On Losing Contact and Losing a Friend

On Sunday morning, I got word that my dear, lifelong friend Denise passed away. Denise and I grew up together. She and her family moved in across the street from us when she was three and I was four years old. We spent years playing baby dolls and dress up. We dug in my sandbox or played on her swingset. We whispered a million secrets to one another during a thousand sleepovers. We even pierced our fingers and swapped our blood so we could be "real sisters."

Denise was a part of every one of my major life events. She was in my life when my parents divorced. She was around for every move, every school transfer, every life struggle and celebration. We've been side-by-side through movies, plays, and concerts. We vacationed together both as children and adults. She saw me through schools and international adventures. She knew about every boyfriend -- every happiness, every heartbreak -- and over Braum's biscuits and gravy, she convinced me to have a wedding instead of eloping when "the one" finally came along.

Denise was my most constant companion through 15 weeks of pregnancy bedrest when I was expecting Gracie, my first biological child. She supplied me in banana splits and painted the toenails I could no longer reach. Then, she stood at my delivery room bedside and coached me as well as James. Since our move to Texas eight years ago, she and I have traveled back-and-forth to stay with one another, and we've had loads of phone time. Denise was the single person in my life to share Christ with me, and though I vehemently disagreed with her religion at the time, it was her love and constant grace in the midst of my craziness that planted the seeds for my eventual salvation.

About four years ago, Denise had gastric bypass surgery. The doctor in her case did a really awful job, and she began growing sicker and sicker with no hope for reversal. Her husband (who had also had the surgery) had similar complications, and he had to leave his job to go on disability after developing a seizure disorder. Their lives changed drastically, and they lost so much in a very short time. In 2009, their losses led to a kind of despair that caused them to begin drinking heavily (something Denise had never done before), and she no longer wanted the same kind of contact with me. I don't know if it was depression or shame, but regardless of whatever drove her desire for isolation, the fact that I was homeschooling two children and had a newborn made it easy to honor her request for space.

I always thought we'd have time to catch up...

In 2010, because of her altered absorption, the drinking led to Denise developing a severe case of cirrhosis of the liver. I didn't know about it until her sister emailed me to tell me that Denise was on hospice and not expected to live long. Evidently, she'd gotten sober and had been on a transplant list for a few months, but when she relapsed, she was removed from the list and put back on hospice. In 2011, she was moved between family members across different states, and her moves coupled with the fact that we added two more infants to our family while I became the primary caretaker of my cancer-ridden, terminally-ill mother led to a total loss of contact. I kept thinking of reaching out, but I didn't. I made excuses, but the reality is I was afraid to face both her addiction and her mortality (along with dealing with everything else on my plate), so I made the choice not to press forward. Because of my selfishness and fear, I missed out on a sweet window of opportunity as I now know the whole time I was here in Texas making excuses, she was with her husband and daughter in Oklahoma, sober and in decent health. She relapsed in September 2012 and declined rapidly, dying January 26th, 2013.

The emotions I have about her death are complicated. I've loved Denise my whole life long, but when she needed me the most, I wasn't there. I know she asked for the space, but I should have pushed through. The eventual absolute loss of contact was totally my fault, and I'll forever regret it. I rarely look back on my life and want a do-over, but this is one of those circumstances where I would do things in a totally different way if I had the chance. Logistically, I'm not sure how much more I could have offered during that bone-crushing, exhausting time of my life, but I just let space and time overwhelm me, and I couldn't be more sorry about that decision.

Oh, to have been a better friend when it mattered most...

At this point, I feel convicted to never again completely neglect those I deeply love, no matter my own circumstances. Life is never too difficult for a short phone call or a card in the mail. Additionally, I feel the need to keep my circumstances in check and to continually cling to the cross of Christ so that I too do not slip away into a despair that leads to physical death. It astonishes me that the consumption of alcohol is ultimately what consumed the friend I could never convince to drink, and if a shockingly-altered lifestyle could take her down, it could take anyone down. Moreover, I feel a commitment to the eight-year-old daughter she left behind. I believe it's largely my continued responsibility to keep Denise's memory alive in that little heart. I feel that, at the very least, I owe it to Denise to be as crazy an "auntie" to that little one as I was a crazy friend to her mother. Most importantly, I feel it's my responsibility to have the relationship with her that makes Christ accessible and approachable, because without her mother, I'm not sure anyone else would have done that for me.

With Denise on my 7th Birthday (July 1983)

Roller Skating with Denise (September 1988)

Getting Gussied Up (Summer 1990)

Underwater with Denise (Summer 1991)

Camping and Swimming at Blue Hole (Summer 1991)

At the Amusement Park with Denise and her sister, Gloria (Summer 1991)

At Denise's 14th Birthday Party (March 1992)

Best Buddies (February 1992)

Masks with the Ladies: Teresa, Denise, and Mandi (May 1992)
[This was the summer Denise told me about Jesus in an unrelenting way...]

Celebrating Christmas with Denise, Gloria, and Matt (December 1993)
[My first Christmas as a Christ-follower]

Concert-going with Denise (November 1994)

My Bridal Shower, Denise at my side (July 2000)

Denise holding Gracie right after delivery (May 2002)

Denise holding the long-awaited baby Brystol (August 2009)

Denise's Memorial Service (January 2013)

Denise's Memorial Service (January 2013)

Denise's daughter with all her "Aunties" (January 2013)
Denise's friend Robin, me, and Denise's sister Gloria

Come to Me

Being a mother to many little ones is occasionally wearisome. Being the daughter of a dying parent is always heartbreaking. Being sandwiched between the two is unbearable at times. "Come to Me," a song by our worship pastor Michael Bleecker, has been a salve to me, like water poured on parched ground.

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest."
Matthew 11:28



Available on iTunes on June 22.

In Response: Some Thoughts on Infertility and Pregnancy Loss

Mark Driscoll, pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle, is one of my favorite public speakers. Not only do I enjoy listening to his talks online, I follow him on Facebook and Twitter, and I enjoy reading the comments he makes about his work and family life. A couple of days ago, he mentioned a friend who was likely miscarrying twins for the second time in recent years. Most followers responded with promises to pray and general words of encouragement. Some came along and related -- said they too had experienced loss. Some even asked to be encouraged themselves. In the midst of all the relating or the sharing of compassionate words and understanding in response to a man's cry for help for his heartbroken friend, one person came along to say this:

"There's a spirit that needs to be addressed. Seek the Lord's face on this, fast, pray, have faith. Declare God's counsel, he does not will that these children die. There's probably some curse or sum underlying cause in effect."

Really?

