stop, drop and roll

In the shower this morning, “Stop, Drop and Roll” came into my mind. When we’re on fire every instinct tells us to run, thrash, scream, fight – to preserve my life. That is MY instinct. I do feel a bit like my life is on fire. But the truth is that the safest thing to do – as counterintuitive as it might seem – is to stop, drop and roll. This makes me grin – God you’ve clearly taken care of the stop and drop part for me. Not sure what the “roll” will be but I can be sure You will show me in your good time.

Started the “Experiencing God” workbook this morning – I did this years ago and have been nudged from several directions this week to do it again.  One of the first sections talks about having a roadmap for my journey, knowing all the turns, stops, yields, etc. ahead of time – I like that! Didn’t You make me a natural planner? This makes sense to me! – vs. having a passenger who knows exactly where we’re going and all I have to do is turn when he says turn. Put in that light, of course I’d prefer the second way – in fact, I think there’s a third way that sounds even better – You drive and I’ll just come along for the ride. Then I don’t even have to worry about whether You’re paying enough attention, whether I’m in the right lane, if the turn is coming up soon – I just go where You go, and I’m relaxed enough that we talk all the way there.

You sent Abram out with a simple command: “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.” (Gen 12:1) So basically, he just had to pack his bag and get in the truck, right? And even packing is iffy – if you don’t know where it is you’re going it’s pretty hard to pack the right stuff. And I can imagine the agony of trying to figure that out … so maybe it’s more of "just get in the truck" and trust that You will provide for me on the journey, as well as at our destination. 

At the same time as You gave him the command to go, You made him a promise:

“I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.” (Gen 12:2-3)

And with that, Abram gathered his stuff and his family and off they went. But here’s the thing – the very next verse tells me where they ended up! So I skip right along without even thinking about what the journey must have been like – clueless, wandering, frustrating even? You don’t tell us about what that was like. But yet You’ve given me the “leave and go” command and now I’m choosing to get in the truck. And I know all about the promises You’ve made to me. I know with all my heart that they are true, because You told me so.  Am I living like I believe them? Nope. So here we go. I’m bringing nothin’ but You – because I don’t have the energy or the foresight to know what I might need. Take me where you will Lord, I’m ready for a road trip with you! Yet realistically I know I’m going to be digging in the glove compartment looking for that map, asking to drive (maybe even stealing Your keys), wanting to stop at Walmart for supplies, etc. You know me. So maybe you should cuff me to the door … wait!  Maybe that’s EXACTLY what You’ve done!
Stop - check.  Drop - check.  Roll - ready, but only with Your help.

just me and elijah

This is definitely NOT what I expected to be posting about right now.  But this passage from 1 Kings 19 has had such an incredibly profound impact on me over the last few weeks, as I've struggled with my health, and the unknown, and eventually coming to terms with the reality that I need to take a leave of absence from my job.  I need to rest, recover, and pursue answers so that I can get well.

This passage has boomeranged back to me over and over and over, and so I just had to share it (with liberal editorial comments).  I would recommend that you read the whole of Chapters 18 and 19 first for context, especially if you don't know the story of Jezebel.  Anyway, here's what poured forth in the last hour:

(Note:  Scripture quoted in purple, my comments in black.)

1 Kings 19 excerpts:

(Elijah is running for his life from Jezebel.  He was afraid – and with good reason!)

v. 4-8

“But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree;  and he requested for himself that he might die, and said, ‘It is enough; now O Lord, take my life, for I am not better than my fathers.’”

He has had enough, and asks God to kill him! And how does God respond?

 
“He [Elijah] lay down and slept under a juniper tree; and behold, there was an angel touching him, and he said to him, 'Arise, eat.'”

Then he looked and behold, there was at his head a bread cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water.  So he ate and drank and lay down again.

The angel of the Lord came a second time and touched him and said, “Arise, eat, because the journey is too great for you.”  So he arose and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mountain of God.”

So God gives him rest, food, rest, acknowledges the weight of Elijah's burden, and gives him more food - food to sustain him for 40 days and nights!!  And what does Elijah do?

“Then he came there to a cave and lodged there; and behold the word of the Lord came to him and he said to him, “What are you doing here Elijah?”

Elijah protests:  “He said, ‘I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the sons of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars and killed Your prophets with the sword. And I along am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.”

What does God do then?  He’s fed him, given him food unlike any other, protected him, and now Elijah’s hiding??  God says:

“Go forth and stand on the mountain before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord was passing by!  And a great and strong wind was rending the mountains and breaking in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of a gentle blowing.”

