbaths I keep going to Church.  I love going to Church.  When I was small (because I've decided that I'm still young) I used to play Church.  Sometimes I would even go to Church and play Church there (one of the perks of being a pastor's daughter).  I especially love going to my Church.  I love my pastor and the message from God he brings to us each week.  I love the songs we sing, and I love singing them with my friends.  I think it's important to go to Church, so even when I don't love it, and when I don't want to be there, I still go.

But today I kept it staying at Home.  Not really Home--more my parents' cottage.  Well, more a trailer at Sandy Pines with a golf cart in the garage and a lake out back and a yard full of goose poop.  This whole weekend has been a Sabbath.  And it's been wonderful.

A Reason to Celebrate

So . . . in case you haven't heard, it's my special day today.  On this day in (35-year) history, I was born.  It was 10:10 a.m. Pacific Time.  I don't know if I was early or late or right on time, but I know I was born when my dad was home from his few days on/few days off schedule on an island off the coast of California with the US Navy, and I was born at the perfect time to give my parents an anniversary steak dinner.  No, really.  The hospital where I was born gave the happy new parents a steak dinner the night before they were discharged from the hospital, and that just happened to be their anniversary.  Their fifth anniversary.  I've no doubt been an eternal gift to them. 

Let me be clear--I love my birthday.  I'm high maintenance, so I love that this is a day about me.  I love to receive gifts, and I love to have fun.  So, yeah.  I'm not going to hide it.  It's my birthday.  Give me a day to celebrate it!  :)

• I slept in this morning.  It was nice to have the girls go downstairs on their own and sit nicely without fighting--until I got downstairs, anyway.
• Red Robin seems to be the place we McDowells celebrate our birthdays.  Because that Banzai Burger is just so good.
• This morning I volunteered at field day at Ellie's school.  And I had a fantastic time playing with the parachute with all of the 1st and 2nd graders.
• Last night I "rang in my birthday" (well, within a couple of hours) with my book club at The Score listening to live music from Outer Vibe.  Thanks to Marianne for my yummy beverages and to Ashley, Stephanie, Marianne, and Courtney for the laughs and the hoarse voice I have today.
• I really like cheesecake.  Thanks to Eric for making it for our board meeting tonight.
• Hearing three little voices say, "Happy birthday, Mommy!" is one of the coolest things in the world.  Especially when one of them bursts through the bathroom door, interrupting your shower in this fashion: "Happy birthday, Mommy! I need to poop."
• For my birthday lunch I treated myself to a salad and tapioca pudding from Forest Hills Foods.  Yum.
• I took a nap today.  It was a birthday nap, because 35 is a bit old to spend two hours playing with a parachute.
• Beau gave me a quirky road trip guide and the Jericho Complete Series DVDs.  Great gifts.  Great gifts.
• I received more than 100 birthday greetings because of Facebook.  I started to respond to each of them when there were only 30.  Then I felt like I had to keep going.  That was a lot of responses.
• It was really fun to read all the "Happy Birthday" messages from family members I've known my whole life, friends I've had for 30 years, and friends I've had for less than 30 days.
• I used to think that my cousin Michael was WAY older than me.  Today I realized that he is only 40 . . . how'd he get so much cooler and smarter than me in those five years?
• I was also surprised to see that my parents aren't that much older than me.  At 25, those 25 years felt like a lot.  At 35, not so much.
• It would have been really nice if the Tigers had realized that things are meant to go my way on my special day.  A win shouldn't have been too much to ask--especially when Verlander was on the mound.
• This afternoon I was packing for our Memorial Day trip to the lake, and I heard the phone ringing downstairs.  I ran down to hear Addie and Megan shouting, "Daddy caught a deer!  Daddy caught a deer!  On his way home from work!"  Thinking he must have HIT a deer, I called frantically returned his call.  No deer.  My kids might be crazy.
• For the first time in my life I got a gift of money for my birthday, and I have no clear idea of how I'll spend it.  I'm sure I'll find a way, but there's nothing "pressing" for it.
• Next Tuesday I'm giving blood with a coworker in memory of her friend's baby who passed away at only a few days old.  I'm also giving it because it's my birthday, and I can so I should.
• I can't actually believe it's my birthday.  I still feel like it should be February.
• This may be the hottest birthday on (my) record.  The temps make it feel like it might be July 24.
• Some birthdays have been memorable for their events (a surprise birthday party instead of dinner at Logan's with Julie) and some have been memorable for their simplicity (opening a Barbie cat and travel cage at some hotel on the way to Duncan, BC, when I turned 7).  This one ranks with the simplicity, and I love it for that.
• Tomorrow I leave for my parents' cottage for a relaxing weekend at the lake.  And more celebrations. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for having me at the end of May where I always get a three- to four-day weekend to celebrate my special day.  :)
• So far I've had a birthday sundae from Red Robin, a birthday cheesecake from Eric and New City Neighbors, and birthday tapioca pudding from Forest Hills Foods.  Tomorrow I'll get some birthday ice cream from the Sandy Pines ice cream store.  Saturday I'll get some birthday peach pie from Grand Traverse Pie Company.  And Tuesday morning I'll get my butt to the gym at 5:00 a.m. to work all that off.
• My mom, my dad, and my sister all called me to sing "Happy Birthday" today.  And they each called separately and sang in varying degrees of loudness.  It was great.