The discussion thread began when a Godly man mentioned impending heartache for his presumably Godly friends. The discussion thread was full of comments from people saying, "This just happened to me -- how do I cope?" The thread was equally full of prayer and pain. I'm sure the heart behind the curse comment was genuine, and I'm sure the poster meant well, but in the end it was all open mouth, insert foot. Though I'm not presently blogging about infertility or pregnancy loss, it's not because I'm no longer infertile (I am) or because I haven't had a recent pregnancy loss (I have, just five months ago) -- we're just going a different direction to grow our family, so topics related to my personal fertility aren't on the tip of my tongue, or the tips of my fingers as it were. Still, I couldn't read this (likely unintentionally) insensitive comment and not respond. This is what I said:

@T.S. -- Can pregnancy loss be the result of sin? Sure. We live in a fallen world, we're a broken people. Is it always the result of a curse, as you mentioned? No. God's will is sovereign and He opens and shuts wombs as He wills. He does what He will for His glory, and He can and will be glorified even in the devastation of infertility and loss. Sarah was old and menopausal when God opened her womb to conceive (Gen. 18:10-14, 21:1-3), but she was infertile while her peers -- and their children -- conceived. "And Isaac prayed to the Lord for his wife, because she was barren. And the Lord granted his prayer, and Rebekah his wife conceived" (Gen. 25:21-- in verse 26, you can see Isaac prayed for Rebekah's infertility for TWENTY YEARS before she bore their children). Jacob's Rachel was infertile (Gen. 30:1) until her sister and servants bore Jacob many children, "Then God remembered Rachel, and God listened to her and opened her womb" (Gen. 30:22). "Hannah had no children (1 Sam. 1:2)," but after Hannah prayed to God, "Elkanah knew Hannah his wife, and the Lord remembered her. And IN DUE TIME Hannah conceived and bore a son" (1 Sam. 1:19-20). In these cases, there was no instance of sin or of a "curse" -- these are stories of God doing what God wanted to do in the timing He wanted to do it. These are the wives of faithful, Godly men -- men who would earnestly seek God no matter what, men who would pray for their wives, men who could be used to bring glory to God, even during heartache. It is unfair to assume that infertility and loss is the result of some secret sin or some lack of faith. Many times, that is far from the truth. Still, even if it were TOTALLY and most obviously true, as a Christ-follower, that is one of the most awful things you can say to a grieving mother or father. They should be met with love, grace and compassion (and a casserole never hurts).




photo credit: unbornangels.com

Cast your [cookie] cares on Him...

I recently posted about God showing up in the smallest of matters, revealing his care of us through things we may not even think to pray about. Mary at Owlhaven repeated the theme today by writing about how God showed up with a cookie.

"Give all your worries and cares to God,
for He cares about you."

-- I Peter 5:7

photo credit: territu

On Marriage, Holiness, and the Adoption Option

Earlier in the week, I had a little free time -- no kids, traveling husband -- so I spent the evening running errands. James asked me to be on the lookout for a new Bible for him. He really enjoys a devotional Bible, but he's sort of beyond the devotionals in his current Bible, so while I was out running around, I stopped at Mardel to browse the selection.

I thumbed through several Bibles, and found a devotional answering questions raised in a discussion we recently had, so I dropped it in my basket and headed towards the education department. On my way over there, I read this adage:

Marriage is not meant to make you happy.
It's meant to make you holy.

Friday, I went to the wedding of my very dear friend, Lois. For as long as I've known her, which is now over 15 years, she's been waiting for the one. She had a few ideas for a spouse, but the thing that topped her list was that he be a Godly man. I believe she knew marriage would be challenging, and to have someone praying and trusting God alongside her was huge.

As far as my marriage goes, in and of itself, it's been okay. Pretty great, really. James and I have had our ups and downs, and have been through marital situations now and again, but as a whole, the marriage itself has been super. Compared to the struggles we've seen some of our friends walk through, our marriage has been very easy. It's been the fruits of our marriage that have sent us to the very edge of the happiness/holiness conundrum. In particular, the "fruitfulness" aspect of growing our family. We have not conceived, borne, or brought home a child without some kind of nightmarish circumstance.

My story has been told time and again, so I won't rehash it (that's what the archives are for!), but when I read that particular proverb, it really made me think. I know I often feel like such a victim. When I try to recount my experiences to others for the sake of lifting them up, I often find myself spiraling downward, questioning time and again, "Why?" Once I sink to that deep, dark place, it's difficult to come back up again, to be useful in the least. That saying made me think about how pitiful I often am or feel or behave. It made me reconsider my attitude in the midst of my situation.

Not one part of my current circumstances (with regards to recurrent birth loss) makes me happy -- but am I allowing it to make me holy?

Holy, by definition:

1. specially recognized as or declared sacred by religious use or authority; consecrated.
2. dedicated or devoted to the service of God, the church, or religion.
3. saintly; godly; pious; devout.
4. having a spiritually pure quality.
5. entitled to worship or veneration as or as if sacred.
6. religious.
7. inspiring fear, awe, or grave distress.
8. (noun) a place of worship; sacred place; sanctuary.

Where am I spiritually after every trying month of trying? How do I love God and serve others after yet another negative pregnancy test? What about after a painful and humiliating exam? Does my doctor know that I'm trusting God? Am I even trusting God? And then, what if I do conceive? Am I then suddenly more spiritual, more pious? Probably not. I'm more consumed my fear and worry, made certain by yet one more loss*. And then, how worshipful am I? Sadly, not worshipful enough. Same story, told again.

Even though I know Biblical truths about God and His love and mercy, and the enemy and his wily ways, I still choose to project my pain onto God, blaming Him for not doing things the way I thought they should have been done. And then I allow that sort of self-induced sorrow to spill over into other areas of my life, other pursuits, and I think God will be found unfaithful there, as well. Another blogger brought it all back to my attention. She wrote this in a post:

"My mother in law and I flew to Missouri in July and I wanted to ask God soooo bad to keep us safe, but I was so scared that if I did, that the exact opposite would happen. I have had a couple of other moments that I wanted to ask for something along those lines, but stopped because I was way to scared that it would jinx me."

James and I have been discussing and exploring the adoption option, and while he's been gung ho for quite some time, I've resisted for this very reason. With our history (and not just the history of complicated pregnancies and birth loss, but also our very challenging adoption experience with Bub), I'm quite convinced we'll be the family who never gets picked to parent someones baby.

Though we're stable people in a loving marriage who long to serve God, though we're parents who spoil children to the point where they emit a nefarious odor (all the while keeping them on the straight and narrow), though we have room in both our home and our hearts, though we have the financial ability to provide for many more children, and though we have a documented case of infertility (which is a requirement for some agencies), we will not be picked. Because I'm crazy, and full of doubt.

Listen, I don't have any idea what in the world we're meant to do here on this Earth with regards to children and/or having any more. I feel like this is the one area where I consistently have a bag pulled over my head. But I do know that God has a heart for adoption, and adoption has always been near and dear to our hearts -- even before we adopted our first child.

We've always been open to and excited about adoption, but there was a plan -- we'd have a few and then adopt. (You know, cause we're so in the know and have our five-year plan all written out and such.) Instead, we began our parenting by adoption (well, by fostering, then giving birth, and then adopting, which really is a whole chicken/egg debate in and of itself).

When we adopted first, our plan changed to just include that -- we'll adopt first (because we already had), have a few, then adopt again. Until our attorney at the time offered two more children who were becoming legally free. Then we prayed about it, brought our family up to speed, agreed on the matter, and began to move forward with our adoption worker when the director of the shelter the children lived in said we couldn't "pick and choose." And then we were back to having a few before another adoption.

After birthing one biological child, we spent the next several years working on or being available to the continuation of that part of that plan. Yet still being the parents of just two children on Earth, we feel like it's either time to move on to the adoption phase again, or to just move on altogether.

At this point, there's nothing to report, other than the fact that we're considering our options. We've talked to a couple of people in the know. We've read a few adoption blogs. We're calling agencies for brochures. We're narrowing the field with respect to domestic and international adoptions. We're talking about having a home study done just in case.