Elijah hears this and comes as far as the mouth of the cave, blinking, no doubt, in the sunlight.  And God repeats:  “What are you doing here Elijah??”

Elijah repeats the VERY SAME protest!

God tells him to move along.  But He promises help, and delivers it in the form of Elisha, and an army of 7000 men to stand with him.  The mantle is passed from Elijah to Elisha - no small job here for Elisha!  And yet, (v. 21): “Then he [Elisha!] arose and followed Elijah and ministered to him.”

Take aways for me:

1) God knows what I need. Sometimes it’s as simple as food and rest.

2) Sometimes the journey I am on is too great for me.

3) Only HIS food will sustain me for the journey he’s set before me.

4) Even when He provides so incredibly … Elijah still wanted to hang out in the cave.  Felt safe?  Didn’t trust, for sure.  Scared, definitely.

5) God reveals HIMSELF. Speaks directly to Elijah, twice!  And Elijah’s response is protest and defending himself.

6) Only when God promises help in human form can Elijah rouse himself and move on.

7) The help God sent was Elisha – someone to TAKE OVER for Elijah (for whom the journey was too great?) – and yet even as he took over, he followed Elijah and ministered to him.

Great – GREAT – is His faithfulness to know and give me what I need.  Great is His patience, when He’s giving me EXACTLY what I need, even directly revealing HIMSELF to me, and yet I protest.  And great is His mercy, to provide a human replacement when I need it, and greater still that he would send a replacement not just to relieve me of my burden, but a replacement who will minister to me.

Written with joy,

good intentions never get me very far

So, my faithful readers, for all my big talk about getting back to regular posting, it's been something like three weeks since I've actually done it.  Here's the deal.  I keep waiting for a "happy post" to materialize, and it just ain't happenin'.  So the next one, in the near future (translated: as soon as my body cooperates with me), will be an "I yam where I yam" sort of blog.  God is working in me, and I have an idea simmering, or maybe in the crockpot, or maybe just a meal plan, but I'm waiting in hope that it's mealtime soon!
 

ah, my heart!

My biggest little finally lost a front tooth.  Or I should say, she wrenched that tooth out of her mouth by herself.  She's late losing it - she turned 7 in January - but still.  Still.  As joyful as I was for her and with her, my heart gave a little lurch as I sensed some sort of rite of passage.  I'm not sure my sweet girl can still be called a "little" when she gets "big" teeth.

Sadly, the Tooth Fairy must have had a very busy night because the expected exchange did not take place last night ... here's hoping she shows up tonight or someone will have some explaining to do!

Short post, full heart.  My mind's eye still sees this little one curled up in a tiny (bald) ball clutching her beloved blankie and sucking her thumb.  But time defies my memory and marches on, and on, and on.

birthday boy

Last week we celebrated the middle little's birthday.  It came during a week of straight-up chaos - their house "flooded" Tuesday night due to a faucet malfunction in the upstairs bathroom, and water ran down through ceilings and floors all the way to the basement.  They camped out with us all week, and we celebrated his birthday with grilled cheese sandwiches and (Campbell's) chicken noodle soup - his choice.  :)

Imagine his delight when he opened this gift - the one thing he wanted more than anything was a remote control monster truck!

Unfortunately for him, there's more to the story:

Love the singing, love the "cha-cha-cha" and love the long-distance candle blowout.  Love this boy.

(I'm thinking the marketers missed the boat here - this should be advertised as educational: "This product is guaranteed to teach your child delayed gratification every single day!  No lesson plans or parent preparation necessary! Any frustration experienced by the child may be redirected toward the product, thus maintaining peace and harmony in your home.")

Thursday night was his kindergarten graduation - a mass of six-year-olds on risers ... never a good thing.  Let's just say he and the kid next to him punched each other a lot, and a little girl in front of them inexplicably fell off the riser.  :)

Happy birthday, buddy - we love you so!

mr. fox's revelations

Oh, the places you can go in 90 minutes with the Littles!  I wish I had taken my camera ... then again, I would have been relegated to observer status and the evening probably would not have unfolded as it did.

First, dinner.  Leftovers for all ... even though they each chose their own fare, none were pleased.  I'll spare you the whining. Then, homework.  Quick and easy; you can tell the school year is almost over.  And out to play we go!

With the swings, monkey bars, tree climbing (Lexi is just downright scary in that tree, by the way), the hula hoop (not me, thanks) and a pitiful game of catch (Callie is the only one of the four of us that regularly catches the ball) behind us, Mason suggested we play "What Time is it Mr. Fox?"  After five minutes of yelling and negotiating between Lexi and Mason, I finally figured out that we were going to play some version of tag.

