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

Finding the Strength to Come Back

Here they are.  The thoughts inspired by Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back, Josh Hamilton's memoir. 

Addiction.  It comes in so many forms and starts for so many reasons.  I know people who are alcoholics in varying states of recovery, and I have a dear friend who is a recovering drug addict.  It's not something that I have always understood.  At the same time, I have always tried to understand.  But I figured that I'd never live it, so I would never really get it.

And then, over the past several months, I have come to understand myself in a different way.  I have come to see that while I smoked a handful of cigarettes when I was 16 but never became a smoker, while I drink a few times a month and have gotten drunk a couple of times over the last 14 years but never became an alcoholic, and while I have never used an illegal drug or misused a prescription drug, I am still an addict.  It's hard to admit, but I seriously have a problem with food.  In his memoir, Josh talked about being both an alcoholic and a drug addict.  He said that he needs to completely avoid alcohol, because he is unable to stop at just one drink.  In 2009, he had a very public relapse that began with a late-night dinner at a pizza place and the question, "What could one drink hurt?" 

For me it is a question of what can one bag of jelly beans hurt?  What can one fast food meal hurt?  What can one run through Culver's hurt?  And then it goes further than that, because I struggle with self control.  What can sleeping in one morning hurt?  What can one day away from my Bible reading hurt?  What can one lapse in self-discipline hurt?  For me, the answer is a lot.  The answer is that it's never just one day.  Because I'm an addict.

I hope that I'm not belittling the damages that are caused by alcohol and drug addictions.  I'm certainly not trying to do so.  I know that those addictions destroy families and careers and lives.  I know that food addictions don't do that.  At least not normally.  From time to time, though, they do.  I hope it doesn't for me.  I'm certainly not the healthiest person around, but I am also not in real danger of dying because of my addiction.  At least not at this point.  But I've seen it in people.  I've seen food consume them.  I've seen an extra-large casket at a funeral.  I know that it can happen.

But beyond the physical problems from addictions, there is a deeper issue.  There's the fact that this isn't what I was created for.  There's the fact that God wants one lord of my life, and it's Him.  It's not cocaine or Jack Daniels or Burger King.  It's Him.  It's Him. 

I had a bad month.  My husband may have witnessed that, but there is also a lot that I did in secret this month.  I hate it.  I hate that I did it.  I hate that I relapsed.  But I love that I can come back.  I love that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

I read Beyond Belief at an interesting time.  The copy that I read has an extra chapter, updating readers on Hamilton's relapse in 2009.  I finished the book and looked Josh up online only to discover that he relapsed again early this month.  What heartbreak.  And then to read some of the negative comments that people are writing about him and even to him . . . why?  Why?  Because it's hard to admit that something could have so much power over you?  Because it's easier to judge him and find him a failure than to take a look at the addictions in your own life?  This was a horrible month for me.  It was set off by a new medication that erased the weight I lost in January.  I decided that meant it erased all the hard work I'd done and decided to cash it all in.  I couldn't see how it was worth it, so I barely worked out, and I ate what I wanted.  I'm embarassed to have to face what I did to myself this month and how I ended up back where I said I never wanted to go again.  But that's addiction.  That's relapsing.  That's life.  Thank God there's grace.

I believe that Josh Hamilton is a public figure representing the private battles so many of us face.  No matter the addiction, no matter the number of relapses, no matter the person, there's power in facing it.  There's power in acknowledging it.  There's power in getting back up to start all over.  So this becomes a new month for me.  This becomes a learning experience and another step in my journey--another page in my story.  I have the strength to come back, in the exact same place where I found the strength for day one: in admitting that I am hopeless on my own and hope-filled in Him.

Book Five

Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back
Josh Hamilton (with Tim Keown)

I'm trying to decide whether to start with a review of the book or writing down all of the thoughts that the book has brought to mind.  I suppose today will get two blog entries--one for the book review and one for the thoughts. 

Hamilton wrote Beyond Belief with a cowriter, so it's hard to know what, if anything, he actually wrote of his story.  Either way, Hamilton comes across as a bit pompous and strangely defensive of his parents.  The early portions of the book, while engaging, were hard for me to read.  All I could see in Hamilton was a jock who was still attached to his mother and father ("momma" and "daddy," to hear him tell it).  Time and time again he defended his parents in places that I didn't think they needed defending.  As the book goes on, though, it seemed to me that Hamilton is not pompous or still attached to his umbilical cord--I think he's naive.  I think he's, um, simple.  And I think he's sweet. 

As Hamilton recounts his descent into cocaine addiction, the story becomes at times engrossing and appalling.  It's rather like watching a car crash--you want to look away from the destruction, but you have to know how it comes out.  You can't look away.  At least with Hamilton's story anyone who follows baseball knows at least how it comes around.  The self-destruction is evident, and (this is why I think he's simple and sweet) Hamilton doesn't hide any of it.  He details the squarlor in which he was willing to find his drugs, his descent into crack, and the levels he sunk to in order to feed his demons.  Hamilton also doesn't hide the fact that his faith in God is all that brought him through.  At face value, Beyond Belief is the tale of Josh Hamilton's addiction, his efforts to throw away the natural baseball talent that God gave him, and his recovery from drugs and of his career.  When it comes down to it, though, this is a tale of spiritual warfare.  From his tattoos to his drug addiction to his reclaimed career to his two relapses, that's what Hamilton's story is.  And, at the end of the day, that's what our stories are too.

I know the twelve steps by heart, but my healing did not come from a strict adherence to those principles.  Instead, my life changed from hopeless to hope-filled when I turned to God and asked for His help.      (Josh Hamilton)

The Ninth Sabbath

When morning gilds the skies,
My heart awaking cries:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Alike at work and prayer
To Jesus I repair
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Does sadness fill my mind?
A solace here I find,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Or fades my earthly bliss?
My comfort still is this,
May Jesus Christ be praised!


The night becomes as day
When from the heart we say:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
The powers of darkness fear
When this sweet chant they hear:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Be this, while life is mine,
My canticle divine,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Be this th' eternal song
Through all the ages long,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

"May Jesus Christ Be Praised," Katholisches Gesanglruch

Book Four (B)

11/22/63
Stephen King

I should probably start by noting that while I'm a fan of Stephen King (especially Uncle Stevie, who entertains us often--though not often enough--in Entertainment Weekly), I don't read his books.  I have watched nearly all of his books on film--Pet Semetary and Sometimes They Come Back are particular favorites, and It scares the crap out of me just to think about it--but I just don't get into the swearing and the sex and the monsters in his books.  And, I don't really have 500+ pages to commit to anyone other than dear Harry Potter.  That said, I was excited to pick up 11/22/63 and knew that I wanted it to be the first book I read on my Kindle.

Man, Stephen King can write!  Seriously.  I knew this from the films based on his novels, the novellas that I've read, and from reading On Writing, but I just hadn't experienced it on my own.  From the first chapter through the Afterword, I found myself devouring each page.  I couldn't put it down and was grumpy when I was forced to do so.  While King wrote about time travel and stopping the assassination of JFK, 11/22/63 is about far more than that.  Along the way, this is a novel about building friendships and setting things right and how sometimes it's better to not know what is coming ahead because then we want to step in and change it.  And this is a novel about hard choices and love and responsibility.  In true Stephen King fashion, there are monsters in this book, but they serve as a reminder that sometimes the monsters are us. 

Readers familiar with King's work will see many delightful references that make me wonder if just any author could pull off.  History buffs will love the detailed research into Oswald's associates and his life in the Dallas/Fort Worth area.  Lovers of small towns will become engrossed in the Jodie Doin's (I sort of want to move there--to King's Jodie anyway).  Conspiracy theorists will find few answers and perhaps even more fodder.  Those prone to "what ifs" will be caught up in imagine a new world.  And aspiring writers will wonder if there is anyone else who can pull this novel off.  And then they'll want to try.

Book Four (A)

Book Four was meant to be our February book club book: The Zookeeper's Wife by Diane Ackerman.  I say "meant to be," because I didn't read it.  For nearly three weeks it sat on my shelf, waiting to be read.  I thought about it several times but was engrossed in what actually became Book Four.  Finally, it was the Sunday before book club.  I knew I needed to read it, so I pulled it off the shelf and settled in.

