Is there anyone out there who doesn't want true love? Seriously, isn’t that something we all want? True love? Unconditional love? Enduring love? Why is it so hard to find? And when we find it, why is it so hard to hold on to? It feels real when we say those vows. It feelslasting. It feels like we’ll never find another who can compare with the one with whom we exchange those beautiful gold rings.  As we gaze into each other’s eyes and say our “I do’s” most of us are certain we’re marrying our soul mate… and that only death will part us.

So, what happens? What sneaks in and begins to disassemble that foundation on which we’re depending? How do things go from “I do” to “I’m done” in what seems like such short order? Do we really change so much over the years that our souls are no longer a mate for each other? I don’t know all of the answers, but I’m not at all convinced that that is true. 

Did you know that in the U.S. according to one source, “50% percent of first marriages, 67% of second and 74% of third marriages end in divorce?” As illustrated by the following charts, Christians aren’t doing any better than agnostics or atheists, and are even in a bit worse shape. Within the church, those of us who are non-denominational Christians have the highest divorce rate.

I have, over that last few years, watched multiple friends within my circle experience the excruciating pain of first, separation (either physical or emotional), and then divorce. It has been heartbreaking to walk through the experience with them, to see their kids wishing for normalcy and peace, and to witness the brokenness of the bride & groom, now ex-husband & wife. And while I want to plead with them to hold on, get through, never say die…  I know that they are simply and finally exhausted from trying to hold together something that seems fundamentally broken.   

Pretty glum, isn’t it? I hope that you are either happily single as you read this, or working diligently at maintaining a blissful and fulfilling marriage with your best friend. But if that’s not you, and you find that you are one of those listed in these statistics, please bear with me… my intent is not to judge you or heap more guilt on you than you’re probably already carrying. You might be one who is holding on by your fingernails to a marriage that’s all but done, and not interested in reading my little theories and ideas. But please do- some of the thoughts I will share aren’t mine, and maybe you’ll be encouraged for your future.

It’s possible that you find yourself in a marriage that’s just become boring… and you don’t remember any more if that person for whom you used to be head-over-heels was really ever your beloved soul mate, or maybe more of a good friend. Read on. I think this might help.  

Because, maybe remembering is key. When we remember- when we intentionally remind ourselves of the things that we value(d) in our mate- we revisit those qualities that brought us together… brought a twinkle to our eyes… made us hopelessly romantic and optimistic about our futures together.  And with those reminiscences, we reclaim (or maintain) the emotion that accompanied them.

I know a couple who met, dated and married when they were quite young, by today’s standards. Their courtship took place in the city of St. Louis where they both had grown up. Their first “official” date was to a football game on the morning of Thanksgiving Day. When the game was over, it was time to go to their respective homes for turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes and giblet gravy with their respective families. But the bus stop was jammed with other folks also trying to get home to their dinners, and so, being young, infatuated, and maybe a little impetuous, they decided to walk to the opposite side of the almost 1400 acre Forest Park and catch a bus there on the other side. This may have been a bit more than they’d anticipated, as about midway through, on a small arched bridge, they stopped to catch a breath. And they lingered there. They talked… got to know each other… maybe brushed shoulders… or hands. By the time they reached home, both had missed the family dinner. Both were in a bit of hot water. And both will say it was worth it.

See, that couple, my parents, celebrated their sixty-fourth anniversary this week. Sixty-four is not typically one of those anniversaries that warrants a party. But really, once you pass 50 years together, doesn't every year warrant a party, or at least a celebration? I think so, and my parents seem to agree. After all, they’re one of those couples I mentioned earlier, those “working diligently at maintaining a blissful and fulfilling marriage with their best friend.”  So even though they are elderly and beginning to slow down, and even though they are fresh off of some recent health issues, they celebrated.

And so, on May 1^st, my elderly parents, married sixty-four mostly good, sometimes hard years, went out to breakfast, and then made the long drive to Forest Park. They drove around until they found the general area of the bridge where they had become acquainted all those years ago. It was hidden at first… the bridge is old, overgrown with weeds, and crumbling, but they found it. And they saw through the debris and the age and the creeping vines… and were transported… remembering auburn hair, a smattering of freckles on his nose, the blueness of his eyes. Remembering the sweet smell of her as he leaned in close… and the flutter of his heart as she spoke earnestly of life and those things she cared deeply about. Each remembering the other…remembering the commitment with which they’d whispered vows to each other all those years ago. And being reminded… of friendship… of character… of common dreams and uncommon adventures. And they remembered the love. And when they remembered the love, they felt it again.

And that is the key. It is crucial to remember. Our memories create the foundation on which we build our futures. This is true in all of life, in our faith, in our relationships, and especially in our marriages. If we forget, we are lost.   

When my husband is annoyed or bored or discouraged with me, or I with him, I hope we remember.  I hope that he’ll be able to look beyond the “me” he is married to now. I hope he can see past the extra pounds I’ve accumulated in my mid-section these last few years, past the fact that I’m painfully cranky in the morning, past the obvious lack of housekeeping skills (which never seemed to develop as I’m sure he’d hoped), and see me how he used to… as his bride… as his playmate… as his partner in everything… as his biggest cheerleader and encourager. I hope we remember the struggles that together we’ve fought through, the inside jokes at which we’ve quietly chuckled, the softly whispered late-night apologies after stormy disagreements, the desperate prayers uttered together in times of crisis. I hope we remember the joy and the fun we’ve had along the way. I want to remember each stone in the foundation we’ve built together, because I want to keep building together. I want our kids to have that to stand on. I want to defy the statistics. I want people to look at my husband and me like they look at my parents, marveling that we are “still in love after all those years.”  

That’s the kind of marriage I want. It is worth the work and the energy. It is worth forgiving and moving forward. It is worth offering grace and mercy. It’s worth remembering. Because, when all is said and done, I want to remember. I want to remember the love.

1Corinthians 13:7 “Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.”

You saw me from the cross. 

I was in the midst of the masses, but your eyes were on me. I’m not sure why.  I was no one special.  I didn’t stand out in the crowd. I wasn’t the beautiful hero/heroine of stories told.  I was just me… me, with the stretch marks and freckles and frizzy and unpredictable hair… me with the crooked teeth that cause me to smile so carefully and the extra few pounds around my mid-section that seem impossible to shed. You saw me, the never-quite-fitting-in kid that has hung around since middle school. 

You, through pain and thorns and the red tinged sweat of suffering, saw me…you saw through the protective cocoon I reside in, through the veneer of human flesh and fashion I hide in, and saw me. You saw the me underneath all of that… saw my insecurities, my jealousies, my pride, my shame and my cowardice… you saw my passions, my hopes, my feeble attempts to be good... or even good enough... saw with blazing clarity all of my regrets and never-before-whispered secrets. 

I was naked and I tried to hide.  

But, you saw me anyway… not the way I see me, in my absurdly and futilely sewn fig leaves, but through a lover’s eyes… the eyes of a bride groom lingering on his radiantly perfect soon-to-be bride…and you loved me- irrationally, nonsensically, ridiculously. Your desire for me was written on your face and into your story, a deep and pure, insistent and determined desire to bring me back to you…a desire to rescue me from the prison in which I was so comfortable… that deceptively comfortable costume I was clothed in, stingily covering me and my nakedness, sure... but just as certainly choking out growth and life and light.   

You loved me like no one else, ever…

like I don’t even love me…

with a father’s affection for his favorite child…

through the filter of perfect love.

You saw me from the cross…

the way I was created to be…

in you…

forgiven.

John 19:30; "...It is finished."

Well, it's all over for another year. *sigh*  How did you do? Did you get a lot of love? Did you give a lot of love? Or, did you curl up in a fetal position and watch movies and wait for it to pass? 

People have such a wide variety of opinions on this highly manufactured Hallmark holiday. I am fairly neutral. I can take it or leave it, but maybe that's just my phlegmatic personality talking. I did, however find myself thinking a lot about people, relationships and love.

Yesterday, most of America was hyper-focused on romantic love, and depending on your situation, the day took on its own unique tones. You might have been excitedly anticipating tokens of love from your sweetheart, celebrating with your one true love, or lamenting the lack of that special opposite sex someone in your life. Like it or not, love, or the lack thereof, was the theme of the day. 

So, what now? We have 365 days (count 'em- it's a Leap Year) until the next February 14th. 

Just to call it out, I write these articles because I don't want to forget the things that God whispers in my ear. I know many better writers than I, and some of them seem to have a bottomless internal spring of new ideas for subject matter. I don't have that. I only have what He gives me. And I don't know why, but as I write things down, the lessons seem to stick in my brain a little more concretely, which is my personal end goal. It's icing on the cake if someone else benefits along the way by reading what I've written.

That said, Valentine's day is over for another year. The way I see it, you can wait the 365 days for next year, or you can step up the game and keep the love coming. Here is something that I wrote about love a couple of years ago, and that God reminded me of yesterday. Maybe you'll benefit from the reminder. I did. 

"...love takes on so many forms, and God tells us to love extravagantly (I love that... love extravagantly!)  What does that even mean?! Check out this definition of the word extravagant: spending much more than is necessary or wise, exceeding the bounds of reason, going beyond  what is deserved or justifiable. It's as if I'm so wealthy that I never have to worry about running out, and I can spend it like there's no tomorrow. 

When we follow Jesus,... when the Holy Spirit takes up residence within us, we have been given that kind of love; that "amount" of love. We should be full to overflowing, so that anyone around us is splashed by love. We can never run out, and the more we spend the more He continues to fill us. Can you imagine what our world would be like if Christ followers treated love like Americans treat water?... like it's inexpensive and plentiful and will never run out?

Seriously. If you follow Jesus, believe it or not, you are wealthy with love. Try spending love like you have so much of it that you can throw it around all over the place and never run short. Look around you and just notice. Even the smallest act can communicate love! Throw it at people... people like co-workers... or like your son, your mother-in-law, your bossy older sibling. Throw it at the annoying guy in your class and the chick who cut you off in traffic, or the girl who sings off-key with her ear-buds in. Try splashing it around your neighborhood, smiling at the people, whether or not they look like you... seeing beyond the skin tones, suspicious looks or curious glances and into the world they inhabit..."

What would this world look like if we started to live this way? What would your home look like? Your school? Your place of work? Your church? How would things change? Because what we do with any of our resources is on us, and love is the most imortant resource we've been given.

The ripple effect is a term used to describe a situation where, like the ever expanding ripples across water when an object is dropped into it, an effect from an initial state can be followed outwards incrementally. Or, if you like chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions; where a small change at one place in can result in large differences to a later state. The name of the effect icomes from an illustrative example of a hurricane's formation being contingent on whether or not some distant butterfly had flapped its delicate wings in the weeks preceding the storm. Either way you like it (I happen to love butterflies), small movements can make big and long reaching changes. 

You've been given more than your could ever repay, return or spend. So what will you do with it? Here's my plan: I'm going to try to to love much more than is necessary or wise, exceeding the bounds of reason, going beyond what is deserved or justifiable. I want to get extravagant, and if you'll join me, we really do get to change the world.

I have just reached my 50th birthday. My plan is to live at least 100 solid years, so I'm halfway there. I know a lot of folks are resistant to the aging thing, but I don't mind it so much. Some things are inevitable, and aging is one. I figure I can go gracefully, or I can go kicking and screaming, but I'm going, either way. I am firm in my belief that this life is just the start, and that to die takes me into the presence of my King, so I am, for the most part, ok with death, whenever it comes. It's the "meanwhile" that takes some figuring out.

And if there's anything I have learned in the first fifty, it's that I never stop learning, or being surprised by the twists and turns in life. I can follow the rules, figure the formula, do all the "right" things, and still get thrown by a curveball I wasn't expecting. When I was younger, like in... I don't know... last week... I made the common mistake of wanting formula in my life. Sometimes I think I want the sure and predictable path. I'm not completely over that... I may never be.

Meanwhile, life is learning...If you're not growing you're dying...and I'm not dying, and I've learned a few things that I think are pretty solid. They're not guarantees, but I can depend on them. And on the off chance that you might be wondering what those are, I'm going to share with you three of the most important lessons I've learned along the way. 

You may be wondering why I'm going with only the top three. Well, there is so much that I've learned, and so much I'm still learning. But I think that these three color everything I do in an umbrella sort of way. If I can keep these three over-arching everything, I am more fulfilled, more contented, and conciously connected to God, the giver of all good gifts.

And so, we'll start with Number Three: Stories are boring without a few twists and turns. There are not heroes without villians. If I never needed rescue, there would be no rescuer. If I was never broken, there would be no healing.  If there is no risk, the reward is not as sweet. Contrast gives us clarity and helps us both to appreciate and to abhor. Because I have known much true goodness in my life, I can recognize evil more readily and deal with it. Because I have known light, I hate darkness. My spidi-sense is becoming more and more finely tuned to those distinctions, because of the time I've had to see and learn them.

As I become more comfortable with this one, I have learned to trust God more with the uncertainties of life. I am able to admit and be ok with the fact that I don't know or understand it all. I am just a small part of His big story and the story is still being written. But He knows the beginning, the middle of the story plot twists and the ending. And He loves me with an indescribable and incomprehensible love. So, that's just fine with me.

Lesson Number Two is this: Life doesn't always go according to plan. Here is one small example from my life. When my husband and I married, our plan had been to have 3-4 babies, 2- 2 1/2 years apart. The first two came right according to plan... we figured we had this parenting thing nailed. By 5 years after the second child had been born, we were scratching our heads, trying to figure out why God wouldn't want us to have more kids. We were slowly resigning ourselves to the idea that we would just have our two, when as we approached the sixth year of infertility, I found myself suddenly and miraculously pregnant.  Go figure. We had two more, easy-peasy. But I began to understand, at least a little bit, that I wasn't ever really in charge.

Not to be a Debbie Downer, here, but if you are young, and still trying to figure out the formula, you might be wise to pay attention to this... Joblessness, sickness, betrayal, loss...these are things that happen without warning sometimes, even if you've followed all of the rules. So-called good and bad people are hit with really hard issues all the time. Good and bad people are given good things all the time. Oh,and by the way... good fortune? That too...a new baby at just the right time, a big sale with a big commision, a great deal on a great car, a big promotion, a $20 in the dryer... those things happen sometimes randomly also- to rule followers and rule breakers alike.

If you're on the good side of that, it may seem like you've earned it and deserve it all, but you haven't and don't. If you're less fortunate, don't believe the lie that it is somehow all your fault. Sometimes it is, and there are consequesnces to actions. There may be things you could have done differently or ways in which you can improve on the way you live. But there will always be things outside your control. I have big news for both camps..."He gives his sunlight to both the evil and the good, and he sends rain on the just and the unjust alike." (Matt. 5:45)

And so, the wise person learns to ask these questions in all of those scenarios:  "How do I move forward in those times?" "How do I grow from this?" "What can I learn?" The wisest of people learn to trust in the author of the story. The smart ones learn early that God can bring good through bad as easily as He can speak peace to the storm, when we listen for His voice to teach us and trust Him with all of it.

And the Number One lesson I've learned in my first fifty years (drumroll, please!): It's all about the love. Seriously. That's not supposed to be some trite "child of the sixties" tag line. It really is about love. Here's the thing; If I believe that Jesus is God, and as a follower of Jesus, I'm trying to be like Him... well, Scripture tells us that God is love, which means Jesus is love... which means I want to be love. Jesus said that the top two commands are to love God and love each other. Period. End of sentence. If we do those, we can't help but follow all of the other commandments. It seems so easy when you say it like that. 

But here's the thing; this isn't the emotion fueled, squooshy soft feeling that we get when we are head over heels for someone or something... a new romance... a new baby... a new car... those feelings that come and go, waxing and waning over time and on a whim. No, the love that we see reflected in Jesus, representing the love of the Father, is solid, unchanging and strong. It is self-sacrificing, but not a doormat. It is giving without expecting thanks or appreciation. It is courageous, yet tender. It is humble, but not weak. It is gentle, yet truthful. It is patient and kind...not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful... love never fails...Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.