It went like this:  Mason was Mr. Fox, at one end of the yard.  We girls stood at the other fence and yelled (you got it), "WHAT TIME IS IT, MR. FOX?"   At this point he is supposed to give us a number between 1 and 12.  We are to take that number of steps toward him.  This makes sense to me, clock, time, etc.  His response: "Twenty hundred!"  Lexi yells at him that it has to be less than 12.  He pouts, lip out, arms crossed, the whole shebang.  He states that there are 24 hours in a day so he should be able to go up to 24.  I peel Lexi off the (proverbial) ceiling and get her to agree he can go up to 24.  We ask again, "WHAT TIME IS IT, MR. FOX?" and he tells us 9.  We walk 9 steps toward him. We ask again, he answers 14, we walk 14 steps toward him.  And so on.  We get closer and closer to him, and at any time, he could say "MIDNIGHT!"... at which point we should all turn and run back to the fence.  He should then chase us down and the first person he tags is now Mr(s). Fox.  (2011 version of "you're it!") 

Here's the problem - he really likes being Mr. Fox, so even when he has walked us nose to nose with him and he finally yells "MIDNIGHT," he never attempts to tag anyone.  In fact he doesn't even move an inch.  Meanwhile the three of us have hightailed it back to the fence, and he's still standing at the other end of the yard.

Predictably, Lexi is furious.  After the third round of this, I basically tackled him and said he tagged me, mostly to keep Lexi from losing her mind.  He pouts.  Now I'm Mrs. Fox, and of course I play by the rules, they ask me "what time" and I get them close to me, step by step, then I yell, "MIDNIGHT!"  They start running ... well the girls start running and Mason plants himself in front of me.  I skirt around him and since Lexi is already back to the fence, I chase Callie down and tag her ... and she flips out crying.  Like, bawling her head off, hitching sobs crying.  I'm holding her and asking her what's wrong and trying to see where she's bleeding (I didn't knock her down, I swear!), and when she can finally answer me:  "I just didn't WANT you to tag me!"  And she kept crying.

You get the picture, right?  We attempted various versions of this for about 30 minutes.  I'm wiped out, Lexi is yelling the rules at everyone and trying to make order out of chaos, Mason is pouting and breaking all the rules and generally creating chaos, and Callie is half-crying the whole time.  Mr. Fox certainly backed up all I know about birth order (my own included)!

uncommon tribute

Mother's Day.  Celebrated far and wide.  Around tables, in churches, over the phone, in restaurants, in parks, backyards, visiting, laughing.  Celebrating.

I love that.

But I can't help but think about so many women who are childless on Mother's Day.  The ones who have lost a baby, a child, a teenager, an adult child.  The ones who never had a child, whether they wanted one desperately, never got around to it, or chose not to have one.  The ones who are estranged.  The ones who are forgotten.  This is probably not a day to celebrate for them.

However, HOWEVER.  We SHOULD celebrate every woman we know on this day, regardless of their "mother" status.  Because every woman on this planet has had an impact on many, many people.  Think about all the other women in your lives besides your mother that have made a difference in your life.  Stop.  Think.  There are countless numbers of them, right?  School teachers.  Sunday school teachers.  Neighbors.  Your friends' moms. Your friends now. Mentors.  And more than likely, some of them are not mothers in the celebrating Mother's Day kind of way.  But more than likely, we would not be who were are today without them.

For me, I was shaped and molded and made who I am by my mothers (I happen to have two ... that's a whole 'nother blog.)  I am so grateful to both of them and I love them so much.  I am blessed beyond measure to have not only the two of them but also my mother-in-law still here with me, and all three of them actively involved in my life.

I can also think of many other women who have poured into my life and made a difference, young and old, rich and poor, skinny and ... well you get the drift.  Some of them are mothers, some of them are not. They don't replace my mothers. But I am thankful for each and every one of them.

So today, as you celebrate your mothers, consider reaching out this coming week to some of the other women who have impacted your life.  They may not even know they made a difference, and you might just make their day.

heard one Sunday

Brooke lobbed me a good topic today!  (See come play with me if I've lost you.)  :)  I'm mulling it over and will give it a go soon.    