Wow.  I must have read the first four pages a dozen times, and I still couldn't tell you what they say.  It's so disappointing to me when I can't even get that far in a book, because I know that somewhere, someone (Diane Ackerman, as it seems) worked hard researching and writing the manuscript.  But I'm sorry, Diane, you have to do better than that.  You need to somehow wrap me into it.  Rumor has it that it's good if you get a ways into it, but who has time for that?  If you can't catch me at the beginning, chances are good that someone else will.

All that said, I think the subject matter and the premise of the biography really are great.  A Polish, Christian zookeeper and his wife house Jews during the Holocaust.  And the kicker is that they hide them in cages in their zoo.  I imagine that it's far more humane than it sounds (and than the Holocaust, when it comes down to it), but my point is that I don't know.  I have no clue.  Part of me wishes I did.  Part of me wanted to renew it and give it a go.  But most of me wanted to return it to the library and get back to Uncle Stevie. 

Maybe someday I'll pick The Zookeeper's Wife up again--and just start where it gets good.  But until then, I'll just mark it in Goodreads as "Couldn't Finish" and move on to the March Book Club Book.  It looks a bit more engaging--just from the cover.

A (Wo)Man After God's Own Heart

2001 was a rough year for our family and friends.  It began with several family funerals and ended with 9/11/01, when our grief became corporate, shared by the country.  Tucked in between were a separation between my husband and me, a desperate fight to come back together, and the death of my husband's best friend's twin brother.  It was a year from hell.  And I have never learned more.

Today in my Bible readings I read four different psalms.  The thing that strikes me most about David is that, despite his royal mess ups, God calls him a man after His own heart.  The sinning surely isn't what does that.  The sinning is just part of his job description as a human being.  We can't get away from that.  Now, maybe we don't do it quite as "big" as David, but I don't think that measurement is something God cares about. 

I think what God sees in David is his honesty.

In three of the psalms that I read today, David went from running "straight to the arms of God" (Psalm 11) to declaring, "Long enough, God--you've ignored me long enough" (Psalm 13).  Now I know that the psalms aren't necessarily listed in chronological order, but I do believe that God had everything to do with how the Bible is laid out.  He isn't surprised by the change in David's tune any more than he was surprised that Samuel "prayed his anger and disappointment all through the night" after God said that He regretted making Saul king (I Samuel 15:11 The Message).

And the best part is that God isn't angry about any of it.  I think He loves it.  In the heart of 2001, my Writer Friend shared with me a story of her high school boyfriend.  He and his dad used to play fight, and his dad would pat his shoulders, encourage his son to come at him with all he had, and say, "I can take it.  I've got big shoulders."  She said, "Beka, God can take it.  He's got big shoulders."  Another friend pointed out that while I was crying on the floor, God was lying there holding me and crying with me.  I began to picture Him sitting in His throne with me in His lap sobbing and pounding my fists on His chest.  And I've never been closer to Him.

I know that God is the only one who could have spared our friend's twin brother.  I also know that God is the only one who could have softened the blow from the bull's hoof on my cowboy cousin's chest, keeping his aorta from rupturing.  I also know that God is the only one who could have kept the planes in the air on September 11, despite evil's best efforts to crash them into buildings.  But I also know that God is the only one who can hold me while I cry, dry my tears, and help me heal.

So whether it's praying my anger and disappointment all night long, pounding my fists into God's chest as I continue to grieve the loss of one of our twins, or dancing with joy in front of Him, He is worthy of my honest praise.  It's the thing that makes me a woman after God's own heart.

Worthy, You are worthy
Of a childlike faith and of my honest praise
And of my unashamed love
Of a holy love and of my sacrifice
And of my unashamed love

"Unashamed Love," Jason Morant

Nothing Left to Say

I'll confess that I'm sitting here with this blank page only because I know the month is winding down, and I have quite a few posts to write in order to meet my quota.  It is hard to knowwhether the exercise of writing is worth the fact that I'm actually sitting here with nothing to say.  What do I type--and how much of it--to fulfill this portion of my creative goal?  Would dear Anne Lamott or talented Stephen King tell me that the post itself is the important part, and the content can all be crap that all of us want to delete later?

In Bird by Bird, Lamott gives aspiring writers a few tips and offers insight behind the scenes for readers.  She says that you should write just a square inch of the story, you should write a certain number of words or for a certain number of minutes each day, that you are allowed to delete what you wrote the day before if it's no good, and that not everything that happens to you is interesting.  That last tip is probably the reason for tip number three.

So here I am.  A writer, with nothing left to say and a goal to meet.  I want to be a writer.  I am a lover of words, and I want to be a writer.  I am a writer.  But I want to make my living by creating stories that entertain and make people think.  Stories no one has ever told before.  (Dare I say it, some even better than anyone has told before.)  If I'm a writer, then I have to write.  Because the point truly is the exercise, the working, the digging deeply, the creation.

Anne Lamott also says that the process of writing is about asking oneself, "How alive am I willing to be?"  As a writer, that really is the question.  Even when the answer takes a boring form, maybe the key to me being a writer is me being willing to be fully alive.  And me being willing to sit down with a blank page and muscle through this exercise, knowing that some day it will pay off.

Because I am a lover of words.  And one day I will write a book.

Things I Think I Think #18-34

And it's time once again for everyone's my favorite random thoughts.  I bet you can't wait.

18. I'm surprisingly sad that Whitney died.  Addiction breaks my heart, and I hate that it stole a mother and daughter once again.  I also hate that it stole The Queen--that voice was such a gift.

19. "The Greatest Love of All" has always been one of my favorite songs, but I forgot how great "I Have Nothing" is. Entertainment Weekly called it the song that brought "power" into "power ballad," and I think they're right.

20. I am looking forward to watching "This Means War," even though it might not be a super film.  It's probably the baby blues of Chris Pine and Tom Hardy.  They remind me of Beau's.  :)

21. My husband is the greatest man that I know.  He cares so deeply that it hurts him, and he struggles to become the man that God has called him to be.  I love that man.

22. It should go without saying that I don't support what Chris Brown did to Rihanna.  It's terrible, awful, and inexcusable to beat a woman.  However, he completed the punishment the courts gave him and participated in treatment.  So is he really not allowed to still be a musician and a good one at that?  Isn't it possible that he continues to regret his behavior and work to be a better man?

23. It turns out that Justin Bieber might actually be talented.  I ended up watching Never Say Never over the weekend.  That boy had rhythm and could play drums like nothing else--at five years old.  And now he has song-writing credits on most of his songs, plays the guitar and the piano, and can dance.  Didn't want to be impressed by him, but apparently when he smiles, I smile.  ;)

24. I bought my first bag of Brachs jelly beans for 2012 today.  That means it's spring.

25. It's good to get away and spend a weekend with good friends and no kids.  And then it's good to come home.

26. Every woman should have a couple of best friends--who keep you up too late talking and then don't get mad when you fall asleep in the middle of their sentence, watch Justin Bieber movies with you "for work research," pray for you when you cry, share your history and love you anyway, believe in your dreams when you don't feel like you can, laugh with you like a little girl, and promise to tell you when they think you need to grow up.

27. I'm blessed to have two of those friends.  And I'm also blessed to have many others who go much deeper than mere acquaintances.

28. Sometimes I just can't make it past the first five pages of a book.

29. I love my iPhone.  Those apps are quite something, and I'm going to work hard to become the mayor of something.  Thanks for making me sit in my car just a few seconds longer at each destination, Foursquare.

30. It's exciting to have friends expecting new babies and even more exciting to know it's not me.

31. Mondays are my favorite TV nights--The Voice Adam Levine AND Hawaii Five-0 Scott Caan.  If only I got to add in some Green Bay Packers football.  Then we'd be golden.

32. I wish celebrities would take better care of themselves so that their kids don't have to say goodbye to them so early.

33. I can't help it.  I love to watch red carpet specials and awards shows.  The American Music Awards are always my favorite, but I do like the Emmy's and Oscars, too.  And the Grammy's.  Seriously, I think I watch almost all of them.