I embrace this new challenge, and am willing to wholeheartedly consider it completely. I might even be willing to do something about it -- time will tell. But even as I move forward in this potential new venture, I know how I want to end it. Perhaps even more than I hope to come out of this consideration with a baby in my arms, I hope to come out of it holy.

"Always be joyful. Never stop praying.
Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will
for you who belong to Christ Jesus.
Do not stifle the Holy Spirit.
Do not scoff at prophecies, but test everything that is said.
Hold on to what is good.
Stay away from every kind of evil.
Now may the God of peace make you holy in every way,
and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless
until our Lord Jesus Christ comes again.
God will make this happen, for he who calls you is faithful."
-- I Thesselonians 5:16-24 NLT


"... I’m not asking you to take them out of the world,
but to keep them safe from the evil one.
They do not belong to this world any more than I do.
Make them holy by your truth; teach them your word, which is truth."
-- Jesus' Prayer, in John 17:15-17


"Lift up holy hands in prayer, and praise the Lord."
-- Psalm 134:2

* Just to be clear, I've not had another loss. I'm still at four, not more.

** photo credit: Celebrity Baby Blog

Alive with Christ

Today was a very special day for our family. A little while back, Bub made the decision to become a Christ-follower. At VBS this summer, Gracie followed suit. They took the next step in their walk by following Jesus' example of baptism, and both were baptized today at the lake.

Though the experience of baptism was so beautiful and special, I was reminded from the time we pulled up to the property until we nearly reached home again just how importance our reliance upon the Lord truly is. From the time we arrived, I spent the majority of the evening failing in quite possibly every single way. Except for the very moment they were being baptized, both of my children acted like lunatics, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, brings out the sweet mommy in me. Ahem.

As we made our way to the beach, I told Gracie to stay out of the water, but when I looked up after sweeping sand out of the bandage on my foot, Gracie stood before me absolutely soaked, dripping wet, shrugging like she had no idea what happened to her clothes. More than once I said to one or the other of them, "Get off that kid/that jet ski/that jagged, rocky ledge." While everyone was trying to take in the tender moments of the various baptism experiences, I nearly fell on my face in the water trying to get to my son who was kicking mud on the other people waiting in line (not intentionally, but still). Instead of falling on my face, my bandaged foot landed squarely in the sloggy water, and who knows what kind of bacteria I invited into my bloodstream by way of the hole in my foot. (Needless to say, I came home for a heavy-duty scrub with Hibiclens.)

As I had Bub disassemble a grouping of sticks he'd arranged in a way that could have potentially impaled a passerby, I watched another family embrace one another in quiet celebration. For a moment, I felt a twinge of envy. Not one member of that family was kicking mud on anyone, no one was throwing rocks, no one was trying to pilfer the property owner's jet ski. I thought to myself momentarily, "Why couldn't we be like that, for once?" But then my sand-coated girl ran by squealing with glee and I thought, "Eh, nobody's perfect...

Thank the Lord for His grace*."

Our Ministry Staff: Rob, Brandon, and Eric


Confirming their decision


Introduction


"For you were buried with Christ when you were baptized.
And with him you were raised to new life
because you trusted the mighty power of God,
who raised Christ from the dead.
You were dead because of your sins
and because your sinful nature was not yet cut away.
Then God made you alive with Christ,
for he forgave all our sins.
He canceled the record of the charges against us
and took it away by nailing it to the cross..."

-- Colossians 2:12-14 NLT


New Creatures in Christ Jesus




* "So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good.
The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin.
I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right,
but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate...
And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature.
I want to do what is right, but I can’t.
I want to do what is good, but I don’t.
I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway...
Oh, what a miserable person I am!
Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?
Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord.

-- Romans 7:14-15, 18-19, 24-25a NLT

A Life Narrowly Spared

I saw him approaching the crosswalk as I slowed to a stop at the intersection. His summer skin glowed, framed by white tee and sandy mop. He pressed the button and waited his turn. As my children bickered in the backseat, I admired the distance he kept from the corner and wondered how many times his mother told him to step away from the curb. "He remembered," I thought, as I watched him fiddle with his skateboard. "Maybe Bub will too."

His eyes focused on the orange hand, willing it to change. When it did, he stepped into the road and continued to stare, looking at the blinking white figure as if he was looking ahead to a waiting friend. He did not look around, but even if he had, the path was clear and the way was his. He was confident in the figure calling him to cross.

In a flash, the SUV came barreling around the corner, racing to make the light, and for a moment, the boy was gone. I gasped. My eyes fell to the wheels making the bend, watching for the expelled viscera of someones blond-haired baby who waited his turn. The suburban mom on the cell phone never hit the brakes, but fortunately, the boy did. He stood waiting, his clothes billowing from the speeding motorist. His head turned along with the car, his face screwed tightly, partly from fear, partly from that 13-year-old need for a comeback. God's grace was evident in the life narrowly spared.

I wanted to cross traffic to take him up in my arms, to comfort him, to wipe away that fear and realization that his life had nearly been ended. But I couldn't. I was in a turning lane with traffic stacked behind me. The light changed and I had to go.

I watched him as I drove away and I wondered how often I'd been that same careless driver. I've never literally come close to killing a crossing child, but figuratively, how often have I, while wrapped up in my own moment or day or situation, nearly plowed over those around me -- people innocently living their lives left in my self-consumed wake?

As the boy became smaller in my rear-view, I became more acutely aware of my gratefulness for grace:

the grace that spared the blond-haired boy on a sunny summer day,
the grace that spares those in my wake,
the grace that continues to spare me.

"Grace is having a commitment to --
or at least an acceptance of --
being ineffective and foolish...
I do not at all understand the mystery of grace --
only that it meets us where we are
but does not leave us where it found us."
-- Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

"We believe that we are all saved the same way,
by the undeserved grace of the Lord Jesus."
-- Acts 15:11 NLT

"God’s law was given so that all people could see how sinful they were.
But as people sinned more and more,
God’s wonderful grace became more abundant.
So just as sin ruled over all people and brought them to death,
now God’s wonderful grace rules instead,
giving us right standing with God
and resulting in eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."
-- Romans 5:20-21 NLT

"Sin is no longer your master,
for you no longer live under the requirements of the law.
Instead, you live under the freedom of God’s grace."
-- Romans 6:14 NLT

Hold Fast

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a little package of picture frames. The frames were made by a presumably now-defunct California company called Form & Reform. The frame style is called Hold-Fast, and the box shares this bit of trivia:

"In Days of Olde, sailors tattooed the words Hold Fast on their knuckles to remind themselves to hold on tight." (Photo Credit: Botanize)

I at first chuckled to myself when I read that. I pictured myself port side in the middle of a stormy sea, and it didn't take long for me to determine within myself that even without actually having experienced any boat/storm scenario in real life, if I ever found myself in that situation, I would without a doubt be doing nothing more than Holding Fast. Well, except for screaming. I would for sure be doing nothing more than those two things -- Holding Fast and Screaming -- and I'm pretty sure I don't need anything or anyone to remind me.

At that point, I recalled this Discovery Channel show James and I used to watch called The Deadliest Catch. Basically, this show chronicles a most perilous profession: that of the Alaskan crabber. These crazy people launch out into the Bering Sea, where two-story tall waves slamming full force into puny human bodies is not uncommon, and they risk their actual lives so our seafood buffets will be overrun with gnarly little decomposers.