Meanwhile, we took the littles to church with us yesterday.  After collecting them from Sunday School, we crammed them into our (usually roomy) Malibu for the ride home.  Get the visual here - a 7, a 5, and a 3-year-old sitting cheek to cheek.  So by default they're touching each other BEFORE they even start touching each other!  Trying to avoid the inevitable, I started asking them questions.  Lexi enthusiastically said, "My class was GREAT today!"  I was a little surprised - she is usually pretty reserved.  So I asked her what she learned about ... "The Holy Spirit!" she said. 

Well, I immediately gave mental kudos to the brave souls that were willing to tackle the Holy Spirit with first graders!  Then I thought, hmmm, I probably should ask for more information before I'm TOO impressed, right?  So here's how it went:

Me:  "Who is the Holy Spirit?"
Lex: "He's God!"
Me: "How can HE be God?  God is God."
Lex:  "He is!  Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit are all God.  There's three of them, but they're all one too, you can't understand it but it's just true."
Me: "You're right ... but God lives in heaven, so where does the Holy Spirit live?"
Lex: "Inside me."
Me: "Inside you?  Why?"
Lex: "To guide my path, to guide me every day!"

WOW.  Yep, I'm seriously impressed with the Sunday school teacher, the curriculum, the staff, whoever and whatever put yesterday's lesson together in a way that sent her home with TRUTH LIKE THIS!  Wow.

(an aside ... throughout this whole conversation, there is a running commentary from Callie, whom I repeatedly shush because this is important stuff we're talking about)


Then Mason:  "Well, 'Bobby' (not his real name) said somethin' to me that I didn't agree with."

It's Mason, right?  So I'm expecting something like, "He said spiderman has wings."  Nope - "He said the Holy Spirit was the devil!" 

Me:  "Well, you're right to disagree - that isn't true.  What do you think?"
Mason: "I think the devil's a serpent."
Lexi: "He used to be an angel but he wanted to be like God so God threw him out of heaven.  But I think he can be a serpent."

So here's my invitation to give them the age-appropriate version of Creation and The Fall (Genesis 3).  I told them the story of the devil (as a serpent) giving Eve the apple she wasn't supposed to eat, and that when she and Adam made the choice to eat it they disobeyed God.  I told them what the results were ... why it mattered ... how their own little world is changed because of that bite.

Mason:  "But what if the serpent cut off an apple from the tree they weren't sposed to eat from and glued it onto the tree they COULD eat from, then gave them that apple they weren't sposed to eat but they didn't know it?  What would happen then?"

Uh ... ok got it.  "Well, then it would have been a trick and they wouldn't have CHOSEN to disobey God, so that's different.  What's important, though, is what DID happen, and that it happened because they didn't obey God."

Lexi:  "Besides, MASON, that could never happen anyway because a serpent doesn't have ARMS!!"

And the final act ... Callie ... "Nini, Nini, is it my turn ta talk?  My talk now?  Can I talk?"

OK Callie - it's your turn.  What did you want to say?

Callie:  "Umm .... ummmm .... Nini?  My fingernails need paint."

Mind-blowing and hilarious 15 minute drive home.  God is good, all the time, and oh how I love those littles!

five favorites

Hi Kooky,

Tiny's never-ending soliloquy is a melliflous backdrop to the cacophony of the tv, the ubiquitous presence of two unhappy felines and of course, Excruciatingly Loud Middle Little & Bossy Big Little.  

Wudge!

The first four are my current favorites just because I like the way they sound.  I get a kick out of trying to work them into regular conversation.

The last one, wudge, may disqualify me because it's not technically a word, but it's my all-time favorite.  When Lexi was just starting to talk, "I love you" was one syllable for the longest time - "wudge."  It has endured in our family despite the fact that she has no longer knows what it means (which makes me a little sad, to tell you the truth).

So I'll add another, just to be sure:  REALLY?!  Note that this one must be bolded, capitalized, and followed by both a question mark and an exclamation point ... it is an all-purpose word that can mean:  "Are you kidding me??" or "Are you SURE?" and generally infers sarcasm (one of my specialties), rolled up nicely into two syllables.

Frankly, you could ask me this question every week and get a different answer - I LOVE WORDS!  Probably not an accident that "word" rhymes with "nerd."

Happy Sunday!  Who's next?

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.

beautiful girl

Flashback:  March 28, 1983, 10:17 a.m.  Christa Marie made her grand entrance, feet first, screaming like a banshee.  I remember so clearly that perfect little beet red face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open.  She crashed into my world and I've never been the same. Even as a toddler she was totally tuned in to other people, devastatingly funny, and always two steps ahead of me.  All these years later, she can read me like a book (whether I want her to or not!), and she makes me laugh more than anyone I know.  She's finally slowed down enough for me to catch up, and I love doing life side by side with her. 