That's the kind of legacy I want to leave when I complete the work that Is planned for me here. That's the high standard that has been set for me... for all of us, I think. With His help, I want to reflect love in everything I do, in everything I say, and to everyone I meet, every day. There is no doubt in my mind that I will fail sometimes... maybe often... But if things go according to plan, I have fifty more years to try to get it right. Here's to the second half. 

What I wanted to say, what I think (or hope) he knows deep down is that we don't have to wait for one bad year to end before we begin to do better, even if it is mere days or hours to the actual calendar changeover. I guess some folks need the "hard reset" button of the new year, but I wanted to say "Don't wait for it to be over. Call it over and start now."

What makes us wait? What makes us persist in bad patterns even after we recognize the negative impact on our lives and the lives of those around us? Some of it is pride and our unwillingness to admit that we can't do it on our own... that we may need some help. Sometimes we've tried before and failed, and it's overwhelming to think of trying again (and possibly failing again).  And I guess it's also just our human condition. We are creatures of habit and it's hard to make significant changes when a pattern has been set. Be it letting go of bad habits or forming good new ones, change is hard, but not impossible. But people do it all the time. 

I know, and I bet you do too, many stories of people changing in both large and small ways, for the better. I know people who've struggled mightily with addiction, and with God's help are now sober. I know of people who've lost large amounts of excess weight. I know a couple who've turned a bad marriage around to a good one. They decided do things differently... to keep their vows, steadfastly and sacrificially loving each other, even when it didn't come easily.

Here's something that scripture says about resolutions: "Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." That's from Lamentations 3:23. And it means every morning. As in this morning. As in today. God gives us the option of beginning anew each and every day. He's not tied to our annual calendars. He has His hand extended every day waiting for us to reach out to Him for the strength and the courage to do things differently.

Now, I know most of you are spring chickens, but I'm pushing fifty years old, and in general, I don't have time to wait for a New Year for my resolutions. I need to make them as I see them come at me. I need to resolve today to make my story better... to waste less time watching other people's stories on a square screen... to read more good and thought provoking books and to put into practice what I learn... to answer the phone call that would be easier to screen... to make the phone call that I've been putting off.  I need to resolve to love harder... to live more fully... to laugh and cry more deeply... to ask forgiveness when I need to without hesitation...and to offer forgiveness before I'm asked. There are so many things I need to do better today.

Romans 12:1-2 (Mssg) says it all; "So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you."

I want that well formed maturity. I want to be changed from the inside out. You want to know my New Year's resolution? It is simply this: Don't wait for the New Year to do what you need to do today and everyday. 

Hope your New Year is full of fresh new mornings. 

I had an epiphany this morning. I'd stepped on the scale and lamented that the numbers hadn't gone down at all from the day before. Not that I should have expected that... My spirit is willing but my flesh is weak when it comes to my diet. And although I know in my head that I need to cut some calories, it just seems wrong to me to exempt myself from party food... like it's rude or even bad luck not to celebrate with everyone or something. Weird. I know.

So, as the scale numbers registered, wavered between two numbers and then settled on the larger of the two, I let out a sigh. Something's got to give. I have to say no to myself more often. I have to develop the self-discipline needed to deny myself all of the little "treats" that add up to me packing on the pounds- especially at this wonderfully festive time of year when the treats are seemingly EVERYWHERE! 

But I don't like to tell myself "no."  Part of my problem is that I was born with a pretty good, pretty fast metabolism that burned off calories as soon as I could take them in. I was a skinny kid. I had to work to look like more than a toothpick for the first half of my life. As a result, I never had to deny myself a thing. I never met a dessert or doughnut that I didn't like. Guess who was the only kid of my eight siblings to have devoured her Easter basket so quickly that she puked. Yes. That would be me. Makes for a lovely picture, doesn't it? Little red-headed stick figure girl in her Easter finery puking her guts out over her shiny patent leather shoes. Should've learned my lesson then, but I guess I didn't. 

And it's not just about food for me.  I like to treat myself to little baubles of costume jewelry (clearance priced, so I can't pass them up) when it's obvious I don't need more. I like to stay up late and watch movies or read, when I know I'll regret it in the morning when my alarm goes off. I like to do things that I'm too old to do, such as climb trees, cannonball into swimming pools, pop my chewing gum loudly or sing along to music on the radio loudly, sometimes both at the same time, greatly annoying those trapped in the car with me, I'm sure. I like to have a second or third cup of coffee, even though I know I'll toss and turn throughout the night from the caffiene. I could go on...

One of the ruling philosophies in my life has been to say "yes" whenever possible. I feel like if that's how I approach things, then when I need to say "no" it carries a little more weight with it. It worked well in the parenting realm and I've had good results in following my rule, generally speaking. 

But this morning I realized something. I've been too liberal in applying this philosophy to myself. I'm saying "yes" to myself too much and "no" to myself... well, not enough. Not catastrophic in limited form, but when applied to, for instance, my eating habits as a "mature" adult woman with a slowing matabolism, I have to question whether the ideology translates well. Actually, there's no question. It doesn't. So here I am, at my age, having to learn self-discipline again. I'd like to blame my parents, for not teaching me to limit myself. I'd like to blame my giant family for making food a centerpiece of every get together. I'd like to blame my friends and co-workers for being a happy and celebratory bunch, and who can always find a reason to celebrate with food. I'd like to blame the food industry for making tasty foods so readliy available. I'd like to blame anyone but me, but alas, I can't. I can only blame myself. I'm the one who has to step away from the fork. I'm the one who has to take a serious second look at how I've trained myself and make the appropriate changes. 

My pastor once taught that you have to say "no" to some things so that you can say "yes" to other, more important things. I like that idea. If I applied it well in my situation, I would have to say "no" to most of the yummy treats that get placed in front of me so that I could say "yes" to good health. I'd say "no" to desserts so that I could say "yes" to clothes that fit well. I'd say "no" to upsizing my jeans out of necessity, so that I could say "yes" to treating myself to a cute new blouse just for fun. When I put it that way, I'm not really saying "no" at all, am I? 

It really boils down to making wise choices, doesnt' it? As the grown-ups we talk about that a lot with our kids, teaching them to make wise choices when it comes to risky behaviors. But in reality, I know that I'm still learning how to do it. It might be a lifelong process. We always have a choice, don't we? Sometimes we say we don't, but that typically means that we don't like the choice in front of us.

I like this scripture from Deuteronomy 30:18; "...I have put in front of you life and death, the good and the curse. So choose life so you and your children after you may live. Love the Lord your God and obey His voice. Hold on to Him. For He is your life, and by Him your days will be long." Is there really anything to consider, here? Life or death? Blessing or curse? Seems pretty simple when He puts it that way, doesn't it?  And, isn't this what my little struggle is really all about? Really, isn't it what most struggles are about? Isn't it what yours is about? 

This is such a relief. I get to keep saying "yes." Yes to life and blessing. But from now on, my "yes" will more consistantly consider the options in front of me and choose the one that leads to life. I can choose life or death, blessing or curse (and let me just say that jeans that are too tight are a curse), good health or bad.  

What decision are you struggling with today? Well, which choice leads to life? Ask yourself that question and you'll have an easier time with your decision. And I hope you get to say "yes" to something really great.  

The true object of all human life is play. G.K. Chesterton

I’m a kid at heart.  I was reminded recently of a personality test that compares personality traits to those of certain animals. There’s the decisive leader, the lion; the analytical industrious beaver; the easy going and dependable golden retriever; and then there’s me- the fun-loving, playful, warm, friendly, talkative, enthusiastic, compassionate otter, whose motto is “If it’s not fun it’s not worth doing.” Oh, I do love a good time.

My boys are grown now, but while they were kids, I think I was a pretty fun mom. We played a lot at our house, sometimes (ok, often) at the expense of good housekeeping, academics and hygiene.  We back-burnered cleaning and homework… we baked cookies and watched movies together instead of any number of things that we ‘should’ have been doing…we got dirty… but, boy did we have some fun!

I seriously love to play. I love to play with other playful adults and sometimes I play at the expense of non-playful adults (sorry!).  But I really love to play with children.  I once had a job as a preschool teacher. I thought I’d love the job, but in truth I hated it. I thought that I’d get to play with kids all day. Alas, it wasn’t so. As the grown-up, it was my job to provide structure and learning, to discipline as needed and to keep order- when what I really wanted to do was roll around the floor and wrestle with the kids, play tag, swing, and dance and generally frolic. I happen to greatly admire the grown-ups who can strike the tough balance of providing both structure and fun in a way that educates our kids, because it’s not for the faint of heart or… well, me.

I made the decision early on when my kids started school that if the superintendent of the district had the authority to call a snow-day, then I, as the mom, would have the prerogative to call a sun-day. If my kids’ attendance had been good, I would give them a day off, usually early in the spring when the sun began to warm things up and the outdoors was calling. Each kid got his own day, so it was great one-on-one time with them. We would skip school, head to the park or wherever their hearts desired, have lunch at a sidewalk café, and literally play the day away.  I’m sure that by now some of you are gasping at the irresponsibility of this, but I am certain that what my kids learned on those days was more valuable than whatever they missed on one day in the grand scheme of the school year.  And they all graduated just fine, and are intelligent and healthy young men now. So there, you can breathe again.

At the ripe old age of forty-nine, I still call myself a girl. I know that I’m a woman and have to be a grown up, with all that that entails, but I think that my “girl self” is a lot closer to who God created me to be. If you are a woman in my life, I will often call you a “girl.” I hope you don’t take offense, because for me, that’s a compliment… an affectionate term referring to the core of who we are. 

But for me at least, with adulthood came expectations to fulfill, people to impress and projects to be completed.  With adulthood, there came the serious ‘business of life’ that had to be addressed, requiring me to put many of those childlike characteristics aside- and with them sometimes, the core of who I am. With adulthood, I learned that life’s not fair...that ‘pretty’ matters... that money buys respect... that I have to look out for number one and that people are not to be trusted.  For the sake of earning a paycheck, looking a part, or gaining the approval of those from whom it was desired at the time, I eventually created my “adult face” incorporating all of this grown-up "knowledge" into my existence.

I think we all do this. And it's not just us girls. No, you men do it too. You’re not off the hook at all, based on the most-times slightly veiled, but occasionally boldly stated adolescent comments and behaviors I see in you… which, for the most part, I love.  I think you are all around thirteen’ish at heart, which is- again, for the most part- fine with me. Because when I think of thirteen year old boys (note: I have experience here), I think of boys who are still idealistic, who want to be the heroes, who want a girl and a cause that they’d die for… boys who are still believers that light trumps darkness and that the good guys win in the end.

See, I think there is power in remembering and reclaiming that child-like self.  The effortlessness of who we were as children, the things we loved to do... that touched our hearts… that motivated,  that brought us joy or made us sad… those represent the core of who we were created to be. 

I was reading this morning in one of my favorite books of scripture, the gospel of John.  As often happens when reading scripture, the words in John 1:12 became new to me again.  “… to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God- children born not of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.” (italics mine)  I know the term ‘born again’ weirds some folks out, and it’s been thrown around and misrepresented.  But here is that idea again… the idea that when we believe- really believe- he gives us the chance to become children born of God- we get a spiritual do-over. We get to start fresh… as spiritual children. We get to peel back the layers, tune into the most basic and God-given pieces of ourselves and invite Him to parent us. 

Your Creator carefully and artfully arranged the ingredients that together He would call “you” because you are of utmost importance to Him.You play a part in this grand story that no one else can play. The Psalmist said it this way: "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."

God wants the you that He created- no one else will do. He wants to peel away the life-hardened layers of adulthood, exposing those simple and childlike truths of your identity.  He wants full access to use us in the way that He planned for us before birth. And when we let Him have that, He begins to remind us of the things that really matter. He reminds us that beauty is really only skin deep...that money doesn't really buy happiness. We're reminded that everyone wants to be loved and deserves respect… that we need to fight for justice… that ‘fair’ matters.  We remember that sharing is crucial… that healthy family and godly community are life-giving.  We remember what impassions us and motivates us to act, and we take action. 

Mark 10:15 says this: “Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”  I think our Father wants us to play. And I think He wants to play with us. As long as we have breath, we can invite Him into the process- into our lives and hearts- to reveal His purpose for us. No matter how old we are, it’s not too late for that, not by a long shot. Play on.  

Today I was driving on a road that holds some difficult memories… memories of a recent experience that was simply put, heart wrenching.  A few weeks ago, on this particular road, my husband and I had driven straight into the scene of a fatal accident, in which a motorcycle rider had veered out of his lane into oncoming traffic. As a woman (call her Lisa) with two kids, approaching from the opposite side of an elbow shaped curve, he lost control of his bike, and fell into the path of her oncoming vehicle. The motorcycle skidded away, but he was not so lucky. He fell. She didn’t have time to stop or even brake- it was all just too fast. He was declared dead at the scene.

The man’s son (call him John) had been driving in front of him, a motorcycle too. He must have seen something in his rear view mirror, something that caused him to be watching as his dad drifted, then fell. He stopped shortly beyond, turned around and came back. John’s voice was panicked as he spoke “That’s my dad! That’s my dad under there.” Heartbreaking.

Death most often comes as a surprise, I think. Even when someone has been ill for a time, we are still shocked and grieved when death finally comes. But, when it is sudden, as was the case on that day, it seems to make no sense. Oh, I know… life is fragile... and maybe the guy wasn’t driving safely… motorcycles can be dangerous… I get it. But it left all of us who witnessed it feeling shaken and confused, without answers.

An officer came and gave us some of his theology of death…. which was pretty far from the truth, I’m pretty sure, and borderline offensive. But he was trying so hard. He had tears in his eyes as he tried to find a way to make sense of the situation. And it was important to him to give comfort to her, which made me forgive him his ignorance immediately. I stood with my arm around Lisa, feeling the sun on my face, the breeze on my skin, and the warm glow of autumn in Missouri on me. And it was beautiful. And horrible. And surreal.  And as I looked into her eyes, I saw such sadness, such regret and disbelief.

Scripture says that our enemy, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.  I don’t think he cares much whether he robs us of physical life or spiritual life. He just wants to rob us. I wondered if this man knew Jesus. I prayed for his family. I had watched his youngish son, John, weeping at the news of his father’s death. Who did he have? To whom would he go home? Did his father have a wife? Were there other grown children who would be without a father? Who were those that loved this man?  I dreaded the news for them. I comforted Lisa and her children. How would this affect them? How could they get over this? I thought of counselor referrals and prayed for wisdom. 

As the weeks since that day have unfolded, so many stories of grace have been given to all of us who were there. What are the odds that Lisa attends the same church as I do, and that my husband and I were some of the first on the scene? What are the odds that the multiple complete strangers who happened upon it all approached and prayed for those involved?  Can you believe that the man who died and his entire family knew Jesus and are confident of a future joyful reunion?  Lisa and her 11 year old son attended the funeral. They were hugged and accepted and forgiven by everyone they met. And from everyone, without exception, they received assurances of grace and forgiveness and hope that Lisa and her boy desperately needed to hear. John wrapped Lisa’s boy in a hug and said “Don’t you be sad for my dad. He met Jesus that day, and he is with Him now.” The families involved have become, well…unlikely friends. They are connected in a way that is beyond belief or common sense. They’ll keep in touch. What are the odds? This stuff just doesn’t happen… not without Jesus.

You see, Jesus came to give us life. Abundant life. Plentiful, joyful, wondrous life. I’m so glad that man knew Jesus. I know that I will get to meet him someday. I can’t wait to thank him for being the obviously good and godly presence for his family that he was. He lives on… in a different location, but still… Lisa and her boy, who could have been so,… so… damaged by this event, have life because of the grace extended to them to let go… to move on… to live meaningfully.