Now, I'm not one for watching fishing shows. Unless I have a good, long nap on the agenda, I can't bring myself to tune in to people sitting, whispering, and watching a line bob in the water. But this, my friends, ain't no fishin' show. The Deadliest Catch is (was*) so much more. The only reason I tuned in (and this is horrible) was to see who would be swept away, but despite my faithful viewership, I've never seen anyone go down.

Do you know why that is?

They know to Hold Fast.

These crabbers, as I'm sure is the case with seafarers of all sorts, go about doing their jobs in the most precarious of situations. They function in the midst of crashing waves and rocking boats, and they press through hardships, trials, and tribulations just to make it to the end of the day. And when the storm blows in -- the kind that makes it all worse and the kind that could take them under -- they know what anchors them, they take hold of it, and it is that to which they Hold Fast.

Hold Fast, v.: stick to firmly (from Dictionary.com)

"But be very careful to keep the commandment and the law
that Moses the servant of the LORD gave you:
to love the LORD your God,
to walk in all his ways,
to obey his commands,
to hold fast to him
and to serve him with all your heart and all your soul."
Joshua 22:5 NIV

"It is the LORD your God you must follow,
and him you must revere.
keep his commands and obey him;
serve him and hold fast to him."
Deut. 13:4 NIV

"My soul is weary with sorrow;
strengthen me according to your word.
Keep me from deceitful ways;
be gracious to me through your law.
I have chosen the way of truth;
I have set my heart on your laws.
I hold fast to your statutes, O LORD;
do not let me be put to shame.
I run in the path of your commands,
for you have set my heart free."
Psalm 119:28-32 NIV

"Having therefore, brethren, boldness to enter into the holiest
by the blood of Jesus,
By a new and living way, which he hath consecrated for us,
through the veil, that is to say, his flesh;
And having an high priest over the house of God;
Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith,
having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience,
and our bodies washed with pure water.
Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering;
(for he is faithful that promised)..."
Hebrews 10:19-23 KJV

(*I say "was" because we have actual lives now and that's a show that unfortunately doesn't make the DVR Prioritizer.)

January Giving Update

It's the end of the month, and time for a giving update. (Yes, I know there's one more day in January, but my Thursday is quite busy.) As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I've decided to raise money to pay for 1/4 of a well in Africa through the Mission: Water for Life program, and I have a personal goal of $100 per month. The thing to note is that I personally don't normally generate an income. I'm a stay-at-home mom and a student, and I don't make things for an Etsy store. Personally coming up with $100 a month strictly to give away is honestly a stretch of my faith and abilities, and that is part of what makes this process so exciting for me.

Though I got a late start in my giving plan this month (I didn't even hear about this project until about two weeks ago), the money came together quite quickly. For January, I reached and exceeded my $100 goal. I sold a few books and baby things on eBay. That accounts for about $53 worth of what I raised.

Then, we went to an estate sale last weekend where they were selling everything for $4.00 a bag. I'm not talking about a puny plastic Wal-Mart bag, but a big heavy-duty paper sack. I crammed that thing full with wrapping paper, craft supplies, serving dishes, little toys, and kitchen utensils, but one more thing on the table caught my eye. I didn't know what it was and the family was ready to go, so I popped it into my bag for later inspection. When I had a chance to look at it more closely, it turns out to be a wine opener that retails for $129.00. It was missing a couple of parts, so I sold it as-is on eBay for another $20. (Now, if I could only come across another prosthetic leg to list. Legs -- that's where the big bucks are.)

Additionally, I participate in taste test studies every once in a while that I get paid small sums to complete. I haven't done one in maybe a year because I only like to do the studies I can take home. (I don't want to sit in a room slurping soup with strangers when I can be home slurping soup with my loved ones.) Anyway, it's been ages since the company asked me to do one because of my at-home policy, but as soon as I became available to giving to this project whatever income I could generate, the call came within two days. I was given this really delicious cheese and spice blend to try and critique. (It mixes in with ground beef to make really yummy burgers.) So, not only did I get the foundation for a couple of meals for free, I also got paid $35.00. All of that rounds out the month.

At this point, what I've decided to do is apply $100 (or thereabouts) every month to this cause, leaving the rest of what I make or save in our general budget for other things. I waivered between that and giving everything I can generate to this giving project, stopping only once I reached the $1200 goal. I don't know... I'm still on the fence, actually.

I don't think there's one right way to complete this personal challenge, and I may find myself vascilating between the two options. I know what my ultimate hope and expectation is, and I have to say I'm extraordinarily excited about how easily it's coming together. I'm surprised at how quickly I've been able to generate funds without pulling from our personal budget, and I think if I focus, I may be able to reach the $1200 goal quite quickly. With a little application, I believe it could be attainable before December. (I've not even begun to apply what I've saved from my grocery budget! It's just stayed in the general fund because I met this month's goal in other ways.)

Anyway, I just love how God is showing up in a big way already. Once I decided to step out here, God made ready the places for my foot to fall.

"...from your bounty, O God, you provided for the poor."
Psalm 68:10b

What's up, you Cheapo?

I'm sure it's evident that my last couple of posts have been about frugality. Perhaps I should explain.

There have been times through the course of my life that a frugal lifestyle was the only option besides absolute destitution. Well, death -- I guess that could have been a third option.

Since destitution and death aren't the best of options, I have learned over time how to save a buck or to legally stretch it into six or seven bucks. Many of those days were in my youth while living with a single mom on a worker's compensation stipend and paying bills with money earned at my after-school job. We saved up to go to the dollar movie, and that's all that needs to be said about that.

When I got married, I thought those days were behind me, but they were not. At first they were, but then we had kids (two in diapers) and I left my job. Things were slightly more snug financially, but still fine -- until 9/11. James was in radio selling advertising when the world went nuts. If you remember, businesses began failing, the economy went a little crazy, and people weren't buying radio spots as they once were. Because of my past, I was able to stretch our budget to such a degree that we continued to (mostly) live in the manner to which we had become accustomed. During that time, a couple of resources (in addition to the Internet) became invaluable to me:

The Tightwad Gazette by Amy Dacyczyn: I have the three book set, but there's a "complete" version that's just as good, and cheaper. Mrs. Dacyczyn is like the terrorist bomber of frugality. There are some extreme ideas in here, but it's chock full of money-saving tips like you cannot even imagine.

Miserly Moms and Frugal Families by Jonni McCoy: McCoy shares her own venture into frugality and some excellent tips. What I liked best about these books is that they're full of resources to other people's work. She'll explain a matter, and then connect you to five or six other resources. Good stuff.

(Both of these resources can be purchased inexpensively online at eBay or Amazon. I think the library also offers Jonni McCoy's books if you wanted to check them out before buying them for yourself.)

As the economy and our finances improved, continuing with a frugal lifestyle became more of a game. Just how many things/groceries/whatever could I get with this set dollar amount? We moved to the Metroplex, and it just intensified, what with the coupon sale at Albertsons and all. (I did The Grocery Game for a time, but when I went shopping to find everything always sold out to other players, I went on my own way once again.)

Over the last year or so, though, I have become incredibly lax. James has been a physician recruiter now for nearly three years, and in that time, our income has grown tremendously. But instead of being responsible and generous with the surplus (as suggested in Luke 12:48), I developed this sense of entitlement. Blowing through money was payback for all the work I had done to make every $50 seem like $150. My frugal ways went to the wayside: I would shop with coupons only from time to time, I would reuse and repurpose things only occasionally, I began to eat out way more than I ever have before. To be totally honest, 2007 was the year of wasted money, and a good bit (maybe like 88%) of that was my fault.