34. Sometimes I miss working full time, because I enjoy working at a desk and keeping everything organized.  And I love office supplies.

Now I'm going to go eat some jelly beans and settle in with The Voice.

The Eighth Sabbath

Today was truly a sabbath as I enjoyed a weekend with friends at a cottage in Pentwater, MI. With limited exceptions, I spent the weekend unplugged from phone and computer. We laughed, ate junk food, shopped, played games, watched movies, stayed up late talking, and slept until we wanted to get up in the morning. It was a lovely hint of heaven.

The Reason

Recently a friend of mine sent me a text message.  She wrote, "I am running errands and heard an Amy Grant song on the radio--what a great song and title for your blog." 

This blog used to be called "Funny Writer Mommy."  There's a joke between my Writer Friend and I that people like me because I'm funny.  I used to be Funny Writer Girl, but then I became a mommy, and I thought I should grow up.  But then one day I watched a slideshow depicting a day of radiation for the 10-year-old son of friends of mine from high school.  Another former classmate of ours had taken the photos and put them into a slideshow with "Better Than a Hallelujah" playing in the background.

I couldn't think of a better sentiment either, especially for a life that seeks honest praise.  So here it is.  May my life truly be filled with hallelujahs and honesty that is sometimes better even than that.

God loves a lullaby
In a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

God loves the drunkard's cry
The soldier's plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

The woman holding on for life
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

The tears of shame for what's been done
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

Better than a church bell ringing
Better than a choir singing out, singing out

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

(Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)
Better than a Hallelujah
(Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)

"Better Than a Hallelujah," Sarah Hart and Chapin Hartford

Better is One Day

This morning I was thinking about the song "Better is One Day."  I thought of it because one of the Psalms in my daily reading is a Psalm of the Sons of Korah.  So is Psalm 84, the Psalm on which the song is based.  Without a doubt, that is my favorite Psalm for more reasons than I have time to write about now.

The song.  This is about the song.

The first time I sang "Better is One Day," I was in a church in the mountains of Colorado.  Talk about being aware of the majesty and creativity of God.  I'm sure there are many places in the world where God's power and creation are on full display, but the Rockies seem to be a grand place to start.  As we were singing the song, I couldn't keep my eyes from the windows where the power and beauty and wonder of the mountains reminded me of Whose presence I was declaring was great.

I also couldn't keep my mind off of the people I was with.  It was a spring break trip with dozens of high schoolers.  We had taken a Greyhound-style bus and a couple of vans full of teenagers from Grand Rapids, MI, to Colorado for a week of skiing and day trips in Glenwood Springs.  As we were singing the song, in the midst of those beautiful teenagers, I thought, "Yes.  I would spend one day in the presence of these lovely children of God pointing them to Him."  One day with them and with Him.  Because it would be worth it.  Even after how that week ended up, it would have been worth it.

And I couldn't stop thinking about where we were singing it.  Our trip to Glenwood Springs brought us through Denver.  Because we were taking teenagers through Denver, I thought it would be good to take them to Columbine High School.  It was only one year after the tragic shootings at Columbine, and I thought it would have a great impact on the teens to actually see that place and be reminded that what they saw on the news wasn't actually a Hollywood creation.  And, I didn't want to be that close and not get to see it myself.  So we went.  Dozens and dozens of teenagers and adults walked around that school, praying, taking pictures, remembering.  We also went to a church service not far from there.  We attended West Bowles, which is the church where some of the kids who died at Columbine had worshiped.

In that place, in the midst of that majesty interwoven with tragedy and possibility, I sang "Better is One Day" with all my heart.  I learned it that morning and felt as if I'd known it my whole life.  When I sing it today, I still see those images.  And I still think that I would cash it all in for one day with Him.

Kids Today (or, Back When I Was a Kid)

I am privileged to teach Sunday School for the 7th-12th graders at our church.  It's a privilege every week, and most Sundays it's fun too.  :)  (Kidding.  Mostly.)  The students in my class, like most teenagers, come in varying degrees of communication, enthusiasm, and participation.  They are a beautiful and lovely group.

Our curriculum this year is the Heidelberg Catechism.  A couple of weeks ago I had prepared a lesson that I knew would be more fun with as many participants as we could get--plus I'd purchased a lot of candy for it, and I didn't want to have the extras at my house.  Since there were only three students in class that day, I decided that we would have a chat session instead of using our normal lesson. 

I asked my students two questions:
1) What issues--social, person, etc.--would you like to talk about this year?
2) What do you wish adults knew (or remembered) about being teenagers?

As I was introducing our topics, it occurred to me that though I'm not old it has been longer since I've been a teenager than it took me to get there.  I mean, I graduated from college 13 years ago.  Craziness.  It also occurred to me that perhaps the problem we're having with our curriculum being relevant is the fact that it was written by people who had been teenagers even longer ago than I was.  Nothing against adults, but I began to wonder how life had changed since then and how we as adults could speak to that unless we understood it.  So we spent an hour talking about it.

Here's what I learned:
* High school teachers today sound more like college professors.  Students get syllabi from every class, and teachers allow different things in class--some allow notetaking on computers, some allow you to ask questions, some just want you to sit like a bump on a log and absorb their lecture.
* Still not everyone is offered drugs.  I wasn't, though I had some friends who smoked pot, and it was interesting for me to hear that that's still true.  However, I was shocked to find out that there are teenagers walking through the halls at their schools with mushrooms hanging out of their backpacks.  They use meth, too.  And instead of cigarettes it's pot they're smoking in the bathrooms.
* Kissing in the hallways isn't the whole issue anymore.  Students at local high schools have been caught having sex--yes, having sex--in the hallways and on the middle of the dance floor at prom.

We ran out of time before we got much further.  After class they mentioned a couple of other things they'd like to talk about, including homosexuality.  (That should be an interesting experience, and I've already selected some guest speakers to deal with it so that I don't get myself in trouble by not wearing my traditional church filter that day.)  Apparently there are lots of kids in schools today who are gay--and there are lots of kids who are homophobic.  That makes for interesting hallway experiences.  I can't imagine being a student today.

So . . . how does one who was a teenager nearly 20 years ago relate to a world so different than where I lived?  Kids today.  They're lovely and giving and beautiful and honest and it's a privilege to be trusted by them.  God--and the church--has His hands full with them, and I can't wait to see how they change His world.  I hope I don't mess them up.

That Doesn't Make It Easy

For the past few weeks, our pastor has been preaching about loving well and what it means to be true community to each other.  Two weeks ago he preached about "loving stupid people" and talked about how each of us is "stupid" from time to time.  We're stupid when we fall into the same sinful traps over and over again.  We're stupid when we are rude and short tempered.  We're stupid when we ignore the presence of God in our lives and instead focus on all that we don't have and our discontent.  We're stupid when the choices we make destroy ourselves or our relationships.  We're all stupid from time to time.

In order to love stupid people (and hopefully be loved in return when we're stupid), we may need to speak the truth to them.  We may need to call them on their stupidity.  Or, we may just need to take the time to ask them how they are and really listen.  Maybe there's something more to their stupidity.  Maybe they are pessimistic because they can't allow themselves to believe that they deserve good things.  Maybe they drink too much or don't smile enough or are critical and grumpy because of a deep hurt they've endured.  And maybe if we take a minute to ask and to truly listen, we just might find a way to gently restore them into optimism or even joy.

I've had a rough couple of weeks on a lot of levels, and there is someone in my life who is especially hard to love right now.  This person is (dare I say it out loud) stupid.  I think that in the past several weeks, I believe I have specifically referred to this person as an idiot, crazy, incapable, and a host of other lovely and Christian things.  (Yeah, right.)  God brought all of this to mind as I sat cringing my way through the sermon.  And He told me that I don't get to speak harshly about this person or be impatient in our dealings or be proud about how I have it all together and this person doesn't.  It totally sucked.  But I prayed, and I began my dealings with this person with this new and humble heart.  I thought that maybe if I approached our dealings with love and humility, then maybe I would have the opportunity to ask--and really mean--"Are you okay?  Because there seems to be a lot going on with you."