There was so much richness in this apparent tragedy… so many gifts that I don’t want to forget. There were so many coincidences of timing and acquaintance and ‘small world’ type moments. I have friends who struggle with the idea of a God who acts personally in our lives, but I don’t doubt His intimate and detailed involvement for a minute. I see it often, and I’ve seen it in abundance in this story.  There was no randomness in God’s hand as He, in His omniscience, cared for His children in this time of their great need. He knew what would happen. He cared. He orchestrated and arranged every ensuing detail. He thought of everything. He brought peace where it didn’t make sense. He brought forgiveness and grace where it didn’t come naturally. He’s brought love and relationship, where there should be bitterness and regret. No, there was no randomness in God’s hand.

So today, as I drove this route again, I was reminded.  I was reminded to savor every delicious second of this life that God has given me and the relationships I get to enjoy. I was reminded to be more grateful for things. I want to hug my grown up and much-bigger-than-me kids harder and more often. I want to make my husband know beyond the shadow of a doubt of my love for him.

I know the lion is out there, stalking, but I am not afraid of him. This world is not all there is. Death is not always defeat. I heard a teacher once say that death was "not the cessation of life, but rather like stepping out of a heavy winter coat into the sunlight and warmth of spring." I think that is true. 2Cor. 5:6-8 tells us that when we Christians die, we go immediately to be with God. To be "absent from the body-present with the Lord."

 But, meanwhile, I want to remember… to live every moment of every day of every year as if it counts… to live abundantly.  And as I follow Jesus into the life that He designed for me… the story He wrote for me, I find peace in the fact that I and my loved ones rest safely in the arms of my Father, the giver of life everlasting. I will trust Him. I’ve seen His hand at work in life and in death. It is intentional and faithful. And it is never random.

Driving today, I came up behind a smart car. It was small, spunky and cute, bright blue with white striping. It runs on electricity, and I imagine, though I’ve not done any research, that it has all sorts of other things that qualify it as ‘smart.’ Plus, it’s cute. Did I mention that? Who came up with this? What brilliant thinker...what outside-the-lines colorer came up with this latest evolution of the automobile? What would Henry Ford think of this?!

Someone called me a name the other day. No, it wasn't an ugly slur... instead it was a real and genuine compliment. This person called me wise, which was a little uncomfortable… because I don’t typically think of myself in that way. Experienced?...maybe.  Old (…-er… than a lot of people), yes.  Compassionate and empathetic, definitely.  But, wise? I don’t know about wise. 

I will admit that it sure did feel good to be called that. My self-image immediately took a bump up in its own ratings. I found myself agreeing with the compliment. After all, she wasn't the first to say it. My name and that word have been in the same sentence a couple of times before. I’ve walked a few people through a few issues. I’ve talked a few folks off the proverbial ledge. Now that I think about it, I give some pretty decent advice, darn it, and maybe I am just a little bit wise. Go ahead. Ask me my opinion on your problem. I’ll be happy to help you.

Wait. Stop! What just happened!? Dang it, that sneaky pride thing has struck again, and just when I’d been convinced of my own spotless humility! I stink at this Christianity thing. If I can’t get this humility thing right, then I’m doing it all wrong. I’m a hopeless case.

Ok. So, I’ve given you a glimpse of the ridiculous way that my brain sometimes spins out of control. I couldn’t get the preceding interchange out of my mind, because it seems like an impossible cycle of trying and failing, trying and failing. As soon as I realize some success and begin to feel good about it, I’m failing again. Is this really how it’s supposed to work? Because it’s really exasperating.

I don’t know about you, but when I get into one of these annoying internal arguments that seem to have no good solution, and when I finally finish my fussing and fuming about it and get to the end of myself, I occasionally remember to ask for help…which is where I am as I write this.

And, as soon as I asked, I was reminded of the scripture where Paul says “Follow me as I follow Christ.” Now, I’m all for Paul saying that, and I’m pretty comfortable following him, but I’m not so sure I’d be at ease saying it to someone else… you know… about me.  He was PAUL after all, the dude that wrote most of the New Testament. He’s, well, different... better somehow. He’s Saint Paul, right?

But even as I think this, I realize that my friend Paul would be disappointed to hear my thoughts. After all, he was the first (except for maybe his siblings, I suspect) to call out the fact that he is no one special. He calls himself the worst of all sinners.  He says he is unable to do what he wants to do, and continues to do what he knows that he shouldn’t.  He says his good works are like filthy rags. And yet he says “Follow me as I follow Christ.” You see, Paul understood that it is only through his faith in Jesus that he is anything. He understood that it is only by the transformative power of the Holy Spirit that we are able to offer anything really worthwhile to anyone.  He understood that it is only when we die that Christ can live through us. Look at this passage from Colossians 3:16; “Let the message about Christ, in all its richness, fill your lives. Teach and counsel each other with all the wisdom he gives (italics mine).”

In reality, the only thing I have to give is what He has given me.  I wonder if, for God, my pride in my wisdom is like listening to one of my sons bragging on the straightness of his teeth after I paid all the orthodontist bills.  It feels a little like plagiarism for me to claim credit for the wisdom which God alone has authored.  

I think when Paul says “follow me as I follow Christ” he means just that. He knew, and was trying to tell us, that only with his nose pressed up between Jesus’ shoulder blades is he anyone to be followed. And the same is true for me, without a doubt.

My human reaction says this;  “Don’t ever be so arrogant as to call yourself a leader. You don’t need anyone following you. You may lead them astray and then you’re responsible for them.” But, the problem is that, as a Christ follower, it is my responsibility to lead well AND to follow judiciously.  And, by the way, people are following. There are those who are following me, and I’m pretty sure if you look over your shoulder, you’ll see that there are those following you, too.  That thought keeps me more than a bit on edge. Which is a good thing, I think. Because, as long as I am uncomfortable with being in that role, I remain conscious of my responsibility to follow closely to the One who gives wisdom. As long as I stay painfully aware of my own foolishness, I am forced to cling to the source of all wisdom. And I am much more likely to remember that, like a brightly blossoming weed on the banks of a creek, there is no bloom aside from what He gives.  Anything that flowers or bears fruit from me is the result of His planting, His watering, and His nurturing and encouraging hand.

So, while I may have some wisdom to offer you if you ask, it is not my own. Every bit of every word of any value that comes from me is first from Him. Call me foolish if I ever allow anyone to think otherwise.

1 Corinthians 1: 29 “So it makes no sense for any person to boast in God’s presence.  Instead, credit God with your new situation: you are united with Jesus, the Liberating King. He is God’s wisdom for us and more.”

I recently found this lovely location that I’ve been frequenting for purposes of quiet reflection. It is secluded and peaceful. It’s a great place to think, to write, to pray and ponder. Today I am there. I am encased in a canopy of green, which is soothing to my soul. Green is my favorite color. Even my bedroom is green, because green quiets my heart. I wonder if other people’s favorite colors do the same for them. Do my friends find the comfort that I have in my color when they are surrounded in blue, or pink, or purple? Or am I just that visual, and as my son says, easily amused? Ahhh, there I go pondering again.

I know when I start out for this place that my ultimate purpose is prayer… time with God… but that can look different for different people. I get that. I have a friend who is particularly inspired to worship when he is in the big city. I have friends for whom a library or academic setting ushers them directly into the presence of God. Music is an avenue for many. But for me, it is this.

As I drive to my spot, my thoughts are scattered. I am listening to the engine of this new used car that we bought a few days ago, hoping it was a good deal and has a few more years in it. I’m thinking of the groceries I need to pick up, my youngest starting college with orientation tomorrow, my to-do list at work.  My life is a jumble of the mundane,  mixed with a variety of highs and lows and occasional excitement.  In my circle of community, at this moment, there are the new beginnings and sometimes bittersweet goodbyes of a new school year, a broken heart or two, a job search, teen angst, mid-life crisis, the miraculous physical healing of one friend’s son, and the seemingly unanswered prayer of another friend recently divorced and struggling. There are financial worries, parenting uncertainties, school cliques, new business ventures and musical aspirations. They all concern me because these friends and family, who are in the middle of life and all it has to offer, concern me. They are my loved ones and being the highly relational animal that I am, they are of utmost priority to me.  I try to remember to bring each one to the feet of God, but as I said, my thoughts are scattered. God help them, God heal them, God teach them, God lead them… my requests are uttered in an obliviously know-it-all sort of way, as if I know what is best for each. 

When I arrive, and nestle into my spot, it is quiet, but noisy with the sounds of bugs, birds, dew drops and minnows jumping. It is peaceful, yet I know there is a struggle for life and the next meal going on beneath the surface, as big fish lie in wait for the little fish, frogs wait for a dragonfly to pass, squirrels jump from tree to tree, frantically hoarding nuts for the next year (how can they possibly remember where their caches are buried? Most times, the nuts they carry are bigger than their brains!).  It is isolated, but not lonely, for I cherish my “me and God” time. Besides, today I am being visited by a young raccoon. He’s seems not yet old enough to know that I might be a threat... or maybe my childhood belief that I have some sort of special connection to animals really IS true!  This guy is wary, but unperturbed by my presence. He’s found himself a zebra mussel or crawdad to eat and he’s munching happily on that as he watches me.

Here, sitting on the bank of a creek, I purposefully quiet myself. I remind myself, multiple times, to quit worrying, and be quiet. I’m a little ADD, so when I say multiple times, I mean it. But, the buzzing of insects all around me is slightly hypnotic as I tune out of my anxious thoughts and tune in to Him. I begin to see in hi-def the world around me. I begin to thank Him for it all. Gratefulness wells up in me and I breathe deeply. Peace washes over me like a cool front moving through on a hot St. Louis afternoon…a long awaited and welcomed gift.

And then it happens. I am reminded. Pray.  Pray… But this time, it is different. I remember that God has it all… has them all. I remember that God cares for each of them, more than I. I remember that He knows what is best… knows what is necessary… knows the plan…knows just how much pain or pressure it takes to teach… knows when to rescue us out of a mess or walk with us through the mess.  And I remember that I don’t.  My anxious thoughts become whispers of thanksgiving. God, thanks for having my sons in your hands. God thanks for directing the life of my sister/friend. Thank you for leading my husband and guiding us through this adventure called marriage. God, thanks for providing exactly what I need always.  Thank You- that all of those that concern me… concern You more. 

Philippians 4 says this: ⁶ Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

See, this isn’t my highly researched and tested position and strategy on prayer. It’s not a three point Power Point outline that I did for a bible study.  It’s just how it works for me… and how I think it could work for you.  It’s the way He created us. As we remember who and all that He is, and consciously give things over to Him, He brings us peace… sometimes when peace is beyond the realm of our imaginations… sometimes when it seems out of our grasp….when we can’t understand how,  He brings it. It might not be green space for you, but a city. It might not look the same for you as it does for the guy you know from your small group. It might not require music or a sermon.  It only requires you and God, together in conversation. Start there and see what happens.

So, I am done with worry for today.  I no longer want to write the plan. I just want to be in the middle of His. I am free to walk with Him and listen for His voice to lead, unencumbered by fear or uncertainty.  And I know life is uncertain, but only for us. He knows exactly where we’re going and how to get us there.  I’m just going to keep following and let Him take care of the details. I’m going to trust in His concern for the things which concern me. 

There is peace in that. And I wish it for you.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve made some big progress. Our kids went from camping out together one weekend to a couple of 3 day, overnight missions events, in which they joined forces and served our community together, painting both little old ladies’ nails and the walls at a homeless drop-in center; taking care of younger kids at a local charter school; helping a few widows with their community gardens; working a vegetable farm that benefits refugees, and so much more.  As these kids have joined forces to work towards a common cause- that of making the world better place- real friendships have begun to form. They are learning to love each other on a heart and soul level, and forgetting about the shallow and deceptive skin issues which for so long have kept them separate. I am beyond excited to see how things continue from here.  It will take some long term effort and energy and a lot of prayer. But I have hope for some real change, and though it might seem a drop in the bucket, I believe that the change can be significant and long reaching. 

Racial reconciliation is such a big term.  Is such a thing even possible? How would we ever get there? There’s been so much negative history on all sides of the issue that sometimes it feels overwhelming to even keep trying. I’m not sure why, but racial issues have always been a hot button for this white- bread, freckle faced girl from blue collar Missouri.

I grew up in an era and location where issues of race, specifically black and white races, were large and looming. My school district was a part of the desegregation program instituted by the government in the 1960’s. I remember the first black student that came to my classroom at my small elementary school. I remember the novelty of having this dark skinned girl in my classroom and tentatively, and on my mom’s encouragement, moving into a little girl friendship with her. She was nice. I liked her. But she, her single mom and siblings had moved into my neighborhood through a program being implemented across the country at the time aiming to forcibly desegregate our neighborhoods and schools, and I don’t think she or her family were very welcomed for the most part. As evidence, the “for sale” signs immediately popped up, all around the block where we lived. Evidently, there were a lot of people who were not happy and were convinced that the addition of a black family on their street was a threat to their well-being.  I remember feeling sad and confused.

By the time I reached high school, our classrooms were about 30-40% black. We were largely still segregated, but there were a few of us who stepped across the imaginary lines and formed friendships. Even now, at class reunions, you can see the separation. Oh, we mingle. But most of the lasting friendships have fallen in line with our skin colors.

As an adult, and eventually a mom, when my young kids naturally and innocently asked about differing skin colors, I would show them my arm, spotted with an array of sun-kisses (my mom’s sweet way of consoling me as I collected more and more freckles with each summer of playing outdoors all day every day). Then we would compare their relatively spotless arms (raised in the era of sunscreen) to mine and I would ask them “Does the fact that my skin is freckled and your skin is not make us different in any significant way?” The answer was always “no.” They would quickly recognize that skin is just the package our souls have been placed in.

In 1 Samuel 16:7, we read this: “But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things human beings look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” (Italics mine)

I know that in my humanness I have much to learn. But as I follow Jesus, He is teaching me that the black and white racial values that we still, in this modern and oh, so progressive culture, place on people matter to Him. Not because skin color matters, but because we make it matter. We use it to excuse ourselves from the true community that I think God intended. I am a follower of Jesus. I want to be just like Him. I want to look at hearts and not appearances. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but I’m going to keep trying.

It is interesting to me that in Luke 10, Jesus tells a young man seeking spiritual answers to love God and love our neighbors as we love ourselves. When the young man, a religion scholar, looks for a loophole by asking Jesus to define ‘neighbor,’ Jesus proceeds to tell Him the now well-known story of the Good Samaritan, in which Jesus defines our neighbors not by skin or proximity, but by simple humanity.  He goes out of His way to identify a person of the racial underclass du jour as a true neighbor. I don’t think that was random. I think He was addressing our knee-jerk propensity towards human standards of measurement and worth and challenging us to address them ourselves.

You see, I think that the reason the 1960’s desegregation efforts largely failed was because they weren’t (couldn’t, in reality) addressing heart issues. I think that, as in so many of the moral issues of our day, the government can only do so much. The real answers must come from the church (not the institution, but the people who follow Jesus).  Why?... Because we’ve been given the answers.   We have been rescued… not because we are white… or black… or talented… or good… or deserving in any way- but because we needed rescue… because in His mercy and grace, God loves us, even though we are undeserving of His love.  For that reason, we must be tenacious in loving each other.  We must reach outside of our comfort zones, to purposefully love ALL of our neighbors.  We must be the ones to protest wrong and champion right. We must be light in the darkness, must speak truth into deception, must love where there is hate.  As CS Lewis puts it so well, ‘You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.’ Your body might be black, or white, or brown… but your soul has no color…Nor does the soul of your neighbor.  It’s a pretty basic issue…a black and white issue, if you will. God sees our hearts and not our exteriors. When we learn to do the same, we’ll start to see true community, in the church, and in the world. And these kids are fast learners. I have great hope. 