"Bring on the excuses," you say?

Well, there was that whole dead-baby grief thing, and that hardly being able to get out of bed and breathe in and out for a good long while thing. There was the whole "I eat for comfort" thing, and it's much easier to eat for comfort when it's not you cooking it -- thank you, Taco Bell. In addition to that, I was a full-time student with a very full course load. In addition to that, James began travelling a lot, and I decided it was cheaper (i.e., accommodating to my laziness) to split a restaurant meal with the kids. All of that, and I am embarrassed -- nay, ashamed -- to admit how much we spent in 2007 on food costs alone. It's disgusting.

Already we've discussed it and resolved to improve for the New Year. I've been cooking at home as often as I once did, and now that it's becoming habit again, I'm really enjoying it. But things could continue to improve, and should. Here's why:

This morning, after the kids were on the bus bound for school, I got back into bed to watch Beth Moore on Life Today. After her time, an advertisement began about an outreach that James and Betty Robison coordinate through their ministry, Life Outreach International.

It's called Mission: Water for Life, and is a ministry where fresh water wells are placed throughout Africa to provide clean drinking water for up to 1000 people. I don't remember what the specific stats were, but I remember being stunned by the number of babies and children they said died every year from water-borne illnesses. It was heartbreaking to watch a couple of little kids no older than my two drinking water too dirty for my kids to even stomp around in. Additionally, I know how devastating losing my own babies has been over these last many months, but the circumstances were totally beyond my control -- a fact that brings comfort from time to time. I cannot imagine losing Bub or Gracie because all I can give them to drink is more like mud than water.

I watched the advertisement and jumped out of bed to tell James I wanted to contribute. "To what?" he asked, as he did his part and packed leftovers for his lunch. I rattled off all the details and waited for him to get as pumped up as I was. And he did, kindof, but then he made me responsible for making more giving work with the budget for 2008.

Honestly, I was a little irritated that he didn't just throw caution to the wind and commit every last cent of our disposable income to this cause. But he didn't, and that's fine. The thing is, he's ok with me generating the money (through garage sales or something), or finding it (by cutting back elsewhere), or whatever. The more I considered that through the progressing day, I couldn't have agreed with his approach more.

$144 dollars will help provide fresh, clean drinking water for 30 people for a lifetime, which is nearly what I saved by using coupons this week. I should say that I don't buy so many groceries every week, so I won't have that kind of savings every week. And what I save may not have been money that I would have actually spent in a week. (For example, I got six total containers of free peanut butter this week, and though I saved $6 by using coupons, I wouldn't have necessarily spent that this week at all. Particularly not on peanut butter, as we already had a jar or two in the pantry.)

Regardless, My personal 2008 giving goal is this: through coupon savings and general practices of frugality, I would like to generate $100 per month* to contribute to this cause. That's $1200, and 1/4 of a well. That's like 250 people who can kick back in the sweltering African heat with a cool glass of agua -- who can drink up, and you know, not die.

"From everyone who has been given much,
much will be demanded;
and from the one who has been entrusted with much,
much more will be asked."
Luke 12:48

(* That may not sound like a lot, but bear in mind, I'm an at-home mom and full-time student. I don't generate an income. I merely manipulate an income.)

Thankful Thursday

O, that my life may also be branded with such thankfulness...

I know we've just gone through the season of thankfulness, what with Thanksgiving and all, but as a Christ-follower, I feel admonished to give thanks in all things (Eph. 5:20, Phil 4:6). Some days when dinner's burning, kids are fighting, deadlines are looming, laundry needs washing, bills need paying, errands need running, and I need rest, that sense of thankfulness is difficult to summon. Today is not one of those days, and the thankfulness I feel overwhelms me.

"Let your roots grow down into him,
and let your lives be built on him.
Then your faith will grow strong
in the truth you were taught,
and you will overflow with thankfulness."
Colossians 2:7

A few things I'm thankful for today:

I'm thankful I have a husband who laughs at me at the most appropriate times. One thing I loved about James from the start is that he had a great sense of humor and a real appreciation for my sense of humor. I'm the first to admit that the things that tickle my funny bone are generally somewhat offbeat. I'm really into slapstick, I love Lucy, stupid jokes make me laugh for days. The other day, I was goofing around, and James was laughing in a genuine way. I couldn't help but appreciate the fact that after nearly a decade together, we still crack each other up.

I'm thankful I feel so thankful on a Thursday (as opposed to any other day of the week), which provides such lovely alliteration for my blog title. Thankful Thursday, as opposed to Thankful Saturday. Though an equal sense of thankfulness, it doesn't roll off the tongue quite as nicely. (Yes, I am a that odd.)

I'm thankful my little boy finally decided he might like to come visit me on his vacation when he's a grown up. Bub is in this stage where he doesn't ever want to be married and he wants to leave Texas as soon as he grows up. Though I support whatever decision he ultimately makes for his life, it's hard to not take his desire to hit the road personally -- particularly when he's so young, and so vocal about those plans. Yesterday, though, he mentioned he might like to live a little closer to me than the other side of the planet (as he previously decided, once he realized the other side of the moon was not open for habitation), and he might come visit me on his vacations (if we can go to the movies).

I'm thankful my semester is over and I'm actually taking a break. I picked up some movies at Blockbuster. I've picked out some recipes to begin baking Christmas treats. I'm planning to scrapbook and do some crafts with the kids. I may even make a Christmas jumper for Gracie and my niece from a pattern I've had for two years.

I'm thankful for my family. I'm very thankful for my husband and children, but I'm also thankful my extended family, as well. We're going to my brother-in-law's house on Saturday for an early Christmas. James' family is so thoughtful, kind, and generous, and I'm looking forward to spending time with them again.

Then, my family comes to stay with us at Christmas, and I cannot wait! I cannot remember the last actual Christmas I was together with all of my siblings. (We sometimes get together before Christmas, or not). This year is going to be fun! Though I'm a grown up and I'm the one hosting, knowing they're all coming makes me feel like a kid again. I've already stocked up on Cream Cheese in anticipation of their arrival.

I can't help but remember my sister sewing Barbie clothes for me (which, by the way, are in Gracie's Barbie box), us four singing Christmas Carols by the tree, Cabbage Patch Kids and little Pianos, Oranges and uncrackable nuts in our stockings, Whitman's Samplers without fail, and the year Dad finally wised up and just started doling out cash. At present, my family is all suffering in the Midwest ice and snow storms, so I'm dreaming of a more sludgy brown Christmas with clear roads for travel. Fingers crossed for my Christmas wish!

Silver-Lining

My semester's coming to an end. I've finished three of four classes, and have one more test to take. My plan was to begin the spring semester this Friday by taking two Wintermester courses. All told, I intended to take 25 hours in the spring, though not more than 13 at a time. It sounds hard, but I had it all planned and scheduled.

Last night, though, as I was bedding down Gracie, she asked if I was "ever going to take a break from school" (emphasis added for five-year-old dramatics). After some discussion, I promised her I would at Christmas, just like her, and began mentally shifting my school schedule and the educational plans I had made. Despite the fact that in anticipation of winter classes, all of the Christmas gifts have been bought and wrapped, most of the holiday groceries have been pantry-stocked, e-mails have been sent, and arrangements have been made, today, I shifted it all on paper, and will take that break because my little one wants to cuddle and watch Sprout.