I wish I could say I've been perfect at it.  I haven't.  I'm truly a work in progress.  The occasions I had to talk with this person over the past week have been markedly different--in my mind and attitude at least.  I don't know if this person felt any different about me or my attitude, but I certainly did.  I forced myself God gave me the ability to see this person through His eyes and as someone that He created in His own image and died for.

But boy, it was not easy.

I was reminded that just because it's right does not make it easy.  Just because I decided to change my attitude and approach doesn't mean anyone else around me did.  And it didn't make the person less "stupid."  Recently a friend of mine and I had a conversation about another friend we needed to "confront" with humble and loving truth.  We needed to do it, because we were the only people who could, and it had to be done.  So I gave an early morning pep talk and then made my friend do it--while I stayed behind praying, of course.  She did it, and it was received well, and our friendship--our community--has been honored.  But that didn't make it easy.

Maybe that's what tough love, loving stupid people even when they don't change, and speaking the truth in love is all about.  It's not easy.  It's not easy for the person who is hearing it, nor is it easy for the person who is doing it.  But it's still the right thing to do.

The Seventh Sabbath

Would you be free from the burden of sin?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you o'er evil a victory win?
There's wonderful power in the blood.

There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb.

Would you be free from your passion and pride?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Come for a cleansing to Calvary's tide;
There's wonderful power in the blood.

There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb.

Would you be whiter, much whiter than snow?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Sin stains are lost in its life-giving flow.
There's wonderful power in the blood.

There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb.

Would you do service for Jesus your King?
There's power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you live daily His praises to sing?
There's wonderful power in the blood.

There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb.

"There is Power in the Blood," Lewis E. Jones

Giving Them Back

This morning I started the book of I Samuel.  As a mother, I am always moved to read of Hannah's longing for a child.  She is picked on, mocked, and driven to great depression over her barrenness.  She begs, pleads, and cries out to God.  Her agony in the temple was so intense that the priest even believes she must be drunk--nobody sober would act like that before God.

God hears her, and he grants her deepest desire.  He gives her not only a child but a son.  The part I so often miss in the story is that she said to God, "[Give me a son, and] I'll give him completely, unreservedly to you."  And then she does just that.  This woman who, more than anything in the world, wanted a child, gets one, and then leaves him in the temple to grow up. 

As a mother, it's hard to imagine.  As a Christian who struggles on my sojourn, it's even harder to comprehend.  First of all, she makes a promise to God--and then she keeps it.  Even when it must have destroyed part of her to do so.  How often do I want something badly, and I say to God, "If you just give me this, then I'll X"?  Whether the "X" is be happy, tell everyone what you did, never ask for anything more, not screw it up . . . whatever it is, how often do I really do it?  I can answer that for you: almost never. 

But as a mother . . . as a mother who has never had trouble conceiving, as a mother who conceived twins only to have one die, as a mother who is often overwhelmed by my three living children, as a mother who still grieves the (now) two-year-old baby I long to hold in my arms . . . how do you long for a child, have it long enough to wean it, and then drop it off at the temple to live? 

Now, this isn't like it would be for us.  We go to church at the end of our road.  There are plenty of days that I think it might be nice to drop by kids off at Pastor Tim and "Miss Ruth's" house for a while.  Shoot, there are days that I do that (and thanks for generously taking them Ruthie!)--for a few hours at least.  But I can always go pick them up, and the trip takes me only about 1 minute.  Five if I walk.  For Hannah it's a long journey that she takes once a year.  Huh?  How do you do that?  How do you long for something to the point of your heart breaking and then turn it completely over to God?

But then how do you not?

I remember once in college when I was going off with my Christian fellowship group to do some evangelism thing that made my dad pretty nervous.  He sent me a letter after we discussed it on the phone, and his letter is something that I'll keep forever.  In it he wrote, "We have always known that you aren't our child.  You are God's.  And we knew the time would come when He took you places that we didn't understand and didn't like.  But you are His.  You were never ours to keep."

As a mom I'm grateful that I get to see my children nearly every day.  I'm grateful that I don't have to send them miles and miles away and see them only once a year for them to truly be God's.  But I also know that just as my sweet Baby Zion is sitting on God's lap and belongs solely to Him, Ellie Grace, Meggity Leigh, and DeeDee also belong solely to God.  They may not be literally sitting on His lap, but they are held in the palm of His hand.  They are no less His than Zion is, than I am.  While they may live in my house for a time and in my heart forever, they have never really been mine. 

So, yes.  I have longed for them to the point of my heart breaking.  I have watched out for them and cared for them and loved them to the point of my heart breaking.  But I have also--and need to continue to--given them completely over to God.  Today may I care for them as children that God has entrusted to me, and women who will change this world forever because of their Father, and sisters who will sojourn Home alongside me and the rest of our brothers and sisters.  Today may I see them as they are: dedicated to God for life.

The Sixth Sabbath

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.

Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

When years of time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

"The Love of God," Frederick Martin Lehman

Book Three

The Meaning of Matthew: My Son's Murder in Laramie, and a World Transformed
Judy Shepard

Every once in a while, a film will come along that sticks with me.  It settles into my brain and sort of just grabs hold in a way that I know I'll never be the same.  I've been changed by what I've seen.  "Martha Marcy Mae Marlene" comes to mind as the most recent.  There's also "Who is Julia?," "Doubt," and "In the Mouth of Madness," to name a few.

More rarely, a book will have that same power.  I immediately think of Nobody's Fault by Patricia Hermes, Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver, and Columbine by Dave Cullen.  When I first read them, and still now years after, I feel haunted by them.  The Meaning of Matthew is one of those books.  I remember so vividly the day in October 1998 when I first heard that Matthew had been attacked and tied to a fence and left to die.  I remember feeling personally violated at the thought that people could be so heartless and hateful.  It made no sense to me.  To be honest, it still doesn't.

Judy Shepard, Matt's mom, wrote this book ten years after the murder of her son, and it still makes no sense--to anyone.  But, like so many people caught in tragic situations, she has decided to make the world different, make sense of the world, instead of the tragedy.  The honesty with which Judy writes is moving.  She doesn't paint Matt with an angelic brush and even calls out the media and others who have. 

This book is important for everyone to read--whether you think you've made up your mind about homosexuality, whether you are facing it yourself or struggling with a family member who is, or whether you think none of it will ever affect you.  It will.  It does, in ways that may surprise you.  Take a minute to learn what you can about yourself, about the people you know, and about the world in which we live.  It's never okay to hate.  It's not enough to tolerate.  As Dennis, Matthew's father, stated in his victim impact statement at the sentencing of one of the murderers, "Love, respect, and compassion for everyone is why we are here today...loving one another doesn't mean that we have to compromise our beliefs; it simply means that we choose to be compassionate and respectful of others."

Sticks, Stones, and Words

I sing on the worship team at my church.  Since I love to worship and sing worship songs, and I'm generally a confident singer (as long as I have a group to sing with), it's something that I truly enjoy.  We always have practice on the Wednesday before our assigned week and then get together at 8:00 on Sunday morning for a final practice.

Last week at Wednesday's practice, we had an unexpected visitor.  There is a man in our neighborhood who is an alcoholic.  When I say that he is a falling-down drunk, that's actually an exact representation of what he appears to be.  Often a walk through the neighborhood--or simply a glance out the window--will find him stumbling down the street or through the church parking lot.  He's even been known to lie down--or fall and not get up--alongside the road. 

To say that's all John is, though, is a gross understatement.  John is a man, a son, a brother, a friend.  He knows more about the Bible than several years through it will get me, and he's a gifted song writer.  He can commit Scripture to memory, turn it into song, and sing it in his Bob Dylan-esque voice with ease and style.  He can elicit tears with his songs.  And he has taught me so much about grace and about who I am.  He is a man who struggles in a prison that refuses to turn him loose.

When he's drinking, he also has no filter.

Wednesday night at practice, we were running through "Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone)."  Because we were going to be singing it while the elders were passing the bread during Communion, we were praticing it in a contemplative fashion.  That's how we ran through it the first time.  Then John came in.  Then we ran through the song again.  I couldn't help myself.  I thought about the message of the song, about chains being gone, about God calling us and then being forever ours, about John.  I sang it out.  I worshipped God, and I interceded for John.