So far I've been alive for 12,784 days.*  If I live an average life, I have another 15,340 days* left.  I pray that they are even half as wonderful and beautiful and magical as this first half of my life has been.  If they are, I shall be a blessed girl indeed.


*Please note: Math has never been my strong suit.  I have attempted to adjust for leap years, but I don't fully understand them and may have royally screwed that up.

Book Nine

The Art of Racing in the Rain
Garth Stein

My book club (mostly full of dog people) chose to read The Art of Racing in the Rain, and I'll confess, I knew nothing about it.  Then I cheated and read a friend's (and fellow book club member) review of the book on her blog. 

Narrated by a dog?!  A dog?!

Clever, but I figured I'd be in for a long read.  (Again, not a dog person here.)  Because I'm (always) in the middle of a few books, and I wasn't sure about this one, I waited and waited to start it.  Finally, last Saturday I started reading--because book club was only five days away.  Imagine my surprise at finding it to be delightful! 

The Art of Racing in the Rain is cleverly written and a very quick read.  I didn't find it gripping necessarily, and I didn't feel too invested in the story line or the characters, but I did find it fun to read each chapter.  The reason behind the "racing in the rain" title is clear from the beginning, though Stein does bring it back around with subtle differences or a bit more explanation through lessons learned by Enzo, the narrating dog, from the car races that he watches on TV.

Stein's use of a dog as the narrator allows his characters to be introduced and developed in a unique way that was more engaging than the plot of the novel.  And, at great surprise to me, the scenes that were the most tender were one-on-one moments between Enzo and the people he loves and is charged to protect.  There were times when I felt that the prose waxed a bit eloquent for a dog, but then I reminded myself that perhaps dogs who hope to be humans one day talk like that.  (And then I reminded myself about the suspension of disbelief and that this is, actually, a novel and dogs don't really talk.)

I'm not sold as a dog person, nor am I sold on this being a "four-star" novel.  I did tear up in a few of those tender moments, and I did have brief flashes of thinking I may be missing out on something by not having a four-legged friend in my life.  If I let one in, though, he better narrate our story.  And bark any time I'm about to make a mistake.

Accepting the Bad With the Good

At one point or another in my life, I imagine I have read the entire Bible.  I remember being in high school (probably middle school, too) and reading a chapter or two with my family after dinner each night.  (Remember when families actually ate meals together every night?  And then they did devotions?)  Like most people, I find some chapters of the Bible--some books of the Bible--more meaningful interesting easy to read than others.  And, like most books I've read, some have become my favorites.

I love Philippians.  Some day I'd like to commit it all to memory--I have a good start because of Aaron Wetzel and my days in Higher Ground.  As crazy as it sounds, I'd have to say that Job is my second favorite book.  It's long, and there's a fair amount of doom and gloom, so I'm not committed to memorizing it, but it's good nonetheless.

As I'm continuing to catch up to the end of May (how did that happen?!) in my Bible reading plan, I finally arrived in Job.  And, like every time, I was struck by its beginning.  Not by the part where Satan and God are talking, and God is bragging up Job.  Not by the part where God allows Satan to--with some parameters--strip Job of all of his security and wealth and love.  The part where Job says (as written in The Message):

Naked I came from my mother's womb,
naked I'll return to the womb of the earth.
God gives, God takes.
God's name be ever blessed.
(Job 1:21)

God's name be ever blessed.  Ever blessed.  No matter what.  No matter what my life looks like or how much money I have in the bank or how healthy I or my children am.  No matter what; God's name be ever blessed.

I know that I've shared this before, but I have a child who resides in heaven.  Baby Zion would be two years and seven months old if it had lived.  Addison, Zion's twin, is that old.  She is exuberant and loving and adorable and giving.  She is so grown up.  She is life, where Zion is not.  I have to remember, some days, that Zion was God's to give and God's to take away.  Like everything else in my life, God gives, God takes, and God's name be ever blessed.

The important thing to note from Job is that while he is committed to blessing God's name--no matter what--he isn't committed to a grief-free life.  He isn't committed to never crying, to never tearing his clothes and sitting in sackcloth and ashes.  He isn't committed to laughing in the face of death and destruction.  He's just committed to God. 