The schedule shifting today made me think about all the things we do as a parents to provide for and protect our children -- things they never know, understand, or appreciate.

Some time ago, while in a angry moment, Bub said to me, "But you never do anything for me" (emphasis added for six-year-old dramatics). He meant I never turn on his video games (which I rarely do because that's done in Dad time), but instead of saying, "You never turn on my video games," he said "anything." That evoked a response from me where I informed him of a great deal of the behind-the-scenes stuff I do, such as shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, bed-making, shoe-finding, nose-wiping, birthday-party-planning, lunch-packing, note-signing, and so on. The list exhausted both of us, so I stopped before listing all I do, but I think my listing made him as appreciative as a (then) six-year-old can be, even if it was only for a moment. Nevertheless, he promptly went back to completely taking me for granted and expecting the laundry fairy to deliver him some clean underpants. Sigh.

Gracie will never know what sort of shifting was done for me to meet that hanging-out need in her, just as Bub doesn't comprehend all of the things that go on beyond his understanding to make his life function in a comfortable way. They will never know, understand, or fully appreciate the work and sacrifice that goes on around them. In the same way, neither do I.

Last night as we were driving home from Celebrate Recovery, Bub was telling me about this mean boy in his class. This boy is evidently a real troublemaker and has been reacting to Bub in a violent way. At first, when Bub mentioned this child, we didn't know it was so serious. We thought what had happened between the two was just some random kick in the leg. Boys are boys, and stuff like that sometimes happens, so we just told him to stay away from this little kid when he was being mean. By last night, though, Bub was in tears from the frustration of dealing with this child.

I promised to talk to the teacher today (which I've already done), but explained that sometimes people react to problems in their lives by being violent towards others. "Maybe he has alot of anger in his heart," I said. "But he always smiles when he kicks me," he replied.

Chuckling at his logic, I again assured him that I would call his teacher, but suggested we also pray for this little boy. "But I have been praying every night," he said, "even three times, and God hasn't been answering me." It was then that I had the opportunity to explain how God works behind the scenes, making connections and answering prayers in His own perfect way. I assured him that God had heard him and was definately doing something about his bad situation, even if it wasn't yet clear what that was. I explained how we could never fully know, understand, or appreciate all that God does for us to meet our needs or to work out his purpose in our lives.

Some of that was made even more clear to me last night as we were sharing our hearts at CR during this time of transition. In an attempt to encourage those we're leaving behind, we shared Ecclesiastes 3 with them. The passage I shared with the group included some verses which were very poingnant to me, both for the group, and for us personally:

"...He has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has also set eternity in the hearts of men;
yet they cannot fathom what God has done
from beginning to end.
I know that everything God does will endure forever;
nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it.
God does it so that men will revere him.
Whatever is has already been,
and what will be has been before;
and God will call the past to account."
Ecclesiastes 3:11,14,15

That passage made me think about all of the amazing connections God has made in our lives to carry us along his intended path. I've shared a few of those connections with a few close friends, but today, I've really spent some time thinking about them. There are lots of days that I want to say to God, "But you don't do anything for me" (emphasis added for thirty-one-year-old dramatics), but when I look back on my life, it is clear that God connected me with this person for that ministry opportunity, or James with that job for the eventual connection to this church, and on and on and on.

God is behind the scenes at all times working things out on my behalf, doing things that are beyond my understanding to allow me to function in a comfortable way. Even when times are hard, hearts are broken, and the storm is raging, God is at work silver-lining the clouds. May I understand Him and His ways more deeply every day.

"As I was with Moses,
so I will be with you;
I will never leave you nor forsake you."
Joshua 1:5 NIV

"And we know that God causes everything
to work together for the good of those
who love God and are called
according to his purpose for them."
Romans 8:28 NLT

"You can make many plans,
but the Lord’s purpose will prevail."
Proverbs 19:21 NLT

"For I know the plans I have for you,"
declares the LORD,
"plans to prosper you and not to harm you,
plans to give you hope and a future."
Jeremiah 29:11

Torture by Worship

I love it when my kids worship. Because I have no spiritual heritage, it just blesses my heart when they do. Though they both worship spontaneously from time to time, Gracie is far more prone to it than Bub, which is often a source of contention, particularly in the car. There are many days when we're driving that she'll start singing and he'll start complaining. It's the "she's touching me" of our lives. In this situation, however, I always come to her defense. Without fail, I advise Bub that it's important to cultivate a worshipful heart -- that God loves it, and Mommy loves it, and "Hey, let's all sing along."

This morning as I was wrapping presents for Bub's party, Gracie wrote out her card. It was one she'd personally chosen that relays her intention to bug him through the new year. It's very cute, very funny, and very true. In it, she wrote a sweet sentiment and sealed it up. After taping it to the package, she asked if she could draw on the envelope and I handed her a pen. When she was finished she explained she'd drawn a picture of what she does to bug her brother, and there she was -- worshipping.

Deciding Again and Always

Some days, worship comes easy. Other days, it's a decision.

It's so easy for life to become settled, only to be disrupted once again. Despite my ever-changing circumstances, I choose to worship a holy and unchanging God. I will bless the Lord at all times, no matter how hard it gets.

May His sweet presence be a healing balm to my wounded soul.

Song Lyrics: Made me Glad (Hillsong)

I will bless the Lord forever
I will trust Him at all times
He has delivered me from all fear
He has set my feet upon a rock

And I will not be moved and I’ll say of the Lord
You are my shield, my strength,
My portion, deliverer,
My shelter, strong tower,
My very present help in time of need

Whom have I in heaven but You
There’s none I desire besides You
And You have made me glad, I’ll say of the Lord
You are my shield, my strength,
My portion, deliverer,
My shelter, strong tower,
My very present help

You are my shield, my strength,
My portion, deliverer,
My shelter, strong tower,
My very present help in time of need

On Death and Marshmallows

I am not afraid of death.

I used to be very afraid of dying. Electric storms in particular always made me cognisent of my mortality, and more than once (even as a teen), I made my younger brother come share my bed when the weather grew fierce. One summer, he and I drove to visit an uncle near Oklahoma City. When it was time to go to bed, I slept in a bedroom, while Dustin slept on the couch. That night, I awoke to what I thought was the house ripping in half. The loudest, most horrible storm was raging outside. Though it was the middle of the night, the sky glowed orange with electricity. I'd not seen anything like it before, and I've not seen anything like it since.

I peered at that scary precip through slit blinds, and worried, wondering was this the end of the world? (Though I was not a Christian at the time, I understood an end was coming and I dreaded it.) For some reason, this storm that shook me to my soul woke no one else in the house. Dustin, who was sleeping in the next room, didn't even hear the commotion, but nevertheless, I drug him to bed with me. Certainly he couldn't protect me from the wrath of God I equated with those cloudbursts, but usually just having him near made me feel safe, protected. That night, though, even having him to hide behind left me feeling no more protected than I had when there was more space in my bed. It was undeniable that there was something bigger than me, someone beyond my understanding, making me aware of my smallness on the Earth. Before then I'd heard a few passing remarks about the Christ, but it wasn't until later that very summer that someone bothered to really tell me all about Him, and show me the way to the cross.

