come play with me!

Good morning!  After twelve straight hours of sleep, I'm on a roll!  House is clean, laundry is done ... the only thing left on my list is to paint my nails.The littles are coming for a sleepover tonight so I should probably consider conserving the rest of my energy.

I had a thought.  I really love doing what I call a "Free Write."  Here's what that looks like.  Something sparks my interest, whether it's something I read, hear, or some random thing that just pops into my head.  I do lots of these in my journaling ... what if we did some on here?  I'm thinking that you all can give me some topics - a word, a sentence, a paragraph - silly, serious, emotional, ridiculous - and I'll see what "pops out" and post it here if it's worth reading.  Of course you will be the ones to judge whether it's worth reading or not ... but it might be fun!

And how about this?  Post your own "free write" (on your own topic or one that is suggested) as a comment here!

No rules - oh wait, just one.  Please post your ideas as a comment here instead of on Facebook - it will be much easier for me to keep track of them that way.  There's several options on how to do that - if you have questions I can help. 

Ugh I just realized that I used the phrase "as a comment here" in two successive paragraphs ... really not ok.  But I'm leaving it, this one time.

pink is my beautiful

Today I had a lofty goal:  to spend my birthday money on a new, fun purse, not because I really needed one, but because I usually look at a purse as a necessity, not an accessory.  So, in addition to my regular "daughter-groceries-errands" Friday, we took the littlest little and went a-shopping.  I asked Tiny to help me choose, and she did - she gave me two (pink) choices and this was my favorite.  When we got back in the van, she said very matter-of-factly, "Pink is my beautiful."  Can't argue with that!

Hey I'm excited that so many of you are stopping by this blog!  (My little site meter counter thingy tells me so.)  But I would love it if A Slice of Life was a busy two-way street instead of a one-way alley ... you can comment right on this blog or on Facebook if you visited from there.  It's too quiet in here - honk your horn or at least give me a wave.

Gotta go ... Tiny wants to be Nini and it's time for me to be Tiny and open up the restaurant for pretend lunch!  (She's already wearing my flip flops and reading my book - she's reaching for my phone - LUNCH IS SERVED!)

what time is it?

I just had a startling thought.  For months now, I've been lamenting the fact that my desire to write was in the wind.  But why?  Why.  Maybe because my mind has been so incredibly occupied with so many other things, there's been no room to wander.  When my thoughts roam, the writing tends to flow. 

These past few weeks, I've been forced to slow down.  Mentally, physically, emotionally.  This has not been an enjoyable time for me, and many complaints and whines have wandered about.  In my thoughts, to those around me, and yes, toward God.  "What about this?"  That's been my question for him.  Guess what ... WRONG QUESTION!  More importantly, wrong focus.  "What about this?" focuses on me, and on the "this." 

Right question:  "What do I think of You now?"  I think that what You say is true.  I think that You are faithful and merciful and gracious and your lovingkindness towards me is endless.  I think that You have a plan for me and that it is perfect.  So if I really believe that what I believe is really real ... then I'll let You handle the "this" and I won't worry at all.  And my walk will match my talk.  Yet I echo the cry of the unnamed father (Mark 9:24) as Jesus healed his son:  "Lord I believe!  Help me in my unbelief."

So I told you all that to tell you this:  As I've wandered through the wilderness, my thoughts have roamed and wandered also.  And out of all that, the wind has shifted and the words are flowing again.  I've missed it altogether - how often do I miss the BFO's in my life?  (BFO = Blinding Flash of the Obvious.)  I saw a little boy's letter to God that said, "Dear God, thanks for the baby brother.  But I prayed for a puppy."  I've been praying for the puppy, and God is trying to give me a baby!  (Ooh wouldn't that be nice, for real?)

So today, I give thanks for the time.  The time for my thoughts to roam and wander.  The time to really examine and consider anew the unfolding of God's grand plan for our rescue through Jesus' sacrifice on the cross and the miracle of the empty tomb.  The time to rest.  And yes, the time to write.

(P.S. The next time you hear me whine or complain about the "this," for I surely will, please ask me::  "What time is it?")

THIS is the day

This is the day ...

• that I met with a friend for coffee and was blessed beyond measure
• that I (finally) painted my toenails for spring
• that I took another big long nap
• that I wondered if I will ever get back to "myself"
• that I enjoyed the smell of a yummy new candle all day
• that I read several chapters of a book I've been meaning to start forever
• that my husband left me sleeping soundly, then called later to make sure I woke up on time
• that I read an Oswald Chambers quote: "God never gives us anything accidental."
• that I ate a pb&j for lunch for the first time in years
• that I was startled and thankful to remember God's promise in Isaiah 54:10: 

"My unfailing love for you will not be shaken."

This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it!  Big or little, hard or easy, lazy or busy, THIS is the day.

between Friday and Sunday

I got to wondering last night what Saturday was like for Jesus' disciples.  These days, we tend to skip right from the horror of Good Friday, ending with the deliberate humilation and then the agony of His death on the cross, to the hallelujahs and glorious promises fulfilled on Sunday morning, when the tomb was empty.

But what about Saturday?

I searched my Bible this morning, wondering if I'd missed something.  Saturday was the Sabbath for the Jews, so the religious leaders hurried to get Jesus buried Friday night so as not to disturb their day of rest.  Surprisingly, Matthew tells us this:  "Now on the next day, the day after the preparation, the chief priests and the Pharisees gathered together with Pilate [the man who ordered Jesus' crucifixion] and said, 'Sir, we remember that when He was still alive that deceiver said, 'After three days I am to rise again.'  Therefore, give orders for the grave to be made secure until the third day."  Even though their purpose seemed to be to prevent the disciples from stealing His body and tell the people He had risen, it's interesting to me that they remembered His words.