When we were done, John said, "You?  Becky, is it?  You should be less shrill next time.  Sing some harmonies or something, but you need to be less shrill."  There's humility for you. 

Julie, the worship leader and a close friend of mine, immediately came to my defense.  She said, "Beka, you aren't shrill.  You were just singing it out.  And besides, I haven't adjusted the levels.  You sounded great.  Don't worry about it."

My immediate thought was, "The guy's drunk.  Like I'm going to let someone who is drunk steal my joy."  And I truly wasn't worried about it or impacted by what he said.  I mean, surely I know who I am and that God has gifted me.  I'm secure enough in the role I play.

Afterwards, when Julie and I talked about it, she told me that she had so quickly jumped with affirmation because she remembered some of the things I have shared with her in the past about what people have said about my singing.  I'm too loud.  I'm too sharp.  I'm too flat.  I'm unable to hold a key.  I don't have a solo voice.  I should practice more or stick to just passing out the song books.  When she was growing up, she also heard that she couldn't hold a key, and our combined "inabilities" made us nervous about the acapella verse we sang Sunday morning.  Maybe it was Ruth and Bob, or maybe it was just the Holy Spirit, or maybe we've learned how to hold a key, but we did well on that verse.  It didn't stop me from being VERY CAREFUL through that whole verse, though.  Because the truth is that I can't hold a key, right?  That I'm shrill.

As young children we used to sing, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."  Who were we kidding?  Were we trying to convince ourselves not to care so much?  Because that little line couldn't be further from the truth.  The wounds from sticks and stones fade with time.  Broken bones heal.  But words?  They stick with you.  They make you very careful.  They make you cry, even 25 years later.  They make you scared.

Think about that today.  What words are you saying today that are reinforcing what someone already "knows" about themselves?  What words are you saying that confirm their weaknesses--or at least the weaknesses others have assigned to them?  What words are you saying that are instilling fear or creating pain?  Let's use our words to extend grace and healing and peace.  To remove fear.  To encourage.  To affirm.  Maybe those words will last, too.

I Want to Be One of Them

As I've been delving into Scripture more over the past month, the KINGDOM reading plan has be spending a good amount of time in the Old Testament.  Like most 21st century Christians, I typically make most of my personal focus on the New Testament, so this has been a good shift for me. 

The stories of Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Samson, Joshua, and Ruth are so familiar to me--they're the stories I grew up listening to in Sunday School.  Because I know them so well, when my almost-four-year-old comes home from Sunday School and tells me in her scattered way about a few highlights (and some random facts) that she learned at church that morning, I can usually guess the person if not the story as well.  It's good to have that familiarity.  But, like one of the boys in the Sunday School class I teach has said, it can also be bad.  It loses something.

By spending every morning with this familiar friends over the past 26 days, I have been reminded of something.  They're family.  It's really like reading the Christmas letters I so enjoy every year.  This is their year--their life--in review.  Whether it's the highlights, like God saving Noah's family in the ark or Samson beating up on the Philistines so many times or Ruth's devotion to Naomi, or the lowlights, like Jacob stealing Esau's birthright and blessing or Lot's wife turning into a pillar of salt or the many times the Israelites worshipped idols, it's them.  It's truth.  And it's family.

I listened to some great Christian music (rare for me) on the way home from Muskegon last night.  One of the songs that came on was "When the Saints" by Sara Groves.  It's such an amazing song, because it highlights people from the Bible and the saints of our times--Jim Elliot, Mother Theresa--and then she says, "When the saints go marching in, I want to be one of them." 

I do.  Whether it's the highlights of my life or the lowlights, I want to see what God has done in my life and is doing in my life, and I want to walk with Him.  I want to walk with them into His kingdom.  I want to arrive Home and greet my Father and our family including myself among my brothers and sisters throughout the ages.  It's an amazing thought to consider.  I'm not walking this alone.  God walked here before me in the flesh of Jesus.  But there was also David and Jacob and Joseph and Paul and Silas and Jim and Theresa and so many others.  We'll make it, because they did.

Reviewing Month One

Looking back, this month has gone quite quickly.  I want to take a few minutes to review month one, make any adjustments that I need to, and move forward into February.  Overall, I feel good about how January ended, and I certainly see places where I can improve.

* Physically:
Goal - I want to lose 60 pounds by December 31.  This comes out to about five pounds a month, and as of last Saturday, I have lost 4 pounds.  These are 4 pounds that I've lost and gained several times over the past several months, but this time they're gone for good.  (Positive self talk works, right?)

Plan - I have not been exercising at least 45 minutes each work day.  I have come close--averaging about five days a week.  I have done well at controlling my portions, and I've mostly stopped eating when I was full.  At the beginning of the month I did a better job delaying my cravings and choosing not to give in.  Over the last two weeks I've done less well with that.  So this month I need to work out more and win the craving battles.

* Spiritually:
Goal - I want to read through the Bible this year and live a more grateful life. This morning I started reading the February readings, so I'm doing very well with my reading.

Plan - Nearly every morning I have started with my Bible, even if I haven't first worked out.  The days when I've chosen to sleep in, I have done so intending to still wake up by 6:30 so I can spend time reading and praying.  I'm not current in my prayer book, but I've tried to be more conscious about living a prayerful day.  I've also done a terrible job keeping current in my blessings calendar.  That's my biggest area for improvement this month.  If I'm grateful, I can write it down.  If I'm not writing it down, I feel like I'm saying that I'm not grateful.

* Mentally:
Goal - I want to blog at least 25 days a month, and I want to read at least 24 books this year. This is post number 25 for January, so that's exciting.  I have also completed two books and am a good chunk of the way through my third.  There's also a fourth in progress on my Kindle, but that's a Stephen King, so I'm going to need a while.

Plan - One of the books I read in January was our book club book, and one was a book that has been on my book list for about six months.  This third one I'm reading has also been on my list for a long time.  I don't really have a lot of need for improvement in this area, though I'd like to read my book club books with less procrastination from now on.  My February nights are quite busy at the beginning of the month--co-chairing the Scholastic Book Fair at Ellie's school--so it will be a feat to get both books done.  It will definitely take some self discipline.  :)

A Battle Within

The last couple of days I've really noticed a battle in my mind.  There's been the "that will taste good, you should eat it" and the "this tastes so good I definitely want some more" and the "you have no real reason to get up this early to work out." 

Perhaps the battle has always been there, but I've certainly rarely fought it before.  In the past it's always been more of a giving in to whatever whim I may have had.  I'd find myself in the middle of eating something or waking up at the last minute and having to rush through the morning or gaining and losing the same five pounds.  I would hate where I was and wonder how I got there.  But I never really battled with the cravings.

Since 2012 began, though, and I've started claiming the spirit of self discipline that God has given me, it's been different.  I've dragged myself out of bed at 5:00 a.m. day after day, in the freezing cold.  I've frozen 90% of a cheesecake and put back a piece I'd taken out to eat simply because I found I was satisfied with what I'd already eaten.  I've frozen leftover brownies and thrown out part of a piece of zucchini bread when I realized I was full.  I've read two days' worth of Bible readings to catch up.  I've also slept in, eaten even though I was full, and chosen to veg on the sofa instead of reading my Bible.  You win some, you lose some.

Maybe all that living a self-controlled life involves is fighting these battles.  Maybe it's recognizing the fight, listening to the voice, and making the wise choice.  I wonder if there will come a point when it's just natural and easy to choose less or working out or self denial.  Maybe not.  Maybe the only difference between the way I was living and athletes winning gold medals is simply that they chose wisely more often than they don't.

Until I get to that point, I hope that I keep seeing both choices.  I hope that I keep resisting my natural desires and choosing to be where God wants me to be.  And I hope that when I mess up, I recognize the amazing grace that God pours down on me and extend a little bit of it to myself.  I hope that I see what's in front of me; hear God say, "Rise up, Mighty Warrior"; and choose to fight with all I have.