So am I.  There are days, moments, that I still cry.  Last night, my two oldest girls gave me mini pink roses from a neighbor's miniature rose bush.  As with the last time I received two pink roses, one was open, and one was closed almost to a bud.  That was a celebration of the birth of Addison and (unknown to the giver) a memorial to a baby who didn't live.  My girls knew nothing of that and were each given a little rose to give me.  It just happened to bring a tear to my eye.  That happens, and it will continue to happen.  I get to cry about it, because part of my heart isn't here.  My family isn't all together.  God gave, and He took away.  That hurts.

We are told repeatedly that Job never sinned. He never cursed God or turned against Him. So the sin isn't the crying or the loss or the grief. The sin is in turning my back on God.  I don't understand His ways.  I don't understand why He would tell us that we had lost our child in the same breath that we were told we'd had a second baby.  I don't get it.  And it hurts.  But may God's name be ever blessed.

The Twenty-first Sabbath

When the morning falls on the farthest hill,
I will sing His name, I will praise Him still.
When dark trials come and my heart is filled
With the weight of doubt, I will praise Him still.

For the Lord our God, He is strong to save
From the arms of death, from the deepest grave.
And He gave us life in His perfect will,
And by His good grace, I will praise Him still.

When the morning falls on the farthest hill,
I will sing His name, I will praise Him still.
When dark trials come and my heart is filled
With the weight of doubt, I will praise Him still.

For the Lord our God, He is strong to save
From the arms of death, from the deepest grave.
And He gave us life in His perfect will,
And by His good grace, I will praise Him still.

When the morning falls on the farthest hill,
I will sing His name, I will praise Him still.

"I Will Praise Him Still," Fernando Ortega

Things I Think I Think #62-77

62. I continue to be amazed every time I see Twitter comments that people make to celebrities.  Is it the anonymity of it all or just the access you have that makes you feel tough enough to ridicule, degrade, and denigrate the character of a person you have never met?  For pitching a bad game, leaving one team for another team, or acting in a movie? 

63. Everywhere I look or listen, I keep hearing evidences of the two lessons God is currently teaching me: He is busy in the mundane, and integrity is central to my walk.

64. It turns out I am very impatient . . . with disrespect, ignorance, repeating myself, my circumstances.  Hmm . . . (See #63)

65. I wonder at which point a mommy's kiss isn't effective in chasing away the ache from wounds of all shapes and sizes.  For that matter, when do bandaids stop serving that purpose?  (And are bandaids coated with magic mommy kisses?  Is that why putting one on a sore finger works?)

66. "Boys of Summer" is a great song and the perfect example of a remake surpassing the original (good on you, The Ataris).  Is it just me, or is it totally about baseball?  (Kidding.  But seriously, it makes me think of baseball.)

67. Today I danced to "The Way You Make Me Feel" by Michael Jackson in the bathroom at Jimmy John's.  Then I wondered if it could be possible that there was a camera on me.  Then I remembered it was a bathroom and there would be worse things to catch in there than someone dancing.  Even as badly as I dance.

68. Miley Cyrus's "Party in the U.S.A." makes me smile.  Every time.  And when I get to the "nodding my head, like, yeah; moving my hips, like, yeah" parts, I discover that I am doing exactly that.  It really is a party.

69. If I lived by a Major League Baseball city, I would buy season tickets.  Man, I wish I lived in a Major League Baseball city.

70. Addie is the craziest little person.  She thinks it's her job to take care of everyone in our house.  She also thinks it's her job to be the most stubborn person on earth.

71. For the first time in a long, long time, when someone asked me how I was doing, I said, "I'm great."  And I meant it.  It was shortly after the dancing in the bathroom, so maybe that was part of it.

72. I'm turning 35 in six days, and I'm okay with that.

73. I simply adore all types of potatoes except for twice baked.  Those things creep me out.

74. Watching three movies back to back at the movie theater was a true highlight for me and may be one of the best gifts I've ever received.  (Thanks, Beau and girls!)

75. There is no feeling that can beat watching your husband cross the finish line of a 25K and knowing that he achieved one of the hardest physical goals he set for himself.  It was beautiful.  I cried.

76. Okay, but I do feel like 35 is old.  So is the fact that in 12 days I will have been married for 14 years.  Apparently I'm okay with the feeling old thing.

77. Some day I will drive all the way across the country on back roads.  Preferably in a convertible.  And I will detour to every "World's largest" spot along the way. 

Untying from the Mundane

I've had several conversations with different people lately, and all of our talks have circled around the same theme.  The content may have varied--from "dying a slow death" to "need to get away" to "can't do this anymore"--but they have all been born out of weariness.  It all came to a head for me the other day, when I was struggling to catch back up with my scripture reading, and I read Jesus' words in John 8:23.