I was driving today along a familiar route. My 20 year old son, Ben, was in the car with me and we had some music going, the windows and sunroof open, and we were having a discussion about, I don’t know… I think it was about when Biggie was killed and Puff Daddy did a remix of the Police song as a tribute… something like that.

As we were driving, we passed a team of men who were cleaning up some storm damage, using a wood chipper to shred some limbs that had fallen during a recent thunderstorm.  The smell of sawdust filled the air and mixed with the fragrance of honeysuckle from the lacy clusters on a nearby bush. Heavenly.

My thoughts turned inward for just a moment.  The smell of sawdust, no matter where I catch the scent, always takes me to a nostalgic place of memory surrounding my dad.  I lingered there in that remembrance for a moment and my son said “Mom, you know what that smell reminds me of? Remember when Aunt Karen had a woodshop in her shed and she used to take me out and cut out toy guns for me out of scrap lumber? She would cut them out and sand them and give one to me, and one to Jake, and we would play cowboys for hours in her woods.”  I remembered. Good times.

Isn’t it interesting how sensory memories can take you back to a certain place or time or event? I think that my sawdust memories are tied to my dad because when I was tiny, around 18 months old, my sister was born. My dad was in the midst of remodeling the attic of our small two bedroom home, to better accommodate the four siblings who’d come before me.  When my sister came along, I’m pretty sure my mom was so busy that my dad had to take me with him while he worked on the attic. While I don’t have any physical memory of that time (though I have heard the stories), there’s just something about the smell of sawdust that takes me back there.

And when I am there, I have this overwhelming sense of security, and love, and comfort. Why is that? My best guess is that it’s about my dad. In those earliest years, even without actual cognizant memories, I absorbed that. Somehow, even with eight kids (there were two more to follow), he managed to communicate beyond a shadow of any doubt that he loved me… that he would keep me safe and take care of me...  that  I was special to him.  I still feel that way about him, and on the days when I get to visit with him that feeling just enfolds me again like a favorite blanket.  And when I part from him to resume my oh-so-grown-up life, it is with a renewed sense that everything will be alright.

Dads are just so important.  As clearly as I can call up those feelings of security and comfort, linked inexorably to those early memories, I know there are so many others who don’t have that to fall back on.  I am fortunate to be in relationship with a lot of teens and young adults, and in almost every case, I can see either the absence or presence of a father in their lives like the way I can see the absence or presence of a hand inside a puppet. The presence of a healthy and loving dad almost always brings with it self-confidence, security, self-esteem, and a host of intangibles that are difficult to put into words.  The absence can leave a wake of debris ranging from depression and anxiety, self-doubt and feelings of worthlessness, to anger and rage- and it is only with much courage and persistence that these kids overcome that handicap.

Think what you want about Freud, but here’s what he said about fathers:  "I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection." In this particular case, I think he was on to something. Just look at some of these statistics regarding fatherlessness. According to various sources, children from fatherless homes account for:      

• 63% of youth suicides
• 71% of pregnant teenagers
• 90% of all homeless and runaway children
• 70% of juveniles in state-operated institutions
• 85% of all youth who exhibit behavior disorders
• 80% of all rapist motivated with displaced anger
• 71% of high school drop-outs
• 75% of all adolescents in chemical abuse centers
• 85% of all youths in prisons

Children from fatherless homes are:

• Nearly twice as likely to struggle with hyperactivity, conduct and emotional disorders and have a social impairment
• Nearly three times as likely to struggle in school or to have repeated a grade
• Five times more likely to be poor
• Thirty three times more likely to be seriously abused (requiring medical attention)
• Seventy three times more likely to be killed
• Nearly four times more likely to experience major depression in adulthood
• Over two and a half times more likely to experience bipolar disorders
• Nearly four times more likely to experience schizophrenia 

No seriously. Go back and really read those. If you can allow yourself to really absorb those numbers, I think you’ll be disturbed, as I was on first reading. Think of the effect on the ever-downwardly-spiraling cultural demise that could be positively addressed if we reinstated fatherhood as the norm.  Dads, you are just so important.

In the book of Romans, chapter eight (as well as in numerous other passages) we are encouraged to call God our ‘abba’… our ‘daddy.’  For some of us that brings us closer to God. The emotional inheritance we received from our earthly dads is rich and full, making it easy to believe that our God is good and loving and compassionate and merciful. For others, I think this is a much more difficult task.  For them, the image of ‘father’ calls up abuse or neglect or abandonment.  I don’t know how anyone could love or serve a god that is like the fathers of some that I know. Those fathers have inflicted deep and lasting wounds on their children, sometimes without laying a finger on them… sometimes in their absence or rejection… sometimes without even realizing the damage they’ve done.

 I’m reading a book which encourages us to resist the temptation to define God by the father that we’ve known, and instead, to define fatherhood by what God says it should be. I like that idea. I know it is easier said than done, but shouldn’t our Creator have defining rights over this role that is so core to our well-being as humans? After all, dads are just so important.

Regardless of our human experience, each of us has been offered a Father… one who is all that a Father should be… one who instills in us worth, security and peace. There is One who enfolds us like a favorite blanket and reassures us that everything will be alright. He is our “abba”… our daddy… and He is God. We just have to reach for Him, and He is there.  And He wants you to know that He loves you… that He will take care of you... and that you are special to Him. 

I have a dog. His name is Rascal, and he is one (a rascal, that is). He is white, with black spots and a definite black ring around his left eye. He’s big. And bossy.  He’s half Australian shepherd, half of unknown parentage.  The unknown DNA has dictated his good looks, but the Aussie is extremely evident in the way that he behaves. You see, these dogs have been bred for years to be work dogs. They are herders, working with sheep or cattle… and they are happiest when they are working.

The way this plays out in Rascal’s suburban life is that he thinks he is in charge of EVERYTHING. He feels the need to oversee even the simplest of housekeeping tasks. He “herds” us as we get his food or water or let him out back (get it? Outback? Aussie? Nevermind…). He pushes us with his nose, encircles us with his body, and all the while prances about as if to encourage us. He was made for this kind of work.

Once, my friend visited with her son, who was around 8 years old at the time and has Down syndrome.  The boy loved our dogs, but was fascinated by our cat, who was much more skittish and wouldn’t let himself be petted. This boy worked so hard to  make his way in close, and every time, just as he was about to get his hand in there for a quick stroke along the cat’s back, Rascal would jump between them and in no uncertain terms, shoo the cat away, sensing danger from the devious and malicious kitty, no doubt. He stuck to this kid like glue for the whole weekend and made him his own personal mission. He was made for this kind of work and it’s obvious.

The problem that we have is that we don’t have much of this kind of work for Rascal. The cat is no longer with us; the boys are at school or work all day, as are my husband and I. His canine sidekick, Scout is a super submissive female who is smaller than him and would never question his authority. Where’s the fun in that? So, Rascal is bored. Really bored.  And so he obsesses on himself. And as a result he chews on himself incessantly. He scratches himself raw. He sometimes needs a sedative. Sad, I know, but I’m working on it.

Why am I telling you this story? Well, yesterday, I was at a feed store trying to come up with some way to keep the boy busy… to find some toy that he couldn’t chew through in a matter of minutes… something besides his paws to work over… and the thought occurred to me that Rascal isn’t so different from most of us. 

You see, I believe we are created with a specific purpose outside of ourselves.  We are equipped with most of the things that we need to accomplish that purpose naturally. God has a job for us to do, and it’s not just to climb a corporate ladder, to get the highest degree, or to achieve the best physique. We are created to interact with others in a way that utilizes our talents and gifts and maximizes them. We are created to partner with others in the doing of God’s work. We are created to be a part of a family of believers and to seek their good. We’re created to seek the good of the world we’ve been placed in and the good of all of the people placed there with us. We are created to love, and to love well.  

Each of us is created to do those things in our own way, with our own talents and flair and gifts,  but believe me when I say that you were made for this kind of work.  To work at something that we love so much that it feels like play… and for something so important that it’s worth the giving away of our life to accomplish might be a little slice of heaven on earth.

Scripture speaks repeatedly of God’s desire for his children to live sacrificial lives… to work for the good of others before ourselves… to build each other up… to put others first… And the thing is I guess it’s optional. But I’m pretty certain that we’re seeing an epidemic in our culture of people who have opted out of God's desire for us, and have chosen instead to obsess on themselves.

Look for instance at the ridiculousness of cosmetic plastic surgeries. These surgeries are being performed in epic numbers, more than ever before and climbing steadily. Why? Because we’re obsessing on ourselves and we don’t like what we see.  Our noses are too big, our breasts too small, our hips too wide, our foreheads too wrinkled, our calves not muscular enough. Crazy! We’re like human Mr. Potato Heads, trading out parts we don’t like for parts we do like.  

Or, how about the ever increasing need for psychotherapy?  I know there are plenty of people out there with legitimate need for counseling, and that’s all fine and good. But with some of us, I have to wonder what would happen if we paused for a bit from focusing strictly on ourselves and our lack and turned instead to look for ways to reach in and help someone else.  We might just experience a tremendous boost in our collective moods.

I once heard someone say that if you’re suffering from poor self-esteem, you should go do something for someone else that you can feel really good about. The more of those things you do, the better you’ll begin to feel about who you are. That makes great sense to me.

Our Creator knows that the more I focus on me, the more miserable I become. I am way too close to me, and I see all of my flaws in magnified glory. My freckles, my wrinkles, my grays, my frizz, my crooked teeth;  my disorganization, my untidiness, my pride and my pettiness- all of my shortcomings… but as I step away from the proverbial magnifying mirror and take my eyes off of myself, I begin to see and hear and notice the need in the world around me and in others. And sometimes I can help meet that need. I can see kids who need mentors. I can see people that need to be introduced.  I can hear music from myriad sources both human and otherwise. I can spot problems that I know how to fix, or people that I know can fix problems. I become more creative and less reactive. I can sense the despair of those without faith in God, and look for a chance to share the answers I have found. Sometimes I see something that’s too big for me, and I have to brainstorm solutions, or ask for help, or gather a team to address things. And before I know it, my gigantic flaws and shortcomings have shrunk- from what appeared to be giant boulders in the middle of the road forward- to mere speed bumps, easily conquered with a slight tap on the gas pedal.  

Romans 15:1-3 says this: ‘Those of us who are strong and able in the faith need to step in and lend a hand to those who falter, and not just do what is most convenient for us. Strength is for service, not status. Each one of us needs to look after the good of the people around us, asking ourselves, "How can I help?" That's exactly what Jesus did. He didn't make it easy for himself by avoiding people's troubles, but waded right in and helped out. "I took on the troubles of the troubled," is the way Scripture puts it.’

I will keep trying to solve Rascal’s problem of boredom and obsession with self. He’s easy. I’m sure there’s an indestructible toy somewhere that will catch his fancy. With me it’ll take some time. But I’m trying. I’m trying to look in the mirror less and look out my windows more. I’m trying to ask myself “How can I help?” I’m trying to be more like Jesus. After all, I was made for this kind of work. 

It is a rare quiet Saturday morning at my house. The usual sounds of the television and showers and dishes clanking are unusually silent. I can hear birds singing, neighbors mowing, and my own thoughts.  I even had time to do some reading on my deck, with a cup of coffee. It’s been lovely. It’s amazing to me how much God is willing to speak to me when I am willing to listen. Mostly, the noise and busyness of every day block the sound of anything deeper than, well, the everyday. But with the simple act of selecting the “power off” button rather than the “guide” button, things can change.

A few years ago, I was challenged with the idea to turn off the noise in my life, for Lenten season- that was the original plan. The “noise” included exterior things like radio, television, internet surfing, etc. I allowed myself to watch a movie only if it was a family thing, so as not to extract myself from things family related. The first thing I noticed was just how habitual the noise had become. I realized quickly that my pattern was to almost never have an absence of input from one source or another occupying my brain. Another thing that occurred to me in short order was that most of that input was just white noise to me. It kept my brain occupied, but didn’t really encourage thought beyond what I was hearing… didn’t make me better, or deeper, or stronger. It was sort of like eating junk food.  It filled me up without giving me sufficient nutrition to grow in a healthy way, but it sure was tempting- and tasty- and convenient.

For a few days, I had withdrawals. The silence was deafening… maddening, even.  My hand would unconsciously reach out to turn the radio on every time I got in the car before I would remember that I was leaving it off.  But in no time at all, I began to notice some things… like birds singing…. The ticking of a clock… the sounds of my almost grown 150 pound plus, none under 6’2” boys wrestling upstairs (sometimes giggling like school girls- apologies to school girls everywhere).  I heard rain showers on the roof, the breeze in the trees, band practice in the basement and guitar lessons in the living room. These were all things that I had been giving only a passing nod to, when they deserved real appreciation. These were the sounds of life, unfiltered by the jangle of next-to-meaningless clamor.  I began to screen fewer phone calls because I had a little more time and desire to talk. I began to read more. I had almost forgotten that books are 100% of the time in my experience, better than the movies based on them. I started writing. I prayed more, and that became more of a conversation and less of a grocery list of needs.

The funny thing is, somewhere in my ancient past, I knew these things to be important and good and true.  As a child I was underwhelmed by the lure of television, radio, etc. I spent a ton of undiluted time outside. I read… conversation was ongoing with family and friends and God… I enjoyed the sun on my skin and the breeze in my hair.  There were the obligatory episodes of Gilligan’s Island, The Waltons and The Three Stooges. They were necessary parts of a well-rounded modern upbringing, but in limited doses, due to the wisdom of my good parents. So, when did I forget?

The best I can do is to say that things just crept up on me. Technology invaded my world like ants invade my kitchen every spring… quietly, stealthily, without resistance… until I notice, and then I fight like made to be rid of them. So, once I noticed the noise invasion, it became clear that drastic measures must be taken. That meant that I had to get familiar with the “power off” button. That meant I had to retrain myself to hear the white noise, eradicate it, and tune in to what else was certainly there for me to notice.

So that’s what I did… for a while. Oh, my experiment lasted way beyond the season of lent, to which I had originally committed. In fact, the radio of my car still bugs me when it’s on. But noise has begun to creep in again, with technology and all of its charms available at the touch of any one of a number of buttons, with the television, which has even gained stations (freely given, due to the poor service of our provider and their attempts to retain our monthly payments).  I have a laptop, an IPod, a smart phone… not to mention an old school radio, numerous books and publications and podcasts. Things can come at me from multiple directions and sometimes all at the same time.  It’s almost as if there is an actual enemy, trying to pull a sneak attack, Trojan horse-like.

This morning, I was reminded, by my gracious God, of how much I love the quiet.  I’ll be exercising my “power off” rights much more liberally again.

Have you ever heard the phrase “the little foxes steal the grapes”? It’s actually from scripture, and has been paraphrased over the years, but I think maybe what it means is that there are small and clever predators that steal the sweetest fruit if it is left unguarded.  For me that becomes about unchecked distractions from the things I know, deep down that I want to notice, to contemplate, to cherish, but that can go unappreciated if I am not careful.

I want to be careful. I want to guard those things that I don’t want stolen away. I want to appreciate. I am happier and more at peace when I live this way. I find contentment comes easier. And the kicker is that I God doesn’t have to fight through a bunch of clutter to get to my heart.  I can hear Him. He is present in each moment, teaching, speaking, and leading. I just have to notice. 

I am driving today on a return trip to visit with friends in another state. In actuality, my selfless and strong husband (friendly tip: if you're looking for the right guy or girl, these are two things you want to look for) is driving and I am relaxing in the passenger seat. It is April 2^nd, and spring has not quite sprung. Gray is the predominant color as my eyes wander from the road in front of us. The sky is gray, the trees, gray, and the road, gray. The grass is slowly greening up, but the trees are still barren and dead looking. Here and there I can just make out buds on the trees, red and sometimes green, but barely visible to me at the speed and distance from which I am viewing. Still there is that promise. Scattered throughout the forested areas are trees still holding on fast to last year’s leaves. They’re dead, but these particular trees seem reluctant to let go, and so they display their pale and crinkled leftovers as if everything is fine and fresh and alive. And if I don’t look too closely, they hold a sad and nostalgic beauty. But up close, I am sure they just look dead.