After I became a Christian, that terror of death was gone. There has never, ever been another time that I have been startled awake by a storm and have felt that same sense of utter hopelessness as I did that night. (I think that whirlwind twilight was a work of God to prepare the way for me to come to Him. I was so very like the pre-apostle Paul in my behavior. I would abuse "simpleminded" Christians every chance I got, and there was no way that I would have ever just followed a crowd into belief in Christ. I'm still not a crowd follower, but that's a different topic for another day.)

As far as death is concerned, I find it particularly interesting. As a pasttime, I enjoy browsing around the very old parts of cemeteries in an attempt to either determine or imagine how people died.

Last fall, I went to the funeral of my great-aunt who lived a long and lovely life. As all the family I didn't know hung out grave-top and chatted amongst themselves, I took my kids around to explore. Near the front of the cemetery, we discovered a family plot from the 1800's where five children from one family were buried side by side. They died one right after the other with about a year's span in between each, all of them being around three years old at their time of death. (So, when the first three-year-old died, he had a sibling at age 2, age 1 and one in the womb. The next year, the mother was pregnant again when her next three-year-old died, and on and on for the next three years until five children in a row were gone.)

To see five dead children made me think some kind of horrible plague or a devestating illness like pneumonia (one that's mostly non-threatening now, but nearly a death sentence then) was a curse to those children, but more than one child never died at the same time. They died one right after the other, all about a year apart, and all at around age three. The only simple answer I could come up with was ritual sacrifice or a family REALLY fed up with the terrible twos. There's no way to know for sure exactly what happened to all those children, but such a horrible circumstance sparks the imagination.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to the local cemetery, which is a tiny little place hidden behind a trailer park. In the very back corner was the grave of a young man. I'm sure he died by some tragic circumstance that broke the hearts of all his loved ones. What I found interesting about his gravesite is that someone surrounded his plot with landscaping bricks, and people (at the funeral, I assume) littered his it with trash: cards, toys, empty beer bottles, lighters, and pocket knives stabbed into the ground. Even more interesting was the crackpipe right on the top of the trashpile. I thought it was so unfortunate that these were the things that "honored" this boy. The probability of a wasted life -- of that wasted life -- was the thing that broke my heart.

I think about my own death from time to time, and wonder what it will be like. I have a pretty clear understanding of what the after-death will be like, but the dying -- that's the part that intrigues me now. I hope I have an extraordinarily long life and slip away while getting to finally sleep in once again. But if I don't get that long life, I hope to die by some ridiculous circumstance that will make people shake their heads and chuckle a little inside. People will say, "Oh yeah, that's an Amanda thing." (At lunch a few weeks ago, a friend commented on someone else's miscarriage and asked, "Was it a regular miscarriage, or was it an Amanda thing?" With infant loss, I am a category, so why not with death as well?) I'll be off to a better place, so those left behind might as well have a nice laugh, right?

I was with my Granny when she died.

My Granny was by far one of the most special people on the Earth. She had Type II diabetes that she treated with cases of Coca-Cola and gallons of orange juice. As a result, her kidneys failed suddenly one Saturday. I was engaged to be married and living in Texas at the time. I remember rubbing her soft hand as I said goodbye and moved away just a few months before -- her aged skin felt like satin to the touch. James and I were in Dallas for a weekend of wine-tastings when the news came of her decline, and instead of our own plans already in motion, we sped north to Tulsa. James stayed the weekend, but I stayed until the end. Granny's family came from three different states to remain at her bedside, though she was drugged for pain and hardly able to communicate. What she did say was either delusional or deeply spiritual. I don't recall leaving her at all.

By Tuesday, she had not died. People began to tire of the wait, and left to go to dinner or to do some shopping. In and out, people came and went, but I remained, completely hopped up on hospital coffee and beef jerky from the gift shop. That evening nearly everyone decided to go to dinner together, but four of Granny's large family stayed behind. That chosen four I still find remarkable.

My Granny had four living children. The four of us at her bedside represented those four decendents, and each of us were the oldest of our line.

• Of her own children at her deathbed was my Granny's oldest daughter, Ruby.
• Granny's next child is my mom, Becky. I am Becky's oldest biological child, and I was with Granny as she died, while my mom was not.
• Next, my uncle Mike's oldest daughter Rachael was there with us. Rachael, after having been estranged from the family nearly all her life, came from Arkansas to say her goodbyes.
• My Granny's youngest living child is my uncle William. His oldest son Freddie was in the room while William was off with my mom.

(That information is not relevant to any point I may be attempting to make, but I've always found the whole situation very interesting.)

Today, I am so grateful to have been present with her as she slipped out of her broken body. She didn't just pass away, meaning she was here one minute and gone before we realized it. Granny died. She was alive one minute, and dying the next. Her physical body labored there, struggling to hang onto the life inside that was going on to something better. She wasn't in pain (thanks to the wonders of modern medicine), and there was no heart struggle (only the most perfect peace). Granny's death to me revealed the most marked difference between body and soul. In watching her die, I was able to clearly see that the two are definately not one. This sounds absolutely morbid, I'm sure, but being a part of her death is as special a memory to me as any Christmas, or birthday, or garage sale weekend.

While I am no longer afraid of dying, and though I find it to be a topic of great intrigue, I worry about what life will be like for my family when I'm no longer here. Though I don't have a terminal illness or realistically anticipate death in any way, I prepare for it. I know of people who died young (my dad at age 44), and I've personally had some very startling experiences that make me appreciate just how fragile we all are. I've worked on my will (but not finished because the working on it generally ends with a cuddling of this person or that), and I have all my policies in order. Minimally, I've labeled the contents of my business card organizer with "Bub's Opthamologist," or "Gracie's Dance Studio," just so Dad (or whoever) will know who goes where when. Regardless of the major (and minor) ways I am able to arrange things, I know if I die there will be those day-to-day things that are not done to my liking, or just not done at all. It's that knowledge that has troubled me the most.

Bub and I helped my mom move today. To me, moving -- especially moving my mom -- is like a small death. I die a little inside each time I hear her current apartment is "not quite right." (Today was the fourth move in four years for the biggest packrat I personally know. After it all, my body feels like it might be nicer to die, and yet, I live on.) Gracie was going to come along, but she was sleeping this morning when it was time to leave. As a result, she spent the day alone with Dad. He normally asks for suggestions for their time together without me, but he mentioned washing the dishes this morning as I prepared to go, so I rushed out the door before he changed his mind.

I was busy and unavailable most of the day, so the two loners fended for themselves. I'm not sure what they had for breakfast or lunch or even if they ate at all, but I heard they spent some time at Starbucks and shared conversation over coffee. They watched football and played computer games, and for the second time in a decade, James cooked "dinner." (Father and daughter dined together on a meal of beef roast and marshmallows. Not exactly the nutritious combo I would have prepared, but it worked.) I came home to a showered and pajamaed daughter having story time with Dad, and was pleased to find her better than just alive.

I'm a little sad to admit it, but after today I believe that James could get along and parent just fine without me. Though things wouldn't always be just exactly as I would have preferred, I know the kids will get what's important from James, love being the chief of them all. They would all survive, even if on dinners of meat and marshmallows.

"But we do see Him who was made for a little while

lower than the angels, namely, Jesus,

because of the suffering of death crowned with glory and honor,

so that by the grace of God He might taste death for everyone. . .

that through death He might render powerless

him who had the power of death, that is, the devil,

and might free those who through fear of death

were subject to slavery all their lives."