But let me start a few days before that.

A dear new bride came to see me, because she was exhausted--both physically and emotionally.  She said she needed some encouragement, and she was hoping I'd have something to share.  My first tips--and the only things I have found that enable me to sleep with another person in my bed--were practical: earplugs and Tylenol PM.  That can take care of the physical exhaustion quickly. 

The emotional stuff . . . yeah, since the "dying a slow death" and "need to get away" and "can't do this anymore" may have all come from my mouth, I'm not sure I can help with that.

See, here's the thing.  My newlywed friend, my young mom friends, and I all have something in common.  None of us are in a place where things are changing or exciting, and it's entirely possible probable that none of us are in the spot where we thought we'd be in our early 20's late 20's mid 30's(!).  I'm tired.  I'm tired of not working in my dream job, I'm tired of fighting with my kids, I'm tired of cleaning up the exact same messes every day and being able to tell you what I'll be doing next Wednesday at 3:30 pm because it's what I'm doing EVERY day at 3:30 pm.  It wears on you.

As I talked with my young friend, though, something dawned on me.  Last week Monday night, I went to the seminary graduation of a man who is like a brother to my husband.  We have been friends with him and his wife for 12 years now, and he spent part of his seminary years as an intern at our church.  His wife is my DearWriterFriend who wants to be my DearPublisherFriend and who helped me realize what I want to be when I grow up.  It dawned on me that if my husband and I hadn't bought our current house 11 1/2 years ago and been stuck here for all these years, maybe none of that would have happened.

Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.  When we bought our house in November 2000, it was meant to be for 5-6 years.  We were never meant (we thought) to still be here when we had school-aged children.  Instead, we've stayed.  And it has been a source of annoyance and frustration for me for the last several years.  But God hasn't let us go.  Now, there could be a number of reasons for that, but maybe this is one of them.

Aaron and Wendy moved to Oregon several years ago to be youth pastors at a small church on the coast.  We left our church to look for a new church family.  When we found out we were pregnant, we decided we needed to find a Calvinist church that would fit our family's doctrine.  Since there is a Reformed church at the end of our road, we decided to visit there.  We found our home.  And we bragged it up.  While Aaron and Wendy were in Oregon, we continued to talk about our wonderfully urban-involved and reconciliation-focused and Biblically-rooted church, and God began to birth in Aaron the calling to be a senior pastor.  When it came to be time for him to choose a seminary, he chose Western Theological Seminary in Holland, MI, and they chose our church to be their home.  Wendy took her old job at a local publishing house, and she began to push me to pursue my dream of being a published writer.  (She's pretty good at nagging, right, Aaron?)

Now, Aaron is a graduate, and they are looking for a new church home--this time one with Aaron as the pastor.  Someday soon, God will bless a congregation (local, I hope!) with a pastor who has a heart for urban ministry and reconciliation and bringing Jesus to people . . . a heart that was maybe affirmed and encouraged at our great church.  And I, for the first time in my adult life, have peace about what I want to be when I grow up.  And if we hadn't lived here in this same house, maybe none of that would have happened.

What's the point?  Who knows what God is planning, or what He is doing in our every days?  Maybe none of what I said is true--maybe God would have brought Aaron and Wendy to our church and me to professional peace without any of that.  But the point is that we just don't know.  And when you start to think that He just might be working through my boring every day, through my being stuck in this place, in this house, in this mundane reality, it all feels just a little bit less boring and stuck and mundane.

So how did it all hit home?  In these words, that I should have read on May 7, the day of Aaron's graduation and three days before my conversation with a young bride:

Jesus said, "You're tied down to the mundane; I'm in touch with what is beyond your horizons.  You live in terms of what you see and touch.  I'm living on other terms." (John 8:23, The Message: Remix)

It probably would have come easier if I'd read it when I should have.

The Twentieth Sabbath

A Sabbath prayer:

Oh, God.  We are such a faithless people.  You truly are our maker, our father, our Savior, our redeemer, restorer, rebuilder, rewarder . . . and you deserve our praise.

Instead you get our complacency.  And you get our complaining.  Like the Israelites who lost sight of the miracles you performed to lead them out of slavery and sustain them on their 40-year journey through the desert, we have short memories.  We find ourselves bored or lonely or not where we dreamed we would be, and we question you.

For all the times you are working behind the scenes and we wonder where you are, God forgive us.  For all the times you are working through our heartache and we wonder why you have abandoned us, God forgive us.  For all the times we see what we don't have and wonder why you are so slow, God forgive us.

Father God, great is your faithfulness.  Great is your goodness.  Great is your timing.  Great are you, God.  Help us to see your new mercies every morning.  When we can't understand what you are doing, help us to trust--help us to know--that you are at work rebuilding, restoring, reclaiming us for your glory.

Amen.

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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