I’m returning from my visit with a somewhat heavy heart. Spending time with these friends, longstanding, loyal and comfortable, is always time to savor.  I have been blessed with some great friendships in my life, but none have been closer than these. The passing of time in friendships can either dull them or deepen them, and these are some that have only deepened with each trip around the sun. There have been quite a few of those for us now. We’ve walked through much together. Our kids have grown up together, some of them have been best friends, and though life has taken them all in different directions, there is a basic and understood connection between those that had the most years together.  Our common histories include amusement parks, church, Down Syndrome, teenaged rebellion, marriages, and grandbabies. Now we are walking through the crumbling of a long term marriage with one of the (no longer) couples. It’s sad and difficult and complicated to navigate a friendship with each of them separately, though we will try. It’s new to all of us.

There is such beauty in having walked together through all of that history. There were some mild and lingering springs, sun-soaked and lazy summers, bittersweet and beautiful autumns and cold and barren winters, all occurring to each of us without regard to whatever the calendar might say. We’ve experienced the newness and expectations of pregnancies, births and high school graduations; the everyday-ness of book clubs, job changes, teething and secret crushes between our adolescent children; the vivid color and first frosts of weddings, of sicknesses or deaths of our aging parents, prodigals leaving and prodigals coming home. With these friends we have shivered through long distance transfers, scarcity of conversations and physical presence and this confusing and unexpected failed marriage.

Life is so seasonal. I don’t know if I’ve always had a proper perspective on this,  and I’m not sure if I fully comprehend it now, but it hits me in the gut every now and then… that reminder that life is fleeting…That the rivers surge and wane and meander and freeze, only to thaw and surge again… That forests bud and bloom and brag and then just as they are stripped of every shred of glory and it seems as if nothing will ever be the same again, new life makes its way into the tips of those stripped branches and starts to peek out, seeking sun and warmth and life. And warmth and life are there, waiting, beckoning.

I think maybe there’s a trick to finding the balance between living in the moment and the realization that there’s a really big story that’s being written, and we don’t know the end, or even the next chapter. I sometimes want to hold onto things so tightly. Most times, I prefer the pale and crinkly leftovers of the present to the question marks that loom in front of me.  Sometimes God has to pry my fingers open to make me let go of what I’m holding on to, because I’m not sure if I believe that things can be better…and sometimes, I become so impatient for spring that I don’t absorb the lessons and quiet… and reality of winter.

Finding balance between those two temptations- the first, to hold on to past and present; the second, to rush through todays experiences into the future without savoring and learning- requires a steady and unwavering trust in the author of that bigger story. I have to remind myself that He's already written the next chapter.. and He knows the end of the story... and it's good.

I really want to soak up everything, every nuance of the swirling ever changing story around me as it unfolds. But, I think God wants me to live in forward motion.  Not too fast…but not too slow either.  Mostly, I can do that. Mostly, I am a “live in the moment” kind of girl. But those rough times… those are different. I just want to be through them and on to the other side. I forget that, like friendships over time, those seasons deepen me. Walking through them, either privately or in the company of good friends is as valuable in the writing of my story as any joyous occasion or celebration.  Sometimes I wish that wasn’t so. Sometimes I wish for only comfort and plenty. Sometimes I find myself wishing for my pale crinkly leftover leaves, when God has spring in store.

And with spring comes hope, and warmth and light and color. And the contrast is staggering and surprising… and breathtaking.  Life is so fleeting. Seasons are ever shifting. But God is the same, yesterday, today and forever. He is always faithful. He knows the ending and the way to get us through our stories, a page at a time. If we let Him, he’ll provide friends to walk through it with us. If we let Him, He’ll walk with us Himself. And winter is always followed by spring… summer… autumn… Good, bad…mundane…  Life is seasonal. God is faithful. There is hope. 

I met up with an old friend recently.  He is young, and had been a pretty firm follower of Jesus when he was in his teens, when I first met him.  And although he started out in a family that practiced Christianity- not perfectly, but still- he’s been on a pretty broad detour for a few years, even calling himself agnostic for a while. He’s played with drugs and alcohol and all the incidental addictions, sex, rebellion, etc.  He just hasn’t seemed able to find his center.  I’ve tried really, really hard to just keep loving him. I worried about him a lot, only to be reminded by a voice somewhere deep inside me that he wasn’t mine, really, and that as much as I might like to, I couldn’t save him. I’ve had quite a few inner debates about how to talk with him, what I could do for him, how to turn his life back around… and every time I was met with that voice, reminding me to let go… So, I did. I just prayed for him… touched base as often as possible without stalking… saw him every now and then… and reminded him whenever I could, every chance I got of how much God loved him. How much He will never stop loving him.  Today, I got to hear from him that he is no longer agnostic. He considers himself a follower of Jesus again.  He says that his issues are- have always been, though he hadn’t considered it before- with religion and people, not with Jesus.  So he’s beginning to right himself.  The storm that has so relentlessly swirled around him, the fog of all of the things he’s used to anesthetize himself, the voices of Pharisees shouting regulations at him… all of these are lifting, and he’s finding some clarity. You see, it wouldn’t have mattered at all what I said to him over these past few difficult years. Something had to change between Him and God. And God never let go. Just like He told me He wouldn’t. But the thing is, I’m not letting go either.  I’m going to stick with him. I’m going to keep loving him… hanging out with him… keep encouraging him towards truth... Because, he’s young. He needs someone to do this for him.

At my church, in youth group, we’re going through a teaching series on the book of 1Timothy, titled ‘Dear Tim.’ In case you are not aware, 1Timothy is a book of the New Testament that gives us a glimpse into this really cool mentoring relationship between Paul and his mentee, Timothy.  Also, in case you didn’t know, I am a big fan of mentoring. So, this is a good series for me, reaffirming much of what I believe about the way that we’re supposed to interact with each other in this life, in this world. I think it’s really, really important that we have people who are a few steps ahead of us on the journey reaching back, taking our hands and leading us well. I think it’s also crucial that we are speaking and modeling the wisdom and experience gained on our journey into the lives of those who are a few steps behind us. Those I know who have both of those things going on in their lives are almost always growing consistently and very fulfilled.

So, I was thinking… Paul wrote this super cool letter to this kid he was mentoring… and I wonder if Tim wrote him back? And I wonder what that letter would have looked like. Wouldn’t you love to have read that? Tim was young, so his letter may have been a little less eloquent than Paul’s, but probably not less passionate.

I have a few “Timothys” in my life…like this guy I was telling you about.  But I also have a few “Pauls” in my life, and I’m so grateful for what they’ve taught me, modeled for me, encouraged me toward.  At times, most of us are both. However, I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t be a “Paul” if I hadn’t had some “Pauls” in my life.

I’m not sure if Tim ever did write Paul back. If so, none of us has had the pleasure of reading that letter. But for the “Pauls” in my life, and for each of you that pours your wisdom, your experience, your love into the life of someone younger or a few steps behind you on the journey, here’s what I think Tim might have said; and what I’d like to say to you:

Dear Paul,

Thanks for your kind words of encouragement. I am so grateful for the example that you’ve set for me, the words that you speak into my life, and the way that you love me into growth.  Seriously, the idea of standing up in love to give people the undiluted truth is really scary.  I often worry that I am too young to lead… to teach anyone anything. I'm not at all sure that I have what it takes. I mean, I’m not even really grown yet. I have so far to go. I mess things up, say the wrong things sometimes; or worse, I forget the grace that’s been offered to me and don’t extend it to others. There have been so many times when I’ve not measured up… not responded well… not loved the way Jesus did. I can barely manage to keep my room clean. Sometimes I’m really afraid to do anything, because, well... what if I mess up again? What if this time it’s a big thing, and I can’t fix it. What if you’re not there to show me? What if you’re not there to catch me? What if there is a collosal failure, and I can't pick up the pieces? But, then I remember.

I remember you, Paul. And I thank God for you. Through you, He has given me this great example of what it means to be a strong follower of Jesus. God has given me, in you a father (or mother)… big brother (or sister)… teacher and friend. Thank you for speaking over me the words of encouragement to step into the role that God created me for. Thank you for reminding me of my purpose in this story. Your transparency coupled with your strength shows me that even though I am imperfect, I can do great things through Christ, who indwells and empowers me.  Your honesty about your past contrasted with who you are in Jesus now is a real example that I can relate to and learn from.  Really, when I see the way that you do things, the way that you’ve learned from experiences and from the Holy Spirit, it gives me hope for myself.  And when you let me in even on your failings, on some of those things that most people want to keep secret… when you let me in on those, and tell me about the way that God taught you through your mistakes, and how He even made them into something good, it gives me courage to continue to move forward in my journey.  I know that if God could work through you with your imperfections, than He can work through me, too.

So thank you, Paul. Thank you for all that you’ve done for me. Thanks for speaking vision into my life, and for making me believe that I’m up to the task in front of me. Thanks for knowing when to push me, and when I need gentle encouragement, or when I need to step back, watch and learn. Thanks for sharing yourself with me. Thanks for following Jesus and allowing me to watch you do it, so that I can follow in your footsteps.

I am relatively young. I have so far to go. I hope that I can be everything you think I can be. But, because you believe I can do it, I’m going to try my hardest. Maybe someday, I will be like you, as you become more and more like Christ.  I will never be able to repay you for the example that you’ve shown me. But maybe someday I will be able to return the favor by helping someone younger than me. Maybe someday I will be able to use what I have learned from you, to lead another.  That’s my prayer.

Sincerely,

Tim

It’s Valentine’s day, and I have the best sweetheart ever.  My husband and I met in a rather unconventional way, and I married him when I was just eighteen years old. He was slightly older and way more mature.  I wasn’t about to let him get away!

Fast forward thirty years, and here we are. Looking a lot older, both of us are in different professions than our original plans had dictated then.  We’ve been through childbirth four times, 80’s hair, Y2K, the advent of video games and the internet age, and now social media. We’ve watched and experienced life and death, marriages and divorces, multiple addresses and landmark over–the-hill birthdays.  Each of us has changed and grown significantly, although there are a few areas in which we haven’t changed much at all. Some of those are good and some not so good. 

For example, my room as a teenager was always a mess.  In my defense, I shared with two sisters, and sometimes more, but in reality, my room was just a mess. There was full disclosure. Bob saw the mess before he took a vow to love me forever...foolish, maybe, in hindsight…  But I’m sure he was hoping that things would be different in marriage- that I would begin to embrace neatness as a part of our life together. WRONG…. I’m still messy. Housecleaning has never been a huge priority. If I have the choice between  going  to the zoo, or coffee with girlfriends, or playing with young kids, hiking in the woods…or really almost anything else, and cleaning my house… I’m choosing the fun stuff. Every time.  I wish I was better about it… really… sometimes.  *sigh*

How about the fact that I am simply not a morning person, though my husband is? I wonder if he hoped that would change, all those years ago… when we were first living together in wedded bliss and breakfast together was always scooted back to brunch… he usually had to have an appetizer of cold cereal in order to wait for me to be awake and ready to cook and eat something together.  He had probably envisioned morning coffee and newspaper time (30 years ago, remember? We still read newspapers then) and early morning walks together. If so, he’s been disappointed.  I haven’t been able to significantly address that at all. Oh, I set my alarm in order to make it to work every morning, but with not a minute to spare. God help me if something doesn’t go as planned and I have a morning meeting… somebody’s risking a speeding ticket!

But, how about the good stuff?  What about the things that shouldn’t ever change? Our core stuff, the important stuff, has stayed relatively unchanged, too. We both love Jesus, and want desperately to serve Him well.  Both of us love kids, wanted and had a handful, adopted a few into our family, and currently mentor a few of others. It’s a huge priority to both of us to invest in the lives of our own kids and others’.  We decided from the beginning that marriage would be forever, good, bad and ugly. We’ve been fortunate. It’s been mostly good. 

So, what makes it good? What makes it last? Why have we been able to love each other, through good and bad, thick and thin, lack and plenty? One word explains everything. Grace. Grace for each other, in each moment, in every situation.  When I make us late for an event, there is some irritation… but there is grace. When you can write your name in the dust on my furniture, allergies may flair, but… there is grace.

What I think it boils down to is the willingness to let go… to know what doesn’t matter… to know what absolutely does matter… and respond accordingly.  What I think it boils down to is the belief that each of us has a basic good will towards the other. What I think it boils down to is both of us,  in our own way, trying to live up to what scripture says that true love is…  “Love never gives up. Love cares more for others than for itself.  Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.  Love doesn't strut, doesn't have a swelled head, doesn't force itself on others, isn't always "me first," doesn't fly off the handle, doesn't keep score of the sins of others, doesn't revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end.” 1Corinthians 13:4-7

Just imagine what happens when we try to live that out in marriage. I’ll tell you what happens…magic happens.  Marriages stay together. Families thrive. Children grow up to be secure and loved and confident.  People flourish.

What if we really just never gave up? What if we cared more for our spouse than for ourselves? What if we didn’t want what we didn’t have? What if we didn’t keep score of our spouse’s sins, and instead looked for the best in them?  What if we didn’t look back but kept moving forward?  This lifelong, two becoming one marriage thing could actually work. It could last. In fact, I’m certain of it.  It can even be joyful and romantic and passionate for the long haul.

My husband and I haven’t even begun to do this perfectly, but it’s what we’re trying for. Every day brings new challenges and new joys.  And, with grace… we’re doing it.We’re not exceptional people and we couldn’t have done it by ourselves. I’m not sure how anyone does. We have relied heavily on the community of other married couples, on our church community, on each other and on our God.  But, with real, feet on the floor, practical and Christ-centered love, we’re well into a long and storied journey, and neither of us would trade the experiences for anything. 

I was driving just the other day, a few days after a big mid-western snow; just long enough for the snow to be…well... used. The snow hadn’t accumulated enough to fully cover the tall winter-dead grass in the now fallow farm fields, so there were stretches of pristine white, interrupted by wheat colored grasses and dirty mounds where the plows had pushed aside perfection for the sake of safety.

The sun must have been at just the right angle- the fields looked as if the spring crop would be diamonds.  Everywhere I looked I saw glints of blinding sparkle. It stretched on as far as the fields themselves. Last week’s mid-west winter fields had been transformed, for the moment at least, into plains of extravagant bling.  It was breathtaking and I don’t think even texting could have been more distracting as I tried to keep my eyes on the road. 

What I soon noticed was that the shine, the glimmer, the sparkle was so attention getting that the dead grass and mud patches, the gray shoulders of refrozen slush were almost obscured. The sparkle took my eyes off the ugliness and held my attention fast, like shards of a shattered mirror reflecting back the light of the sun in a million different directions.

And I thought… maybe we’re supposed to be like that…. Maybe we, as followers of Jesus, are supposed to be the sparkle that provides relief and beauty in the middle of the ugliness.

There’s a beautiful passage of scripture in the Gospel of John that says that there was this ‘light, which came into the darkness…' and that 'the darkness could not overcome it."  In the battle between these two most basic elements of our universe, that’s the way it is... Light wins. Every time.

Some very dear friends of mine, Alf and Kelly Evans, who live in Texas have somewhat recently waded into the dark, dark world of sex trafficking. They've begun to work with one of a relatively small number of faith-based organizations involved. They've been to Cambodia twice now, working on the ground there to care for both the victims of that horrific industry and for the mission teams that live there, providing rescue, counseling and Jesus to those who will have it/Him. They've worked with a church there who has located itself in a former brothel in the heart of one of the darkest places in our world. This is a church that sparkles in the midst of widespread oppressing gloom. Physically surrounded by dark and deadness, it is vibrant and alive. The neighbors are not sure what to do with this place... this community... because it's so noisy and joyful. There is music and laughter. There is grace, and love, and light, and redemption… and childhood reclaimed. 