Mark and John skip Saturday entirely.  Luke tells us that the women went Friday night to see the tomb and "returned and prepared spices and perfumes."  But then: "And on the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment."

So, what about Saturday?  Since the Bible doesn't tell us much about that day, I am left wondering about the disciples.  How did they feel?  Certainly they felt the pain and grief of losing their teacher, prophet, friend.  When Jesus asked His disciples "Who do people say that [I] am?" they responded that "... some say ... John the Baptist ... Elijah ... Jeremiah, or one of the prophets."  Then Jesus changed the question:  "But who do YOU say that I am?"  And Peter, bold, brash, impetuous Peter, replied:  "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God."  ("Christ" also means "Messiah," which is defined as the ideal king anointed and empowered to rescue His people from their enemies and establish His kingdom.") 

How confused must they have been?  He told them many times that He would rise on the third day, but it doesn't seem that they ever really understood it.  So IF He was the Messiah, how could he possibly rescue them now?  They now must make a choice - continue to believe the improbable or assume they got it wrong. 

And if they got it wrong, then what of the past three years?  They left EVERYTHING to follow Him.  Home, family, job ... to trek all over the place listening to Him and watching Him perform miracles ... and expecting Him to rescue them by physically conquering Israel.  Did they feel disappointment?  Betrayal?  Surely they did.  Foolish?  I would guess so.  When I feel betrayed, disappointed and foolish, I usually get angry.  Were they angry?

And what now?  Would they go crawling back to their former lives to face the "I told you so's" or stay together and hide? 

Hopelessness and despair, also.  So much for rescue.  So much for a kingdom on earth.  So much for the anointing of God.  Was He a liar?  If so, they were surely fools for having believed Him.

I can only imagine the darkness of their souls on Saturday. 

But then, Sunday!  It's interesting to me that the women were the last to be with His body on Friday night, and the first to hurry to the tomb on Sunday morning.  We know what they found - or rather what they didn't find.  We know that their initial confusion and fear was replaced with the memory of His promises.  We see that after the women went home and told the disciples Peter "got up and ran to the tomb" and went away "marveling."  We know the rest of the story, right?  The necessity of Friday night, and yes, even Saturday.  Friday night Jesus willingly gave His life for me ... and for you ... so that we could cross over the impossibly, uncrossable bridge of our sin into complete forgiveness, ushering us into God's presence now and forever.  He loved us that much.  But Saturday was just as necessary, because it was the only way to get to Sunday. 

If I don't believe in Sunday, then all of it was a lie, or the rantings of a lunatic.  If I DO believe in Sunday, then I know that He is Lord, and it's all true.  God loves me that much.  The pain of Saturday had to be endured before the astounding truths of Sunday could be revealed.

Honestly, sometimes I camp out on Saturday.  (Ever see the movie Groundhog Day?)  My circumstances look bleak, I feel confusion, hopelessness and despair.  But unlike the disciples, I already know for SURE about Sunday.  Saturday is necessary.  God allows Saturdays.  And sometimes Saturday feels endless.  But Sunday is coming!  So while the grief and pain are real and present and not to be minimized, I must not forget Sunday.  I must choose to believe that even as I hurt, God is beside me on Saturday, compassionate, loving, faithful.  And He has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that joy comes in the morning. 

Lamentations 3:22-24 says it well:  "The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.  'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I have hope in Him.'"

Feel the pain of Saturday.  But don't forget about SUNDAY!  He is risen, indeed.

when vows are for real

On Friday,April 15, 1961, my parents took their marriage vows.  Of course, I wasn't there, but I can only assume they included "for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, til death do us part."  They've endured "for worse" and sickness, no doubt about it, but their commitment to "til death do us part" is nothing short of incredible in this world we live in.  Naturally I hope that parting doesn't come anytime soon, and that we will be having another party to celebrate 60 years.  Speaking of, we had a marvelous party in their honor yesterday.  Tons of people who love them were there, and it was lots of fun!  They renewed their vows, and the pastor asked first Mom and then Dad what they remembered most clearly from their wedding day.  My mom recounted the story of her dad telling her (just before he walked her down the aisle): "You can still back out, you know!"  My dad's response was classic Dad:  "I don't really remember anything - it was all a blur!"  Big laughs from the audience, but not too surprising ... I'm guessing lots of us remember a big blur on our wedding day.

Just a few short years later, the children started appearing!  I was chosen by them from Lutheran Family Services, then my brothers were picked one after the other from the Henry Doorly Zoo.  (Hee hee - let's see if they read this!)  They loved us well (still do), and we never went without the things we needed.  They are solid, faithful, and unwavering in their devotion to one another, and have set an example for all to see of what it looks like to stand firm, even when things get rough.  God really does have a perfect design and plan for marriage, and while they would never pretend they've pulled it off perfectly, just the simple fact that they've pulled it off at all is a testimony to that divine plan.

They followed us to Kansas City almost 20 years ago - leaving the home they built with their own hands, their heritage, and the city where they grew up and grew a family.  At the time, it just seemed like a natural move - all of us had migrated here, and the grandkids ... well let's just say that their grandkids are their pride and joy and they have poured themselves into each one.  They continue to do that with Christa's littles - great-grandchildren! What a cool thing it is to see Callie cooking with Mom, Lexi snuggled up on Dad's lap reading a book, Mason playing something very busy on the floor with one or both of them.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for showing the world what it looks like, in good times and hard times, til death do you part.

Red shirt. Pink tutu. Black boots.