Hebrews 2:9, 14b-15

"For those who follow godly paths
will rest in peace when they die."

Isaiah 57:2

"As for you, you will die in peace and be buried at a ripe old age."

Genesis 15:15

Bible reading

One of Bub's loves is to follow along behind me in my Bible. He's doing it right now, and I have to say it warms my heart. What he does is pick up whatever Bible I have read that day (I have two) and go through it to read aloud whatever I have underlined. I normally read from a Bible written in "The Living Translation" which is very easy for him to read, but today he's reading from my Bible school Bible, and it is King James, which can be hard for some adults.

He went through a section in Genesis earlier that had loads of towns and was chock full of thees and thous, and at the ends said, "Welp, that was a good story." I don't even know what he read right there, so I don't know how he can, but I'm glad he appreciates it. He even marks his pages to go back to where he left off. (Note to self: I need to buy him a special bookmark to stay in my Bible.) It's awesome that when I list his reading time in his school notebook, it includes the Word.

It's lovely to hear such power read aloud in his little boy voice.
Maybe this is one reason we get to be his parents.
So that he may know God.

I Will Worship

Authentic worship comes from
a heart grateful to be found and to be free.

A few weeks ago, I reconnected with an old friend who was once a brother. The course of his life has led him from once walking as a Christ-follower to now living as a moralist who believes there is indeed a greater force at work, but not necessarily God, and certainly not an Abba Father. I guess I have difficulty in understanding how one could have known the tangible love of Christ and then made the decision to choose another way.

As for me, I am not that far removed from a hell-bound path. A decade and a half of life in Christ is so brief that I recall with ease the pain of separation from God. I remember walking this Earth by myself. Now, Christ is my way. He filled the void within me, and then took my hand and walks with me as I follow a straight path. I have been found by Christ, and no longer do I roam alone.

In light of time, the stench of death was here so recently that I still check for it, like one would check for the smell of sweat after a workout or an anxious day. But that stench is gone. Christ is my holy Febreeze. He is not the spray on kind, that merely masks the smell, but rather He is the In-Wash kind that infuses all the fibers and drives out the dank stench that once permeated. Addiction and devestation was rampant in me. It controlled me and it motivated me. Christ has provided for me a way out, and in Him, I have been set free.

Authentic worship comes from a heart broken.

Recently, someone mentioned to me our decision to publicly worship the Lord as we laid our son, along with our hopes and dreams, to rest. She wondered if she could do the same. Life is excrutiatingly hard, and whether a Christ-follower or as one who walks alone, trouble wreaks havoc on the human system.

Did I feel like singing praises to the One who could have intervened and didn't? No, but I decided to. Just as I decided to follow Christ in the first place. Bad comes along with all the good, and no matter what trouble comes my way, I will choose to bless His holy name. Worship is lovely when when there's love in the air, but worship is relevant when everything hurts.

Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord, I tell myself.
I will praise the Lord
as long as I live.
I will sing praises to my God
even with my dying breath.
Psalm 146:1-2

Shut up, Rob Bell...I've been Tartuffified.

Blogging. Hate it. I stalk friends and strangers who do it so well, and I feel like I do not, cannot. I glare at the blinking cursor wondering which tumultuous storm to record. There is always so much that I could write about, and yet, refuse to. My blogaholic friend keeps stalking me, leaving subtle hints to step it up. She doesn't believe that I have nothing to say because I talk her ear off everytime I see her. Which may be why she wants me to blog -- so I'll shut up. Hmmm...

So yesterday, we had lunch together, and at the end of our time, she (while replacing her ear) again recommended blogging. I seriously do try. I look at this blank page all the time. I even started two more blogs and updated my MySpace page, so I try. Here I am again.

I think (and she knows) my biggest concern about blogging is the vulnerability that comes along with it. What good is it to take the time to write if it all nonsense, if it's all surfacy dribble. I feel concern about allowing myself to be deep and real and then alienate people. I am concerned that people know me (or even those who don't) will read what I say and perceive me to be something I'm not. Or worse, something I am.

Today, I was goofing around online to avoid homework, and Tim Gunn's Guide to Style was on TV in the background. He sent his fashion client to a Life Stylist who had her sort of chant this mantra while wearing a garbage bag and looking into a fun house mirror. Over and over, she said, "I cannot control how I am perceived. I can only control how I am presented." I was doing my best to ignore that distraction for this one, when it occurred to me that that's been my problem all along. I have not been blogging because I've been too busy tightly controlling my presentation so that perceptions of me would remain generally positive.

Who wants people to know that they're a mess -- for all the right reasons, but also for all the wrong ones? I don't want people to know that I hurt, that I struggle, that I have questions and doubts. I don't want people to know that I attack about as much as I'm attacked. I don't want people to know that I am imperfect. It would be such a shock. What nonsense.

It sounds so ridiculous writing it out, but that is truly how I felt inside. Because I am so important that evidently if things are wrong in me, then God would be proven totally unfaithful. What self-importance. What pride. Or even moreso, if I could just go on without admitting my pain, questions, or struggles, they perhaps wouldn't be real.

Last week, I read this play called Tartuffe by Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Moliere. It was written in 1664, but the subject is so contemorary and relatable. Tartuffe is a religious hypocrite who was brought in to live with a wealthy man and his family essentially so that the wealthy man could kind of earn a passage to Heaven. Tartuffe condemned the family in every way possible, and manipulated Orgon, the wealthy man. In one scene, Tartuffe tried to seduce the Orgon's wife, and these were the passages I could take for self-evaluation.

Story: She's tempting him to prove to her husband Orgon that Tartuffe is a hypocrite and a liar, but Orgon isn't coming to her rescue. She's preserving herself by telling Tartuffe that she doesn't understand how an affair could be acceptable to Heaven. This is Tartuffe's reply to her resistance:

Madam, forget such fears, and be my pupil,
And I shall teach you to conquer scruple,
Some joys, it's true, are wrong in Heaven's eyes;
Yet Heaven is not averse to compromise;
There is a science, lately formulated,
Whereby one's conscience may be liberated,
And any wrongful act you care to mention
May be redeemed by purity of intention.

When Elmire still resists, Tartuffe goes on to say this:

If you're still troubled, think of things this way:
No one shall know of our joys, save us alone,
And there's no evil till the act is known;
It's scandal, Madam, which makes it an offense,
And it's no sin to sin in confidence.

So this is what I've been doing. Remaining quiet to remain blameless. And then I read this:

"Well...It would be great if the leaders that are telling everyone that they need to trust Jesus actually did it. " -- Rob Bell, on his blog.

How mad I am at myself. Every week, every day I proclaim to others the freedom that comes from confession. I encourage people not to let their darkess consume them, but rather to trust in the Lord and allow Him to bring light. I have been such a Tartuffe, telling others what to do, but not doing myself. I've been broken, and had it not been for the piecemeal patchwork I've put together on my own, I would be wholly broken still. But that's the key. I'm trying to repair myself in my brokenness instead of just remaining here in shambles and allowing the Lord the time to restore me properly.

So this is it for the moment.

I have loads to work through -- some in process, and much more yet to come. I hope this blog works out to be a space for that work to occur. And now to honor my blogoholic buddy further, I'm off to take a nap.