My friends just got asked to relocate their young family to this dark place for two years, to wade in a little deeper. Crazy, right?  But my guess is that they’ll do it. Because… they sparkle. They have been radiating light for as long as I've known them and darkness cannot overcome them.  And they are the first to point out that they don’t generate their own light… that it comes from a much bigger source.

You see, that light that I referenced earlier, from the gospel of John...  that light came into the darkness of our world and lived among us. His name is Jesus. And while he was here, he gave this charge to those who would follow Him. He said “You are the light of the world.  A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Like the sun on the snow as I drove that day… like the shards of a shattered mirror reflecting light in a million different shapes and ways and directions...we, in our brokenness, must reflect the light that Jesus has brought to us, in our millions of shapes and ways and directions. We’re supposed to shine. We’re supposed to bring such light and life to our world that the gray slush and muddy patches fade into obscurity. Our light needs to overcome the dark.

Oh, I get it. The world is harsh and dark. It can get downright overwhelming.  And sometimes we get it backwards. We get afraid of the darkness. We forget that darkness cannot overcome us.  But we must not forget that we’re on this earth for a reason...to bring light. We can’t forget that light always wins… Always.  While we’re here, we’re supposed to shine. So, in the gray, in the gloom... in the darkness,… don’t be afraid… sparkle.

UPDATE: A few months after their second Cambodia trip, Alf and Kelly received a Skype call from Agape International Missions (ARC), an organization that has recently received recognition from the United Nations in best practices for trafficking aftercare. During that call, Alf and Kelly received job offers that fit their gifts perfectly. They will be relocating their family to Svay Pak on Feb. 1.

Kelly’s job is to oversee all the casework that takes place at ARC, the aftercare home that houses over 50 girls at a time.  She draws on her background in social work to train and advise the counselors at ARC.

 Alf’s job is to disciple the teenagers who lead the children’s programs in Svay Pak, a village that is internationally known for trafficking small children.  He can also be found doing outreach at the Lord’s Gym, working out with young pimps and drug runners, sharing Christ with them.

They will shine in this work. Please visit http://www.godsaidyes.org to learn more about their story. While you're there, please consider donating to help support the incredible work they're doing.You have the opportunity to partner with them in bringing sparkling light to Svay Pak. Thanks, friends... and remember, light wins.  

I am in my 40’s, and although you might think that my life here is half spent- I see it as half full… sort of like a glass, filled to the center, when the right person is looking at it. Seriously, I’m blessed beyond measure.  I have been given so much that is good, and right, and all of it undeserved. My parents have loved each other well and loved their children well. They taught us to love each other, but not to stop there.   I not only have four sweet boys… well, men now… of my own, but God added to their number by bringing us a few extras along the way… we don’t share DNA, and we have to share them, but we consider them ours none the less. They are brothers, all. Although there are  occasional squabbles or heartaches, my husband and I fell in love young and have stayed in love for over 30 years now… and things are looking good for at least another 30. I am working in the job I was made for. I’m a part of this beautiful, healthy community full of people following Jesus, called the Crossing. I have friends who would die for me. I have more than I ever would have dreamed of or expected.

And the thing is, there’s bad stuff in my life, too. I mean I have lived with chronic migraines, degenerative disc disease (and a great chiropractor, thank goodness), and an occasional cavity. I have fair freckled skin and red hair and probably have skin cancer to look forward to- if my chances of cancer rose with each blistering burn I had as a kid, I’m doomed.  I’ve lost people close to me to death, which always seems tragic, no matter their age. People in my family have suffered through loneliness, or cancer, or separation. Sometimes the cancer ended in death. Sometimes the separation ended in divorce.  Right now, things are calm and peaceful and I have much to be grateful for. But it will storm again, and things will hurt, and illness or death will strike me or someone I love dearly.   For this is the human condition.

Geez, when I see it in writing like that, I almost want to apologize for bringing you down…and  I feel like I should be depressed. But I’m not. And I think I know at least one of the secrets that prevent me from falling into that trap. I don’t think about that stuff much.  I mean, my back hurts and it’s hard to move well in the mornings. And chronic headaches are miserable, and they tend to come on me in the wee, small hours of the morning, when I’m least expecting them…nice wake-up call.  But, I power through. I like to think that it’s my power, but I know that it’s not. See that’s another secret.  I am empowered by the Holy Spirit to do what God wants me to do. Sound crazy? Look at this: Philippians 2: ¹³ “…for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.” 

I am grateful for the journey. I have known top of the mountain joy and dark pit sadness, and always my God has been with me. When I am rejoicing, it is because He has declared joy as a part of my plan. If I am mourning, He is there with me, whispering in my ear (my gut, really), teaching me as I go. The contrasts make life stunning.

Scripture tells us that ‘in this world, we will have trouble’ (John 16:32) and boy, is that true.  But I can’t help but think that if we focus on our joys, if we remember the good things constantly, if we develop an attitude of humble gratitude for what He has given us, then we can see the glass half full, instead of half empty. It’s the same glass of milk, after all, either way you look at it. I know it’s all about perspective, but I can tell you this for certain- the people who see the abundance will always be happier and more at peace than those who see the shortage.

And maybe, just maybe, people can change perspective.  I know a lot of folks who say that people don’t change… their basic natures always stay the same; but I don’t believe that.  Oh, I don’t think that we have the power to change that drastically on our own. Here’s where I find my hope. “This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!” (2Cor. 17).  I’m pretty sure that means that we change… that He changes us.  

So, with God’s help, maybe we are not destined to always see the glass the same way. Maybe we can adjust our perspective to see what we have in our glass… and hope for some cookies to go with it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how God teaches us…or maybe just how He teaches me specifically, and this is just one example of how He speaks to me through the most ordinary stuff of life.

So, my friend Stu gave me some eggs, straight from his own chickens.  By 'straight from the chickens' I mean straight from the chickens. They are a little dirty, with shells in a variety of colors ranging from brown to pale greens and blues.  They vary in size, depending on the particular chicken that laid them.  And they’re dirty. Did I mention that?  You see, Stu, while generous in giving them away, doesn’t do a lot of clean up on them first. Oh, I’m sure he does a quick brush off, but they come to me with a bit of straw, chicken poop and mud on them.  No big deal. I just wash ‘em up when I get home with some anti-bacterial soap and stick them in the fridge. My 19 year old son thinks they’re gross, as if they’re different from the sterile white eggs we get at the grocery store.  I like to surprise him with the origin of what he’s eaten just after he takes his first scrumptious bite or two.  I know. Not nice.

So, I was cracking open some of these eggs (to surprise my son, teehee), and I’m looking at this gooey mass going into the bowl and I thought to myself “Who was the first daring soul to eat this?” I mean, who, knowing where this thing came from, thought ‘geeze, maybe it’ll taste good… think I’ll try it’? And my mind goes to the garden… way back in the beginning… when God walked with us (humankind)  and talked with us in perfect community, and how, even though things changed with the advent of sin, he still does that, if we let him. I pictured Adam… and a chicken... and God whispering ‘go ahead, it’ll be good, and it’s full of nutrition’ and Adam, without fear or doubt, cracking the egg and sucking down the contents, a bit of bright yellow yolk sliding down his chin. Weird, but, well…I don’t know, how do you think it happened? Because I’m pretty certain that without specific instruction from God Himself, I would have been too chicken to be the first to ingest an egg.  Turns out that God knew what He was talking about…eggs are delicious and healthy.  I prefer mine cooked, but still…

Sometimes it seems that God asks us to do ridiculous things, things that don’t make sense to me at all.  And then I have this decision to make. Trust Him? Or do my own thing?  Sometimes He asks me to do something like pray for my enemies... or to stop keeping track of the times people hurt me.  He says I should put others before myself. He says that it’s better to give than to receive.  He says I have to forgive if I want to be forgiven.  He even says that if I want to save my life, I’ll need to let it go… that if I want to really live, first I have to die. My brain says that’s poppycock.  But my experiences say that this way of living works. When I live this way, I live more fully. Even though, like the egg in my story, it is sometimes distasteful to swallow, the reality is that it’s good for me. It builds me up. It nourishes my soul. I am better and happier for having believed God over myself.

I’m not sure why His design for me includes that initial gut reaction to go my own way, that I have to overcome every single day, but I think it boils down to me, trusting Him. When my kids were small, I had to convince them to do so many of the things that were beneficial to them, and to resist the things which on the surface looked appealing, but that I knew would lead to negative consequences for them- like their teeth rotting out, for instance.  They didn’t know that I wanted to help them to have the best life possible. They didn’t know that I didn’t just want to spoil their fun.  How could they know that I had knowledge that was bigger than theirs?  I had a view that they couldn’t see. I could see the big picture, when all they had was a snapshot.  Sometimes, they trusted, and I was able to rescue them. But other times they didn’t trust, and I had to watch them suffer some consequences, and hope that they learned from the experience.  And that’s always a heartbreaker.  

I feel like it is that way between us and God. He knows it all. We don’t. He has this view that we can’t possible have. I see the pretty fruit dangling from the tree and I want to eat it. He knows that it is poison.  I see the snapshot, with white bordered edges, but He sees the whole panoramic view spread out in front of me.  1Cor. 13:12 says this ‘We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist.’  I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stay lost in the fog. I want guidance from the one with the clear view and the only one who has that is our Father, God. 

That scripture goes on to say ‘… it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing Him directly just as He knows us!’

Meanwhile, until we have that complete picture, here is what He asks us to do. ‘Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, and love extravagantly’…. Whether or not it’s easy… whether or not we understand it… even though it often times seems distasteful or messy.  Our Father doesn’t just want to spoil our fun. His heart is broken when we choose to go our own way and have to suffer consequences.  God wants us to have the best life possible- the life He planned for us before we were even conceived… and if we will trust Him, He will lead us into that. I just hope I don’t have to eat anything yucky. 

I was asked a question recently about whether or not the things we do here on earth really matter. In other words, if we are made for eternity, why bother with this human existence? What is the purpose of our time here on earth? And if you don’t believe you were made for eternity, the question seems bigger still. What is the point?  My answer, and I believe this with my whole being, was that things do matter… that we begin eternity here, in this life, in this world…and that this is just the first stage of our spiritual development.  But still, the question has stuck with me, and I keep rolling it around in the back of my brain, hoping something more will take shape.

So, I was driving to work one morning, and as is my usual habit, I left the radio off, so that I could better sense God’s presence and maybe hear His voice as I started my day.  As I’m driving along, I see a dog meandering toward the shoulder of the rode, hot on the trail of something, and oblivious to the cars flying past. Now, my route to work takes me along a two lane road with a speed limit of 50mph- very dangerous for animals, as proven by the fresh crop of road kill every morning.  So I see this dog and I say to God “Please don’t let that dog stray out onto this busy highway.” To which my brain responds “That is just silly.” To which another voice (God’s) responds “…not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.” “Oh.” (That would be my voice in my brain… my usual brilliant response when He speaks.)

I wondered to myself why God cares about a sparrow, or a dog, for that matter. And why do we humans feel the loss of an animal, some so deeply, most at least a bit?  I have a friend who can’t stand to see road kill, and who, I’ve been told, cried inconsolably during a recent movie about a dog and its owners.  Why? Is that just weird, or is that the way we all should be or what?

And then that thing that had been rolling around in the back of my brain began to take shape. Could it be that we humans care about animals because God cares, and if we are made in his image, He built that into us, to set up a picture of something bigger that He wants us to learn? Maybe, in order to teach us that life here is of value, He gives us this example, because we are so dense sometimes that we require detailed, full color pictures (or, at least I do).  I wonder if that’s why I was concerned for the dog on the side road wandering toward traffic.  Because God is teaching me, constantly, that there is a reason for the life we lead here… that He created the dog, even if its purpose is just to make some people happy for a while or to chase rabbit trails... that He cares about sparrows because He created them to fulfill a specific role in our world, and because our world is more beautiful for their song… that He doesn’t create anything carelessly, and that each of us has a specific purpose and plan.  If a couple of small critters matter, than we human souls and the things we do and say and believe should count for something infinitely and even eternally bigger than this world. Maybe He wants us to know that the things we do matter now and will matter later on, here...or there, in heaven, and maybe the things we are learning, every act of kindness or unkindness, the struggles that we have to fight through, the pain that is sometimes so palpable that it brings us to our knees, and the joys, both big and small that should, in reality also bring us to our knees, will be put to some great use in the next stage of our eternity.  

I wonder if our lives here are sort of the larval stage of our souls, and if death is the final bursting through the walls of our own personal cocoons, into a far greater life that we can’t even begin to imagine, one where we get to really stretch our wings and fly.  

I remember once watching a video of a butterfly, who’d been assisted by some good natured but ill-informed critter lover, out of its cocoon so as to spare the creature the struggle and hard work of it escaping for itself.  As the cocoon was opened and the orange and black butterfly emerged, it quickly became apparent that something was wrong. The wings of the doomed butterfly were crinkled and puny and underdeveloped and, in the end, though the color was still vibrant and lovely, useless.

I wonder if that’s why, even when we cry out, He doesn’t always rescue us… because we need the struggle… for now, but especially for later.  Maybe the struggle is necessary. Maybe, in this stage of our eternity, we are building muscle, spiritual muscle, that will be essential for the work we (our soul selves) will do after we emerge from the walls of our earthly, larval existence, where we are confined by fleshy walls and unable to really stretch our wings.  If so, then the scripture that says ‘Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything…’ (James 1:4) makes a lot more sense to me. 

To quote my buddy CS Lewis, “If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.“   I can’t totally understand what this struggle leads to, any more than a caterpillar understands that on the other side of his mummified cocooned existence there is flight.  But I have an advantage the caterpillar doesn’t. I have God’s word on it.  And that’s enough for me.

P.S. If I'd had my radio on that morning.... That dog and everything else would most likely have gone unnoticed. 

My friend and co-worker, Kim, just announced her resignation from the church where we both work, which brought, for me, a jumble of mixed up emotions that may never be completely untangled. The multiplicity of reactions for me, personally, as well as represented throughout our lunch room on the day she announced her news was really interesting.  For instance, some of us were teary, some quietly sad, some excited for her new gig. There were downcast eyes, laughter, sighs and cheers. Being my often confused self, I experienced all of the above.  Now, I could understand the quiet sadness and the dewy eyes, but laughter and excitement seemed at the very least, a little bit inappropriate.  My friend has been a fixture here for quite a while, and she is someone who has quietly provided a long-echoing gracious influence in the organization. She has many, many friends and a ton of people just admire the heck out of her, me being first and foremost of that crowd, and I’m going to miss her terribly.

So, seeing as I had all of those aforementioned emotions going on, and only understood a few of them fully, I thought I should, you know, just pick up the confusing ones and turn them over a bit to try to see where they came from.  For starters, I wasn’t as sad as I thought maybe I should be. I mean I really love this girl, and I will miss her a ton. So, why wasn’t I sadder? And, how to explain my excitement at being told that my friend would no longer be an everyday presence in my life, but would be going to work for a different organization across town?  We’ve partnered closely on quite a few projects, and to be perfectly truthful, I’ve relied on her heavily. This changed things significantly for me.  Not to mention that I don’t like change all that much, and I don’t want to work without her.  It’s just not the same.

As I silently pondered my thoughts and reactions, a word emerged from the dark recesses of my brain… which isn’t that big of a deal, since there are quite a few dark recesses in there, and sometimes, much to my surprise, things occasionally do emerge. The word was eternity.

 Eternity.  The word just sort of lay there…at first a little murky, but slowly taking focus.

Eternity –ernity-ernity… (insert echoes, like in the Calvin Klein cologne commercial). Eternal- it’s a big word, full of weight.  Eternal- it sort of glimmers, throwing off something like the heat waves you see on a hot highway in the middle of summer. At least that’s how the picture took shape in my imagination.

