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