The Fifth Sabbath

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I'm found
Was blind, but now I see

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed

My chains are gone, I've been set free
My God, my Savior, has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy rains
Unending love, amazing grace

The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures

My chains are gone, I've been set free
My God, my Savior, has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy rains
Unending love, amazing grace

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow
The sun forbear to shine
But God who called me here below
Will be forever mine
Will be forever mine
You are forever mine

"Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone)", Chris Tomlin

Micah 6:8

Like most Christian Reformed girls of a certain age, I grew up attending Calvinettes.  Today it is called GEMS, and it's really like a Calvinist Girl Scouts.  Every meeting began with us singing songs, including our theme song "Jesus is All the World to Me," and reciting our verse.  The leader would say, "Calvinettes, what does the Lord require of you?"  We would respond, in unison, "To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.  Micah 6 verse 8."  Ask almost anyone my age who grew up in the CRC, and they can sing you a verse and recite Micah 6:8.

I wonder when the reality of that verse started sinking in for me, though.  At what point did I understand that "doing justice" wasn't just about deciding who was right or wrong, that "loving kindness" isn't just about good manners and being nice, and that "walking humbly with God" means more than not bragging.  I wonder sometimes if it has yet sunk in.

A week or so ago in my prayer book, Everyday Prayers, author Scotty Smith (thanks, Writer Friend!) wrote about how our groanings and longings for eternity should cause us to show up rather than check out.  He said that instead of numbing ourselves to the needs of the world as we wait, that longing for Christ to return and God to set things right for eternity should prompt us to work toward bringing that about now.  He asked God, "What will it mean to love mercy, do justice, and walk humbly with you in the broken places of your world?"

Indeed.  What will it mean?  What will it mean for me to be more than one who seeks the difference between right and wrong, more than one who is nice to other people, more than one who doesn't brag about my walk with God?  What will it mean, with the unique way that God has gifted me, the unique personality that I have, the unique place He has put me in His world?  How should I seek to DO justice, to LOVE kindness, and to WALK HUMBLY with my God in His broken world?  And not just in the future or in my profession or in my parenting. 

In my friendships.  In my right now.  In this neighborhood. 

In this day.

A Psalm

Every day in my readings I read at least one Psalm, sometimes two.  Today it struck me that the Psalms (blogs, really) remind me a lot of the way that I tend to blog and why I've often struggled with it.  It feels like when I sit down with my fingers on the keys what flows out of me is often downtrodden or slightly defeated.  I always come around in the end, recognizing the gifts that I have, but at the beginning it feels like the same old same old things.  As I was reading today, I realized that the Psalmist often does the same thing.  Maybe that's part of life.  So, I thought I would attempt an actual psalm with all that's in my mind right now.

Oh, God.  You are my rock.
Your shelter and protection cannot be denied.
My enemies may not be coming at me with swords or rocks,
But this life is hard nonetheless.
Talk of war and division fill our news,
Even in Christian circles, people lament our future,
Our world.
Even in Christian circles, our families fall apart,
Division reigns.

Where is our hope?

Our hope is in You, maker of heaven and earth.
Creator of all things.
Author and perfector of our salvation.

You do not fail.  You cannot fail.

Thank you for your healing power.  This week alone you
Have shrunk tumors doctors believed were unshrinkable.
You have replaced cancerous bones
With the bones of life stolen too soon.
Be the God-who-heals for everyone who suffers.

Thank you for being the God who seeks and finds.
Thank you for our Navy SEALS and their dedication
To a calling higher than them.
Be the God-who-finds for all those who are lost,
Spiritually or physically. Restore them to those who long for them.

And, God, for the hurts that somehow go deeper--
For the mothers and fathers hanging on for dear life as they parent their children,
For the men and women caught in the prison of addiction,
For the husbands and wives dreaming of a way to be free of unhappy marriages,
For the children whose innocence is stolen,
For the depressed and the lonely and the widows and those struggling with who they are--
Be the Rock.  Be the God.  Be the Shepherd.  Be the Deliverer.  Be the Sustainer. 
Be the God-who-brings-Life.

Tie a Yellow Ribbon

This morning at the gym I wore my Team Mitchell t-shirt from last summer's Miles for Hope.  I ran walked for Mitchell, the son of high school friend's.  While Miles for Hope is about funds to research a cure for brain tumors, our t-shirts, designed by Mitchell's mom, incorporated the colors for brain tumor awareness and pediatric brain tumor awareness.

As I was walking from the treadmill to the weights, a woman stopped me, gestured to my shirt, and said, "I'm trying to figure out what the cure is for."  When I told her, she said, "That's very cool."

Today is also the day that Beau's cousin Chelsea was told to wear blue to school in order to stop bullying.  Because she's a snarky teenager, she announced that on Facebook and then wrote, "Is that because bullies are afraid of the color blue?"  I laughed out loud.

Those two questions--what's that for, and are they afraid of that color--sent me thinking.  Pink = October, which is breast cancer awareness month.  Red = HIV/AIDS awareness.  Blue = Child Abuse Awareness Month (April).  Yellow = Brain Tumor Awareness and, because of a song years ago, signifies that you are waiting for a loved one to return home.  The puzzle piece ribbon = Autism Awareness.  I'm sure that all of these colors also mean something different, as I remember tying a blue ribbon on my antenna in honor of the horrors at Columbine and Chelsea is supposed to wear blue to stop bullying.

So what do these colors mean?  Are they just the trendy way to pretend to stand for something?  I'm confident that the bullies aren't afraid of the color blue, but I wonder if they came to school and saw everyone wearing blue if they would change the way that they treat other people.  Because they'd see the solidarity.  And I wonder if the woman I saw today thinks about brain tumors differently because she saw my shirt. 

Mostly I wonder if more people are aware of anything because of all the ribbons we wear or if people are just confused by the colors.  When people first started wearing red ribbons, it was a statement.  It was a statement of support and solidarity and commitment that on my watch something was going to change.  I wasn't going to be silent about a disease that shouldn't be destroying our families.  But now, when you see a ribbon, do you even wonder what it's for?  When you put on a ribbon, or a color, do you even remember what it's for? 

There are a million causes in the world, and I'm quite certain that many of them have a color to go with them.  The question I need to ask myself is which one is mine?  And am I doing more than wearing a ribbon?

"At a certain point, I just felt, you know, God is not looking for alms, God is looking for action." Bono

Things I Think I Think #1-17

Several random thoughts on my mind today, so I thought I'd share them all.  Because I'm crazy like that.

*EDIT: part way through my list I decided to number these.  Maybe when I have too many random thoughts and nothing concrete enough to create a real post I can add on to my list.  Then, by the end of the year, maybe we'll end up with 100 random things I think.  Won't that be fun?

1. One of my favorite quotes from the Bible is when the angel of the Lord finds Gideon hiding in the threshing room and says, "Rise up, Mighty Warrior."  I've felt like that.

2. I cannot wait to start reading the next book on my list: The Meaning of Matthew, by Judy Shepard.  It's the story of Matthew Shepard.  I wish we were further along in his fight than we are.

3. There is no way I'd work out at 5:15 a.m. every morning if my friend, Leah, wasn't either picking me up or expecting me to pick her up.

4. It shouldn't be so hard for me to remember to write down a Kairos or a grateful moment every day, but I'm always behind on my list.

5. One of today's Kairos moments is happening right now: my three girls are playing me and some of my friends/family members.  I love it when the one playing Julie calls me, "Beck."

6. I don't like making dinner for my family each night.  That's probably one of the reasons I often suggest that we eat out.  Since that isn't so helpful to my budget or my waistline, I should scale back on it.  But the chicken pot pie on the menu tonight just is not calling my name.

7. I love, love, love politics, but I hate how politicky it gets.  Maybe it would be better to say I love government and hate politics.

8. So far this year I have scored a free Kindle 3G and a free iPhone 3GS (on its way to me today).  That's the mark of some pretty good friends and family.

9. It makes me smile to chat with my friends on Twitter when we could just text, email, or Facebook message.  Ah, technology.  (Welcome to Twitter, Jillian!)  If you're there, you should follow me.  Then we can chat there instead of in person, too.