And oh, what a good Mommy she is!  (She would disagree, but she would be wrong.) She loves her kiddos with a fierce, strong, safe love that takes my breath away sometimes.

She often claims to be "attached to my butt," and I would agree with her.  She might think that's a one-sided thing, but again, she would be wrong.  Our relationship is precious and rare, and I never want to forget that or take it for granted.  I love you, sweet girl! 

grumpy

do you ever feel like this?

I started to write a big long diatribe about why I'm grumpy today.  But it was depressing, even to me, and therefore not helpful at all to blather on about it. (Turns out most of the "stuff" sticking in my craw is really stupid, once I saw it in print!)  My time would be better spent working on an attitude adjustment and remembering that what I KNOW is more reliable than how I FEEL.  I hate it when I act like a girl!

Tomorrow's a new day!

the story of my life

Have you ever read a book or watched a movie that you thought was based on real life - a true story - only to find out that it was purely fiction?  Doesn't it change your whole perception of the story?

For most of my life I have defined myself as being "high" in certain gifts, and really (I mean REALLY) low in mercy and compassion.  In fact, I have been quick to tell others that these two particular qualities are weaknesses of mine.  At some point I reconciled (rationalized?) this within myself by realizing that I am part of a Body, and everyone has different gifts.  So while I'm not the best at mercy and compassion, there are others that are, and they should balance me out.  Not that it excuses me from being merciful and compassionate, but it definitely took the pressure off. 

Recently I went through an exercise with the other women during our weekly Bible study at the office.  We had to write our name on a card, then pass it around the room, and everyone wrote something about that person that we appreciated.  No problem!  I could easily think of something to write about every woman in that room.  But then, we got our own cards back, and had to read them out loud.  Oh the horror!  Almost every one of us cried as we read them.

Here's the problem.  The card with my name on it was filled, front and back, with statements about me that seemed to "appreciate" my care and concern (read "mercy and compassion") for others.  Of course my first thought was that they were ALL wrong.  Done deal.  But as that day and the following ones passed, I found myself taking that card back out and re-reading it, and wondering if it was really possible that everyone lied about me.  My conclusion is that these dear women would not do that, and that everyone else's cards, when read aloud, seemed to fit them perfectly.

So I was forced to really examine my "story."  Is it possible that while I have been running around spouting off that I stink at mercy and compassion, God has really been expanding that little part of me?  Growing it up big enough that it is the thing these women (all of whom know me well) think is a prominent, evident part of who I am?

While this is still hard to wrap my head around, I think that it's time that I stop telling that old story.  Obviously God is up to something that I try to thwart everytime I define myself incorrectly, internally or externally.  I am surprised - how and when did this happen and how did I miss it?  Clearly it's happened over time, gradually, and I missed it because I was so busy defining myself that I haven't noticed all the people and situations God has put in my path that called for much care and compassion.  So I'm trying to knock down the walls of that box I made and remember that God said "I know the plans I have for you ..." (Jeremiah 29:11), in fact to stay OUT of any box at all and let Him define me as He pleases.  No more story-telling for me.

What's your story? 

The Art Gallery

I have a whole room (unfinished) in my basement that is wallpapered with the creations of the littles.  Thought I would share a few from last week.  First, Lexi:

No it's not a windmill, it's a flower, and you will get an earful if you say otherwise.  Just warnin' ya.  I was pretty impressed with the whole 3D thing though - my tape dispenser is nearly empty but this jewel was worth it! 

Got it yet?  It says "the dumb turkey."  (Inventive spelling, that's what you call that.)  Why is he dumb?  Because he thinks the shaking, cracking egg down in the corner is "A baby!" ... in other words a turkey baby ... but the truth?  Joke's on him - it's a T-REX inside that egg! 

How 'bout this one?  "Bugs in Action"!  (Again with the spelling, I know.)

Had to zoom in on the detail - note the eyelashes, etc., on these fine little folks!

And ... drum roll please ... Mason:

I love how all his people have a "V" for a mouth ... and the careful use of stickers too!

This one makes me smile for two reasons - the "S" in his name, and the unabashed use of the pink flowers!

And last but not least, Callie Anne:

 Indiscriminate use of pattern, texture and dimension!

Lexi did the flowers for her, the stamps were already on the paper, so her contribution was the red heart, the green trail through the leaves, and the VIOLENT blue patch in the middle.  :)

LOVE THEM!