What do I know about eternal?  Not much. I know it means forever. I’ve been taught, and I believe that God is eternal- with no beginning and no end.  I believe that as a follower of Jesus, I’ve entered a life that is now eternal.  One definition that comes up on dictionary.com is “existing outside all relations of time; not subject to change.”  Not subject to change… now we’re getting somewhere! Remember- not a big fan of change.

So, if life goes on eternally, way further than we know or can comprehend, and I’m a part of that…, well, I and everyone else who’s entered into that Christ-following life is sticking around for the whole ballgame, too! And that’s incredibly exciting... because I’m pretty certain that heaven is not about sitting on clouds by ourselves, plucking guilded harps.  I’m pretty certain that the Creator who designed us, the One who knows exactly what lights our fire, the eternal God who loves us infinitely and has seeded  all of our passions, our likes, dislikes and desires has spoken into existence a world full of adventure and story and wonder and astonishment for His children to enjoy forever. 

What this means is that the sorrow I might feel at living far away from loved ones is limited now by the knowledge that we have eternity- with zero time restrictions- to spend together, loving each other, chatting, enjoying the mere fact that we’re in each other’s company.  It means that my friend and I, though not working in the same place for the time being, are not finished working and playing together. We’re still partnering in ways tangible and not so tangible to enhance things in the here and now, and to expand the numbers of that bunch that will walk into eternity with us… where we’ll all continue on the journey together… which totally explains my excitement.

But wait a minute- what about that bunch that goes with us? What of our friends who haven’t entered into that eternal life that’s waiting for them… the ones that don’t know Jesus? Will all of them be with us? Can all of them come with us? How do we make that happen?

For me, at least, eternity is a complete and total game changer.  I want everyone to get to enjoy the adventure that awaits us after this one is finished…when it’s time for us to exit this particular scene.  I want to invite all of the folks in my life into this mind-blowing, life altering awareness of eternity and eternal life, and I want them to join in the story and invite their friends, too.

Eternity changes everything for me.  Mostly we know that “door-to-door salesmanship” evangelism doesn’t work anyway.  But the “people as projects” and “score keeping” evangelism has got to go, as well.  The old “my religion is better than your religion” tactics fall ridiculously short of what happens inside my heart in the brilliant light of eternity.  The news is just too good to keep to myself.

I want to issue an engraved invitation to my friends, complete with swirly metallic letters and mind-bogglingly simple, mapquested directions on how to get there.  I want to send “evites” to everyone on my e-mail list to let them know that a party is happening, and that I’d love nothing better than for them to join us and invite their friends, if only they would say yes and Respond, already, S’il vous plait!

And I want them to know that the party won’t be the same without them…that it’s so important to me that they are there- that nothing would make me happier than to share the celebration with them…. that the host has made all the arrangements and is just waiting for their RSVP… and that the table that’s been set has been set to include them… and that this is about forever… about eternity… and that changes everything! 

Want to know a secret? I don’t tell many people, but I think I can trust you with it. I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately, material by someone who’s a really deep thinker and writes on the topic of spirituality. It’s some good stuff… interesting and thought provoking. Some of it makes me have to really work to get the point, learn the lesson, or see the moral of the story. And I think that’s a good process. I’m not one to resist exercising my brain… my abs maybe… not my brain. But here’s the thing.  A lot of the answers to the questions that this particular author and others have struggled with seem really simple to me.

Now, I know I’m no intellectual giant, and this isn’t a brag blog. Really.  In fact, my secret… the one I don’t tell too many people… is that I’m not sure if I am the deep thinker I used to think I was. I mean, I don’t question some of the things that I think I’m supposed to have questioned. I don’t spend a bunch of time pondering the gray areas of theological and scriptural debate. I don’t question a person’s motives until I’m given reason to.  I don’t feel compelled to find absolute proof of the existence of God before trusting Him.  

 And I’m not sure why this is true, but it is. I’m not saying I’ve “checked my brain at the door.”  I do like to learn new things, read about history, strategize for the future, observe the world around me and come to conclusions for myself. It’s just that some things seem so obvious.

What I’m trying to figure out is whether or not this is a good thing or a bad thing.  See, I have a lot of peace in my life, and I think it’s because, where the big things in life are concerned, I just believe that there’s a much bigger picture out there that I can’t see, and that there is a God,  infinitely bigger than me, who has it all under control.

For instance, take the idea of the very existence of God.   I know God exists because I see Him everywhere. I see His fingerprints all over the place.  It’s so obvious to me that to doubt would seem, well… silly.  I mean the miracle of a newborn baby… to imagine that all of that, that… masterpiece evolved over millions of years; one minuscule change at a time… is ridiculous. Why, there’s no point for most of our organs to exist in part. Only when they are complete do they work.  Why do we have male and female sex parts, if they developed over millions of years and weren’t of any use until both genders had completely “evolved”?  I don’t get it, and it seems silly. Wouldn’t asexual reproduction have been the more practical route? There may be some who’d debate the point, and maybe they’d be able to back it up with the latest greatest in Darwinian research, but really. Come on.  You’ve got to admit, it seems silly.

How about the fact that laughter, and play, and human connectedness lead to longer and healthier life? To what point did we develop these practices, if survival of the fittest is so? Those seem to be more along the lines of hindrance.  Oh, there I go thinking again.

Have you looked at the stars in the night sky? Have you thought about the way that pigeons just know their way home, from hundreds of miles away, with no previous experience (heck, I can’t find my way home from downtown without my GPS!)? Have you seen the way a husband sacrifices for a wife that he cherishes? Have you watched good friends work through a conflict and come out closer on the other side? Have you fallen in love with a child not your own? Have you seen loved ones gather close in tragedy to draw strength from each other? Have you looked into a dear one’s eyes and thought to yourself “Why me? Why am I so lucky to have this person in my life?”

This isn’t what I sat down to write about at all. Well, maybe I do think deeply about some things.  I guess my questions just tend to go in a different direction….a direction that recognizes that life is more than what we see and understand; that there are miracles everywhere; that God can be found, simply, if we just look with our hearts wide open.

Mark 10:15 says "I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn't receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it." When we read the phrase "kingdom of God" we need to realize that the "kingdom of God" isn't about some far off, distant place. As a follower of Jesus, I don't "enter the kingdom" in my afterlife. I enter now. Today.  What the phrase actually communicates is God's "reign"- which is here and now, because of the ministry of Jesus' atoning death on the cross, and his death-conquering resurrection, I get to live with God as my father, and I as His beloved child.  If I want to place myself under His reign, I'll need to receive Him like a child... without doubt or question; with a trusting heart for my Father who loves me. 

Psalm 116:6 says it just this simply: "The Lord protects those of childlike faith." So, as for me, I’ll keep questioning what’s questionable. I’ll keep pondering what I know and don’t know. But I’ll keep believing… because, well, it doesn’t make sense not to. 

We started our trip with a 7:00am phone call, informing us that we were facing a delay in departure due to some unforeseen issues with our rental vans. Not a great way to start out, but what seemed like a major problem to us turned out to be no challenge at all for God, and we got where we needed to when we needed to be there. 

We had administrative curve balls besetting us all the time, causing us to readjust transportation plans and teams constantly. Complaints? Nope. 

We had 90+++ degree weather and super high humidity bringing heat indexes topping 110 (thank you, St. Louis) all week long, and most of our work was outside. Whining? None. 

We had 4'ish showers available to our 64 person group, when we thought that we had 20 arranged. Problematic? I thought it would be, but was proven wrong. 

We had a couple of kids get sick and have to go home... but came back for more as soon as they were allowed instead of understandably taking the opportunity to opt out for the rest of the week to recuperate. Unbelievable. 

A few of us ended up mulching a playground in the heat instead of tutoring small children in the air-conditioning. Some ended up cleaning and painting instead of helping out on a farm that benefits refugees, or working inside where they'd been originally scheduled. 

We had bug bites and sunburns. We were thirsty. We got bad directions. We had some glares from folks who didn't understand our motives.

And we had... a blast. How does that work? How do these kids and adults give up a week of their summer vacation, or in the case of our adults, a week of their precious vacation time, or a week of time off with no pay, to do this, and at the end of the week say it was one of the best of their lives??? It just doesn't make sense. But, I understand, because I was there. 

See, there's this scriptural principle, a law of opposites, if you will. It teaches that if we lay down our lives, we get life. If we give away, we get more. If we die, then we live. Check this out: Matt. 10:39 says "If you try to save your life, you will lose it. But if you give it up for me, you will surely find it." Or, how about what John says in chapter 12:23-25 "... anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you'll have it forever, real and eternal."?  Now, in my human brain, this does not compute. It just doesn't. I want to hang on to my life. I want to call my own shots. I want to grasp and keep and get more for me and mine. I want to live, not die. I want to hold on, not surrender.  But this principle, that seems to make no sense at all, works every time. 

What we learned- what I got to watch some really young kids learn and what I got to learn again, is that when I lay my life down, and choose the life that God has for me, the life of giving and loving and sacrifice and humility, I get so much more back than I ever gave.  Because this principle works, our group didn't come back feeling how you'd expect us to feel after that kind of week. They came back feeling energized...motivated...rewarded...loved...accepted...valuable...necessary...capable...strong... good...and alive in a way that transcends physical life. How do I know? Well, first of all, I'm one of them and that's how I feel. Secondly, they've told me. And if you were friends with any of them on Facebook or if you subscribe to their tweets, they're telling the rest of the world, too.

You see, our designer knows what satisfies us. He created us to do good work. In fact, the scriptures even tell us that He even prepared the good work that each of us is supposed to do, before we were born. God knows what our souls need. The "body" stuff is just so obvious and demanding that it distracts us sometimes, so much that we forget to nourish our souls with what is truly satisfying.  C.S. Lewis says this "You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body." If we could start to see ourselves this way, as souls primarily, we may be able to let go of some of those pressing "needs" of our bodies. We could begin to replace our "need" for comfort with contentment; our "need" for the best food and drink with the sweet experience of sharing a simple meal in the company people we love; our "need" for plenty and convenience with an abiding attitude of gratefulness; our"need" for constant intellectual stimulation with a childlike faith; our "need" for the absolute best music played on the absolute latest technological gadget with joyful unplugged singing among friends; our need for the latest fashion trends with the quietly beautiful glow of sincere and unforced humility; our "need" for admiration and success for ourselves with an extravagant love for others.  Maybe then, we can begin to understand this principle that doesn't make earthly sense. Maybe then, we'll start to remember that earthly = temporary, and realize that our biggest investments of time, energy and resources and, indeed our lives, should be in things that are eternal. When we start to satisfy our desire for God, by giving our lives away and choosing His, we begin to experience real satisfaction.   

Matt. 6:31-33 puts it this way; "What I'm trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving. People who don't know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don't worry about missing out. You'll find all your everyday human concerns will be met."

It really works. If you don't believe me, ask someone else who's trying it, or better yet, try it yourself. 

It's extravagant. It'll cost you, well... your life, but I promise you, His life is so infinitely, eternally sweeter that you won't even miss the old one. 

Reconcile:

1.     To win over to friendliness; cause to become amicable

2.     to compose or settle

3.     to bring into agreement or harmony; make compatible or consistent

So, I have this undesirable way of finding myself in the middle of conflict.  I’m not a part of the conflict, mind you, just in the middle of it.  I seem to have a calming effect on others (I wish I could insert “exciting” or “dynamic” or some other word in here besides “calming” but I guess that’s not my usual role), and so I get asked, a lot, to mediate disputes, talk sense into people etc., and I almost always hate it. But I seem to have some little bit of success there, maybe because I hate the conflict so much,  so I keep finding myself right back there, stuck in the middle, clowns to the left of me,  jokers to the right…. you get the picture.

See, there’s conflict everywhere. We live in this broken world where people argue and fight, keep score, don’t want to rub elbows with someone with a different world view or opinion, and just generally don’t get along. We see it all around us, in governments, in marriages, adults and kids alike, and most tragically, we see it in the Church. Just consider the sheer number of Christian denominations and I think you’ll have to admit that the Church has conflict. We have this awesome gift of reconciliation, and yet we can’t seem to agree on exactly how it works, and since we can’t agree, we can’t be one.

I just spent a weekend on a farm… Yes- a literal farm... with a whole bunch of teenagers… yes- a whole bunch. The event is an annual campout, focused on racial reconciliation. We invite a bunch of the teens from our church youth group, and a bunch from an inner-city ministry (read “white suburban/ black city). Our kids go into the city for a day and work on a job training program that teaches tuck pointing and brick repair with the city kids, who do this work for real. Then the whole group –including a bunch of adult staff (mostly volunteer) comes way out into the countryside to this farm to spend the weekend camping, swimming, fishing and playing together.  This is something new for most of them.  It’s hot and sweaty, flies are biting, tent camping is hard, and we don’t all know each other very well, so there’s that awkwardness, too. But, it is awesome fun, and we get over the hard stuff pretty quickly and settle into the groove, cease caring about our looks, and jump into the spirit of the weekend as easily as we jump into the pool (there did happen to be a really great pool at the farm). These kids and the staff are superstars, in my book. They don’t even blink at the hard stuff. They make reconciliation seem easy.

Of course, as it is the underlying theme of the weekend, I was thinking about this whole “reconciliation” thing. Why is it so hard for us to be reconciled to each other? What is in us that makes us want to separate in the first place? How did we get here, to this place where we have to get away for a weekend with each other to see that we’re not so different? Why are there assumed differences based on the particular shade of the package we come in?

And it’s so much more than that. We separate ourselves by money, intelligence, religiosity, politics, even down to the schools and neighborhoods we come from. There’s just this innate instinctive impulse to magnify our differences and circle our wagons accordingly. 

Ironically, I think maybe it boils down to our desire to be reconciled to something… to someone. So, if I am not like them, then I’ll find the people I am like, so that I can group up with them and have community, even if that community  is fractured and full of flaws.

So, I watched these kids settle in, get to know each other, start to recognize their “sameness.”  One of the leaders talked about the commitment it takes to actually succeed at reconciliation. True. It does take that. But with all of our efforts and all of our talk, I know that it takes more.  I know there’s a key that levels the playing field and where we are all the same, and it is this; that God loves us. He created each of us uniquely.  He led this movement of reconciliation, while we were still separated from Him by sin, by coming to earth as one of us- becoming the same as us- experiencing our experiences, feeling our joy, grieving our losses, bearing our hardships and ultimately giving His life for us in sacrifice so that we and His Father could be one, as He and His Father are one, and so that we might be one with each other.

Check out this verse from 2 Cor. 5:16-20 (Mssg) "Because of this decision we don't eveluate people by what they have or how they look. We looked at the Messiah that way once and got it all wrong, as you know. We certainly don't look at him that way anymore. Now we look inside, and we what we see is that anyone united with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new. The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! Look at it! All this comes from the God who settled the relationship between us and him, and then called us to settle our relationships with each other. God put the world square with himself through the Messiah, giving the world a fresh start by offering forgiveness of sins. God has given us the talk of telling everyone what he is doing.  We're Christ's representatives. God uses us to persuade men and women to drop their differences and enter into God's work of making things right between them. We're speaking for Christ himself now: Become friends with God; he's already a friend with you." 

Oneness is important to God. It's crucial that we be reconciled to Him. But once we are reconciled to Him, we have a mission. Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to tell others that oneness with God is now reachable through Jesus. And not only that, but that oneness with each other is essential. That we're supposed to lay aside differences and love each other; to team up in our efforts to make the world a better place; to bring the world and its people into harmony with God and with each other.  And He's made all of that possible through Jesus. That's good news! That's THE good news! 

Hey, everyone! There's a way to be one with God! His name is Jesus, and He's made a way for you to get there! It doesn't matter where you are now or what your particular mess is, HE LOVES YOU AND WANTS YOU!

Hey, Christians, are you reconciled to each other? Are you one with people who don't agree with you on the finer points of theology? Are you reaching into other denominations, races and cultures, socio-economic spheres, political parties, and cool-factors to be one with those who are so not like you, and yet are just like you- made one with God through grace alone?