10. While we're on the subject, it also makes me smile to read what celebrities write on Twitter and pretend that Adam Levine, Peter Alexander, Alison Sweeney, and Jason Segel really are talking to me.  But it makes me sad to see how desperately other people seem to wish they were talking to them.

11. When I don't start my morning out reading the Bible, I'm a bitch.  There, I said it.  'Cause it's true.

12. I would watch episodes of Hawaii Five-0 over and over again.  No matter how many times I've seen them.  The same is not true for Dora the Explorer.

13. I really should get up and finish that chicken pot pie.  And fold the laundry.  Probably not at the same time.

14. I'm hoping the pain currently shooting through my left hand is simply a result of holding it wrong while I worked out this morning and not indicative of something more serious.  Like carpal tunnel.  Unless that means I can't make dinner anymore.

15. One of my favorite things to do is add books to my Goodreads list.  I love it.  It's like window shopping.  There is so much possibility in all the books on my shelves.  Even though I'm sure I'll need the first half of eternity to read them all.

16. I would happily pay $10 to sit through 90 minutes of previews at Celebration Cinema.  (See the Goodreads list for my thoughts on possibilities.)

17. For the life of me I cannot understand why a presidential election is the only time we would consider hiring someone over 65 for a job.  Seriously.  Retire.  Don't go for a new career--especially one that's going to age you several years.  Unless you have a really great VP candidate that we maybe wouldn't elect on our own.

Book Two

Bossypants
Tina Fey

Hooray, Tina Fey! She seems to write everything she thinks, which is also how I write. Except then I delete most of it. I appreciate that Tina leaves it all in--her random thoughts, her tangents, her unnecessary explanations. It all makes it into Bossypants, and that's what makes it hilarious.



While the structure of the book is seemingly nonexistent, it almost doesn't matter. Fey covers a wide range of her life, from her childhood to her early career to her current work at 30 Rock and as a mother, with a stop with Sarah Palin in between. It all feels equally important to who she is now. If you're looking for a chronological autobiography, this is not your book. If, however, you are looking for candid and random facts from one of the funnier women in America--quit reading this review and pick up Bossypants!

The Fourth Sabbath

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.

"Simple Gifts," by Elder Joseph Brackett, 1848 (Traditional Shaker hymn and dance song.  Because at the end of the day, shouldn't they really be one and the same?)

Book One

A Discovery of Witches
Deborah Harkness

Let me start by saying that I can't recall what I knew about this book going in, but I know that I wasn't aware of much when I opened the cover. Obviously I knew there were witches and that it was set in the present day. There was a discovery in that the protagonist discovered she was a witch. Or so I thought. Hopefully this isn't too much of a SPOILER to say that I was surprised (and disappointed) to discovery it was also about vampires and daemons and romance. Typically none of those things get me excited about a book, and I almost closed it and sent it right back to the library. I'm so glad I didn't.

If I'd read the Goodreads review, I would have known about the vampires and the romance, but I heard about this book in a four-sentence blurb in Entertainment Weekly.  I am a lover of history and find the Salem witch trials an intriguing part of our history.  So it's easy to suck me into a book that references that time.  Diana Bishop is a descendent of the Bishop clan--one of the first witches tried in Salem.  For personal reasons, however, she has stopped using her magic.  As the reasons are revealed, I found myself more deeply enthralled with the story and with the family history.  I also found myself caught up in the romance between Diana and Matthew, a vampire geneticist.  Harkness weaves a tale of romance in the middle of a tale of history and the supernatural and the academic world.  Her tale is gripping and hypnotizing.  Much like after my reading of Rowling's Harry Potter series I was left wishing I knew how to conjur the spells for cleaning my house and could certainly stand to be living in a house that adds extra rooms to accommodate its residents.  I hope knowing about the vampires and the daemons--and the romance--don't turn anyone away from this book.  It's referred to in some places as a grown-up Twilight--don't let that stop you either.

This book is the first in a series, and I'm glad I waited until now to read the first book.  That means my wait for book two is only a few months long!

Kairos Moments

I discovered another blog yesterday, via a Huffington Post article that a mom I know posted.  "Don't Carpe Diem" it said.  Don't carpe diem?  This is for moms?  So don't carpe diem a parenting moment?  I have several I'd like to not sieze.  There are many I'd like to brush under the rug or into a corner in the closet so that no one ever finds out about them.  Maybe those are the skeletons in my closet, since I've lived a fairly mundane and safe life.  Look into the darkest recesses of my life, and you'll find all the parenting moments I chose to pretend never existed.  Like, oh say the last six years.

Kidding. 

It hasn't been that bad.  There have surely been good moments.  But, for the most part, if I'm being honest, if I'm telling my deep secrets, if you promise not to call Children's Protective Services on me (I work with some of them, and they're on my speed dial, so just try it), if we're going to shed light in the corners of my closets and lift up all the rugs in my house, if you promise not to tell anyone . . .

I really don't like parenting toddlers.  Or first graders, apparently.

Back when I was simply babysitting, I discovered that I really don't like 4 year olds.  I thought it would change when I actually had a real attachment to the child, but then my nieces hit four.  Didn't like them either.  Well, maybe it will change when they were birthed by me and call me mom.  Nope.  Even worse.  Now that my youngest has been wholly consumed by the terrible twos, I've discovered that the truth is all these 2-6 years are something I could do without.

I don't like cutting up food.  I don't like getting up from my computer or my book or my moment to breathe or my moment to sit on the toilet peeing allbymyselfforjustasecondplease in order to get a snack or find a toy or stop another fight or get a drink or get another snack or put the skirt on your mini Cinderella or find your Littlest Pet Shop purse.  (Could toys possibly be bigger, please?  Maybe all toys could be like those magical Snap 'N' Style dolls that even my two year old can maneuver.)  I don't like wiping butts either.  And I don't like all that whining.  I don't mind zipping up coats and tying shoes, but I'll be honest and say that it gets a bit annoying when they're dancing around like a pretty, pretty princess fairies while I'm doing it. 

But I'll also be honest about something else.  They really are a pretty, pretty princess fairies.  They are my joy.  They are my hope that there are bright spots in the future.  They are my I love you.  Because, even in the middle of my wishing for a second to myself prior to passing out to the world at 10:30 p.m. (hopefully in my bed and not my onesecondtomyselfonthetoilet), even in the middle of my fear that I won't actually like any stage of parenting and my kids will grow up to hate me for it, I have another secret:

I love parenting toddlers.  And I love parenting first graders, apparently.

It's hard, hard work.  I know that middle schoolers and tweens and teens will also be hard, hard work.  Or a challenge.  But I'm excited to get there.  So I hope that my kids forgive me for speeding us through a few of the rough patches, for losing my temper when my second in the bathroom is interrupted by a third little voice whining "Can you get me a piece of candy?" (Really?  From the bathroom?  Let me know how that goes.), for listening to Maroon 5 in the van when all they want is "Silly Songs!!!!!" (For. The. Fifteenth. Time...Today.).  I hope that we share a mutual respect and love and admiration when they grow up and move out and I realize that these years went too fast and wish I had less time to myself and wonder why the juice boxes and Fruit Nuggets start lasting longer than two days.  I hope I don't screw them up too much.  And I hope, that like Glennon says, I don't forget to notice the Kairos Moments.  I can seize those.

Yesterday's moments:
* Reading "Little House in the Big Woods" with Ellie
* Addie walking around the kitchen with her baby on her shoulders while I was making dinner
* Ellie's stunningly gorgeous face after she's been outside playing in the cold
* Megan's big blue eyes peeking at me from under a blanket
* Addie asking where the seat is at the table for her baby and then remembering that she only drinks milk
* Megan exclaming, "Oh my chinny-chin-chins!" when all the marbles from the marble run fell off the table in the dining room

It was such a good day.

Learning from Job and Tripp

I love the book of Job.  It ends with the most beautiful images of creation.  It includes sassy responses from God.  It shows a strong man standing up to his friends.  And it provides a stunning glimpse of joy in the midst of suffering.