C.S. Lewis said "You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body." What if we stopped noticing differences so much and started magnifying our sameness? What if we really saw each other as "all in the same boat?" If we could start seeing each other as souls, whether redeemed by Christ or still in need of His grace, instead of bodies with brains and skin and opinions and egos and pride and fears and annoying voices or lacking in fashion sense, I think we'd be so much better at this reconciliation thing. I know I would. And I want to be better at it. 

"God has given us the task of telling everyone what he is doing. We're Christ's representatives. God uses us to persuade men and women to drop their differences and enter into God's work of making things right between them."

I accept. 

I think I should be more like a Cottonwood seed. You know the ones? They look like little feathery cotton balls that float by on the breezes of late spring and early summer. They enter your line of sight, floating by on a horizontal path, then hit an updraft and shoot skyward, only to gently float back down again, never clear on where they’ll land, just allowing themselves to be carried by the wind.  Mostly, we don’t even notice them.  I assume, eventually, some of them touch ground, and if the conditions are right, take root to grow up into Cottonwood trees.

For me, they bring back memories of childhood and swimming and lazy sun-filled afternoons when I didn’t fully appreciate that I had 3 months of no schedule. There was a massive, sprawling Cottonwood in the little suburban yard next to ours, and I remember my dad getting aggravated at having to skim the seeds out of our little swimming pool all the time.

I know what the experts say on setting goals, making lists, being determined and having a plan. I know I’m supposed to do that, and that I’ll be more “successful” if I do. But then I read something like this little section of scripture from Matthew 6 and I wonder, is our “success” the same as God’s success? It seems an awful lot like we may be talking about two different things… like maybe His goals and ours may be vastly different.  

Matthew 6:26-34 says this: “Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that  are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith? So don’t worry about these things, saying, ‘What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear?’ These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need. So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

Or how about this gem from James 4:13-14, “Look here, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we are going to a certain town and will stay there a year. We will do business there and make a profit.” ¹⁴ How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.”?

Weird, huh? It’s such a foreign concept for us, in 2010, in America or anywhere, to take this literally. Really?  Don’t worry about food? Don’t worry about clothes?  Don’t worry, period? If we seek His kingdom and live well He’ll just give us what we need?  And, we’re not supposed to plan things as if we own our lives? Really?

I don’t believe it. My guess is that neither do you…Because, this is radical... Really radical. It could mess me up.

My life would absolutely look a bit- no, a lot different if I believed it. What about savings and retirement? What about looking current and trendy? What about not starving (though, I could probably make it on fat-stores for quite a while)? What about my kids and the folks who depend on me? What if I started making His kingdom my highest priority, instead of all of the other things that suck away my energies? Won’t everything else suffer?

What would happen if I was just a little bit less planned? … If I was more easily diverted from my goals, and able to see His goals for me? What would happen if, as my head is buried in my to-do list of any given day, and my phone happened to ring with the number of an old friend (or new) showing on the display, I didn’t screen it?  What if I let the breeze move me a bit in an unexpected direction because God might be there, instead of where I was intent on going? What if I planned my life a little less concretely, and allowed for an unexpected detour a little more often? Where might that take me? What if I really took a “Sabbath” on a regular basis and just exhaled stress and breathed in life? What if I was more like a cottonwood seed, willing to go where the wind takes me, even when it’s not where I had planned?

All through scripture, the spirit of God is described as “like a wind.”  I want to be Spirit-led. I want to go with the wind. I want to make His Kingdom my goal. I want to be pleasantly surprised at the way my story unfolds and to trust the author to write in the details, instead of hopelessly trying to arrange them myself, only to get knocked off course, because I was going the wrong way, and I wasn’t flexible enough for God to move me gently. I want to live in full recognition of the fact that I am human, weak, and flawed, so that I can let go and trust Him to step in and live fully through me. I want my only glory to be Him shining through me.

What would happen if I believed it? I’d like to find out. I'd like to be so consumed by seeking after His kingdom, that mine is the distraction, instead of the other way around.

I’m going to take some baby steps and see where He leads, because He’s the only one who knows the way the story ends, anyway. He's the only one who knows where the seed falls. He's the one who directs the wind. 

It is radical, and it might just mess me up, but let’s face it, I’m a mess already, and it’s ok.

Besides,   I love a good surprise. 

www.donmilleris.com/conference

<p>Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.</p>

It was sunny and gorgeous and spring, and I was at work particularly early, so I decided to take another walk - man, if you judged by this blog, you'd think I was always walking, which is untrue – and verified by the way that the numbers on my scale keep going up. But, I digress.

So, as I walked, I glanced down to the grassy area on my right and saw a small bird fluttering around. I walked over to it and stooped down. The sun went behind a cloud and I was reminded that spring where I live consists of a wide variety of temperatures, and regardless of the date on the calendar, it was still chilly. I cooed something in a soothing voice to the bird, like I expected an answer... something like "what happened to you?"in my best non-threatening, critter-loving voice. The little thing just looked at me, and allowed me to pick it up without protest. I looked it over... no visible damage. Hmmmm. The bird was weak. Really weak. He had to be afraid, but he was too weak to struggle. And then he went limp. Just unconscious, I hoped. I started walking again, carrying my little friend along. I whispered a silly little prayer, remembering the scripture that says that He knows when even one sparrow falls to the ground. I kept stroking the bird’s breast... birdie CPR. I held it warm in my hand, while the cool breeze continued to blow around us. I kept walking, holding the bird, hoping… hoping… stupidly still hoping… but after about a mile, I gave up hope. My feathered friend was dead. As a doornail. Whatever that means. I laid him down gently in the grass and, with a sigh, continued my walk.

And of course that was when I heard God's voice (no, not audibly). He said, "Chrissy, did you notice how easily you let that go and walked away? I know that you really truly cared about that little bird and wanted it to live, and yet, you eventually laid it down and walked away. Not so with Me. I never let go. Ever." Well yeah, but God you have the power to heal, to bring something back to life. You can actually do something.

Hold that thought. 

I have a bunch of kids whom I consider mine. They are ones that God has placed directly in my care, and I feel very responsible for their spiritual successes or failures. And to be truthful, it's not just kids. There are a few adults in the mix as well. But, as much as I like to “own” them, they really aren’t mine. I don’t hold any sway over them, and I can’t make them do anything. I don’t have any magic. I can’t be the Holy Spirit in their lives. Whether they live or die, spiritually speaking, is not in my hands. I know. Frustrating, right?  

 But God is not like me. God doesn’t have some that he’s more concerned with than others.  He loves each of us equally. He doesn't have a "special" group that He hovers over. He cares infinitely more about every one of us than I do my little bunch.  He desires intimate, constant relationship with each of us. He “owns” each of us, believers and non-believers, churched and unchurched, male, female, drug abusers, missionaries, gossipers, pastors, liars, young and old.  He is not like me. He doesn’t just help the ones who help themselves. He loves the helpless and strong alike. He never stops pursuing us, and never lets go of those who have surrendered their lives to Him. He is not like me… I get discouraged. I give up. Sometimes I walk away. He never does. 

And I was right about one thing, at least… I don’t have the power to heal- to bring something back to life. I don’t even really have any influence that hasn’t been given to me. But He does.

No, He is not like me. What a relief. 

I took a walk today. No place special, just down the road from where I work and back. It's pretty unpopulated, surrounded by a cornfield and a small regional airport. As I walked I was talking to God... praying, I guess you might say, but for me, it's become more conversation and less formal.

I work with teenagers, and I was focused on a few kids that I'm close with, grads this year, worrying a bit about their futures. Most are in in a good spot right now, and I'm praying that God will keep them close, but, in reality, I may not be able to keep them close, and in my arrogance, I wonder what will happen to them when they don't have me to keep them on the straight and narrow? I mean, as long as I can "hold their hands" I think they'll stay the course, but there are a lot of pitfalls out there, and who knows what will draw them as they grow up, move away, become independent adults (which is the goal, afterall, isn't it?). So, I worry, you know? 

As I walked, God drew my attention to the rather large population of red-winged black birds along the side of the road. We see them around our building a lot. Their musical distinctive songs can be heard as we come and go, so much so that most people don't even notice them. I, however, am one who takes much pleasure in small things like bird songs- my son calls me easily amused, and he's right- so I notice.  

To let you in on a little secret of mine, I've always been a bit of a bird nerd. I love them. As a little girl, I used to set box traps, baited with bread crumbs, in my back yard. Then I would hide behind a bush for hours to try to catch one, hoping to turn it into a pet. I didn't care which kind, just any. They're hard to catch though, let me tell you. I would prop a shoe box up with a stick, tie a long string to the stick and go to hide behind a bush, string in hand, ready to spring the trap. They would follow the trail of bread crumbs that I'd laid, closer and closer...as I'd tense up, ready to pull the string and bring the box down on top of the unsuspecting creature, one of two things might happen- the bird would either wander casually away, leaving me disappointed but still determined, or I would pull the string prematurely, and the falling box would scare all of the birds away for a good long time,  which is when I would usually give up and head to the kitchen for a PB&J. They'd always get soooo close, but with all of the hours I put into that pursuit, I never did catch one. I found out that the way to enjoy birds is to provide good habitat, to have trees and green space and put feeders in my yard, near the windows. The birds come in close then. They stick around. They seek me out if the feeder is empty. 

So, I'm walking and there's this marshy area, down the road and just over the fence. As I got closer I noticed these black birds got more and more numerous. It seems that the marshy quality of the land is the perfect habitat for these birds. Everything they needed for growth and health was there, in the marsh. They were just thriving. Singing. Feeding.  Pairing off. Nesting and making more little black bird families. They obviously wander away now and then, since we see them around our building, but I don't think they go too far, and I'm pretty sure that the marsh is home. 

And then, God reminded me... that He is quite capable of continuing to care for those that belong to Him, even without my enthusiastic assistance....that it's never been about me... and that these kids that concern me, they know how to find their way home. They've experienced a good and healthy community of followers of Jesus. They know where the good "food" is, where the necessary ingredients for good growth and health are. They belong to Him and He has placed something internal in them, a compass of sorts, which will lead the to exactly the right habitat for them. They may wander... and they may be tempted by a few traps... but God knows how to bring them home.... where there is food, where there is community, where they can stay healthy...where they are loved.  

Luke 12:6-7 says "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." 

I'm done worrying now. What was I thinking?! God's got this.  

This week, we took 30 kids and a handful of adults to the heart of St. Louis, to see if there were some things that we could do to address some needs in our own town. We stayed at a church, the beautiful and historic 3rd Baptist, across from the fabulous Fox. 3rd Baptist is beautiful, but we had no fancy digs there, just a clean 5th floor gym with a polished floor, a few break-out rooms, a lovely and hospitable staff... and a couple of showers (because you don't want to travel with a bunch of kids doing hard manual labor if they can't take showers). 

We did a whole bunch of stuff, everything from sorting canned goods to street cleaning. The kids worked really hard, and they did it with smiles on their faces.... which just goes to say how great these kids are. Because there were times when I had to talk myself through what we were doing, how we were accomplishing anything of lasting value, why picking up cigarette butts off the Bevo neighborhood streets helps refugees from other countries. Sometimes I'm not even sure. 

It's hard to connect those dots sometimes. One of the boys on the trip said to me "...but, don't you think people will just drop more cigarette butts on the street?" as if to say, "What's the point? It's hot, and we're dirty, and this lot will just be ugly again next week." True. How do you respond to that? 

An Iraqi client of Oasis Ministries told us his story. Within the space of one year, in Iraq, each son was kidnapped for ransom, and then the man himself was abducted, leaving his wife and sons panicked, trying to find a way, any way, to come up with more ransom money to rescue their dad/husband. Eventually, the ransom was paid, the prisoner set free, and they left their own country to come to America. He calls the Christain guy who runs Oasis Ministries his brother. The guy and his family are Muslim. We heard from a woman, a mother of two gorgeous children, from Burma. She is a Christian, and the persecution of Christians in her country was so horrible that she was forced to flee to some other place. She found herself in St. Louis. Yet a third story, etched in my brain, was that of a woman from Iran. She owns a restaurant that we visited in South City. She came to America in 1976, just before the Iran hostage crisis. Her also Iranian husband suddenly found himself jobless, a victim of his ethnicity, just a few weeks before their first child was born. Out of desperation, they started a restaurant. They figured if they had their own business, at least no one could fire them. The business isn't huge, but they've done OK.

At K-Life, we worked with a white guy who lives in a really rough neighborhood with his wife and children, hearing gunshots many a night outside their windows, because he knows that God wants him to reach kids there, and he can love them better if he lives where they live. And he's doing just that- loving them and reaching them. I wish you could've seen some of the faces at this soul food restaurant where we ate. They seemed grateful, but just a little mystified by our patronage- picture 6 white adults and 30 white kids, chattering and laughing, in a line 36 people long, thirty or so of those streaming out the door and along the sidewalk of this small place, located in an African-American neighborhood that most people try to avoid. 

So how does (A) picking up cigarette butts and broken glass on a Bevo neighborhood street, connect to (B) making any sort of lasting difference?

I don't know. I think for me, it's just about love. See, we've served in soup kitchens, too, and that was cool. You may not believe me, but it's not hard to muster up some mercy for the hungry faces that you look into, and once you have mercy, it's not much of a leap to love. And we've visited some widows, and worked with some immigrants. Again, easy to love.  

But love takes on so many forms, and God tells us to love extravagantly (I love that... love extravagantly!) What does that even mean?! Check out this definition of the word extravagant: spending much more than is necessary or wise, exceeding the bounds of reason, going beyond  what is deserved or justifiable. It's as if I'm so wealthy that I never have to worry about running out of money, and I can spend it like there's no tomorrow. 

When we follow Jesus,... when the Holy Spirit takes up residence within us, we have been given that kind of love; that "amount" of love. We should be full to overflowing, so that anyone around us is splashed by love. We can never run out, and the more we spend the more He continues to fill us. Can you imagine what our world would be like if Christ followers treated love like Americans treat water?... like it's inexpensive and plentiful and will never run out?

Seriously. If you follow Jesus, believe it or not, you are wealthy with love. Try spending love like you have so much of it that you can throw it around all over the place and never run short. Look around you and just notice. Even the smallest act can communicate love! Throw it at people... people like co-workers... or like your son, your mother-in-law, your bossy older sibling. Throw it at the annoying guy in your class and the chick who cut you off in traffic, or the girl who sings off-key with her ear-buds in. Try splashing it around to some of these organizations who are trying so hard to bring light into the areas in which they are located. There are so many ways they could use it. Try lavishing it on a neighborhood, smiling at the people, whether or not they look like you... seeing beyond the skin tones, suspicious looks or curious glances and into the world they inhabit. Notice the differences, but savor the sameness.  Pick up a few empty soda cans or some fast food trash or some cigarette butts.

I think that's what our kids did this week. Our little group loved people like we had plenty to spare. When we packed canned goods at Operation Food Search, we were loving the people running the place and the people who would eventually get the food. When we cleaned up trash in that Bevo neighborhood, we were loving the folks at Oasis Ministries, helping them to have a positive presence in the neighborhood, and as a result, helping them to even better love the refugees that they serve. When we ate at Mom's Kitchen, we brought them some good business, but we also pulled a brick from a wall that usually separates the white and black cultures in our city. When we painted walls at K-Life, we were loving both the staff that has sacrificed much to bring the Gospel into that neighborhood, and the kids and families that they've already begun to serve there. 

I guess what I'm saying is, well, if you haven't yet, you should try it. Just give it a shot. (A) really does connect to (B). I'm here to tell you that I saw a whole bunch of kids, (A) loving extravagantly, like they had more than they could ever use up... and if you ask them, I think you'll hear that they (B) got more than they gave. I know I did. And I'm ready to spend some more.