Late last week, the book of Job was brought to mind again as I was introduced to Tripp Roth.  A friend on Facebook posted the link to Courtney Roth's blog about being a mommy to her son, Tripp.  This is a young woman in the prime of her life--enjoying being a wife and excited about the arrival of her son.  I encourage you to check out her blog, starting with Tripp's Story.  Within hours of his birth, Courtney and her husband, Randy, were told that he suffered from Epidermolysis Bullosa.  Basically his skin was so thin that any contact with it would result in painful blisters to form.  After discussing his case with various doctors and running numerous tests--all of which caused Tripp's skin to blister and tear--it became apparent that Tripp had a fatal case of EB and would be lucky to reach his 2nd birthday.

Tripp died on January 14, at 2 years and 8 months old.  A recent visit to an expert revealed that with less care than his mother had given him, he would likely have died around his first birthday.  He should have died then.  Instead, his mother, who had never held her son skin to skin in her arms, never crushed him into her hug, never played tickle games, never smothered his face in kisses, committed her life to caring for her son.  Her marriage to Tripp's father suffered and ended.  She moved in with her parents, where her mother could help her with full time care.  She spent 2 years and 8 months wrapping her son in a blanket, coaxing him to eat, sedating him to give him baths because the pain was so intense, watching her son's eyes fuse shut.  She spent 2 years and 8 months knowing her son was in constant pain and knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.  And she spent 2 years and 8 months thanking God for every breath her son took, every drum beat she listened to him play, every smile he offered.

Her blog and Facebook page have allowed us a glimpse into her pain and inspiration from the care that she took of a little boy medical professionals and others told her she would be justified to leave in a hospital bed where she would visit from time to time.  Or nurses could have bathed him in her home.  She could have saved her marriage--after all, she knew her son's condition was fatal.  Instead, she stayed by his side.  Why?  Because he was her son.  She was his mother.  He was her gift from God.

By the time that I discovered her blog and met Tripp, Courtney knew that his short life was ending.  She rejoiced that he would soon be pain free, that his first skin to skin contact would be with Jesus Christ, God made flesh.  God with torn flesh.  And she asked that the ending would be peaceful--for Tripp, for her, and for her family.  That's what we prayed for.

On Saturday, shortly after her only son took his final breaths wrapped snugly in a blanket in her arms, she wrote that heaven had a new drummer boy.  She wrote of her broken heart and her grief.  And then she wrote, "Please don't forget to thank God for the PEACE we prayed to him for." 

Who does that?  So few of us even remember to thank God for answered prayer in the best of times.  Yet, here was a grieving mother, reminding us to thank God for answering our prayers.  Courtney understood--and shared in her 2011 Christmas card to all of her blog followers--what Job knew.  I can only pray that I know it, too.  Especially when it matters most.

"Should we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?"  Job 2:10

A Hiccup

While I won't do this every week (never fear; I'll be certain to bore you in other ways!), I think it's helpful for me to look back over the hiccup that was last week.  In every way that week one was a great success, week two was a terrific challenge. 

* Physically - I snacked a bit and gave into some cravings, but for the most part I'm doing okay on my eating.  It hasn't exactly been a "food is fuel" reminder, but my snacks were (mostly) healthier than the norm for me.  That said, I barely worked out last week.  I didn't work out Monday morning because Leah (my workout buddy) wasn't feeling the greatest and didn't want to push it since we were both looking forward to Pilates at night.  We did go to Pilates, and it hurt worse than almost anything I've ever done.  It certainly hurt longer.  And I was amazed to find out that 90% of my weight is apparently in my legs.  Or at least it was by the 85th time the instructor made me lift them.  That soreness meant I didn't work out Tuesday morning.  Then Wednesday I had a thing with my toe (trust me, too gross for such a public forum!!).  We worked out Thursday morning, but then there was a blizzard on Friday.  We planned to work out Saturday, but our cram-too-many-things-into-one-day schedule didn't allow for that.  I did sleep more, but mostly only because I didn't get my lazy butt out of bed in the morning.  Somehow in the middle of all of that, I hit my goal and have lost 2.8 pounds since 2012 began.

* Spiritually - Because I didn't get out of bed to work out or even in time to sit down and read my daily Bible and prayer readings, I fell behind.  I hated that feeling and have now caught up (reading five days' worth Sunday, yesterday, and today, splitting up the four sections each day).  In a way it was helpful to have skipped the readings, because it allowed me to see how different my attitude is when I read my Bible in the morning versus when I don't.  My oldest is NOT a morning person, so the morning routine can get a bit tense at our house as I need to remind her several times to get her shoes on, finish her milk, brush her teeth, find her coat, and go back in the house to get her bag.  Last week my temper flared, and I was short with her almost every morning.  There was a lot of yelling on Friday, too, as she was home for the snow day and less than enthused about spending the day here instead of with her friends.  Then, this morning, her routine was no different.  There were still countless reminders, but I just had so much more peace.  There's a lesson in that as I reflect on all that starting my day in the Word brings to my life.  I stink at writing down my daily "thankful" notes, so my focus really needs to be on that in order to make it a habit.


* Creatively - I still haven't written my review for my first book of the year, and I'll be finishing book number two either today or tomorrow.  So, maybe you'll get lucky and receive TWO book reviews in one week.  I know you can't wait.  The late start to my days has also made blogging tricky, so I'm behind in that.  It's interesting that I've begun thinking in "blog" as I confront my day looking for what I want to make a subject or where my muses lie.  I've missed thinking that way and enjoy the feeling of being a writer that it gives me. 

I had a conversation today with my Writer Friend as we discussed my full DVR.  She said that maybe there would come a point soon that I say "If I haven't watched it in X weeks, then I need to just delete it" or that I consider the fact that there are X number of episodes stored there and I'm losing interest in catching up . . . for some reason I don't like that idea.  It seems so strange that I should care so much, but there's something about me that is clinging to the fact that I'm missing out.  On what, I'm not really sure.  Many of the shows I don't even miss.  "Hawaii Five-O" is the only show that I will actually stay up late to watch, and there are only a few that I wish I had time to sit down and enjoy.  But deleting those others--the ones I have three or four episodes stored--just feels so final.  Like I'm acknowledging that self discipline sometimes means giving up vegging on the sofa wasting time over the latest hilarity to hit Marshall and Lily or what havoc Jack (& the Beanstalk) is creating for everyone's favorite Grimm and what songs Blaine and Curt are mashing together at McKinley.  I know I don't care about it, but I think I care about not just lying around every day and actually getting several things accomplished--by 8:30 a.m.
For the mean time, I have this blog entry completed, Peter Alexander is filling me in on the latest campaign news on the Nightly News, Bossypants is waiting for me to finish it before tomorrow night's book club, and my wonderful husband is finishing up his dinner date with our three beautiful daughters.  A hiccup is a just a hiccup, and this week is back on track.

The Third Sabbath

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ, my God
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to His blood

See, from His head, His hands, His feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown

Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were an offering far too small
Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all

"When I Survey the Wondrous Cross," Isaac Watts

Like a Kid Again

It's 5:30 a.m., and I'm awake and watching the news.  I may put it on mute, because I find their reports a bit alarmist.  Still, I keep watching the school closing reports and the "Instant Alerts," hoping I find my daughter's school scroll across.  As each school close to us or even in our county is added, my heart soars a bit.  As each minute ticks along without it, my heart sinks a bit.

I hate driving in this crap.  I hate shoveling it off my car.  I hate being cold like snow makes me cold.  I hate having to bundle the girls into snow pants just to drive to school simply because an almost 4 year old and a 2 year old can't be expected to stay on their booted feet for a quick walk out to the car. 

We've been so spoiled this year with winter not really beginning until January 12.  I get that.  But I just don't think the snow is going to melt in a week this time.  That's probably why I told Beau he was welcome to look at job transfer opportunities in Hawaii.  "Just for a couple of years."

Here I sit.  Wondering if I'm going to be able to leave my car covered with snow, whether I can climb back in bed to start my day later, whether I should turn off my daughter's alarm clock, whether I'm going to regret all this hoping as I'm refereeing fights in a couple of hours, whether my two year old will be willing to play outside at some point--

       What?  Instant alert showing her school?  Was that really our county?  Yes!  Yes!  A confirming text alert.  SNOW DAY!!