"Chapter 3 is Better": Lessons Learned from Our 3 Year Old

Last Sunday night our pastor was away so we were listening to a different preacher. Miss Lili was sitting next to me and offered a few comments along the way.

One of the first, and the one that made me laugh went like this:

Preacher: Jesus is eternal because He is God and God is eternal.

But he was talking kind of fast and Lili didn't hear him clearly because she leaned over to me and whispered fiercely, "Jesus is NOT a turtle!"

Guess those Baptist catechism questions are starting to pay off: at the very least she knows that Jesus is not a turtle.

The second thing she said during the sermon was when the preacher mentioned something like, "Which you can see in Chapter 4."

My daughter leaned over to me and - completely seriously - said, "Chapter 3 is better."

I laughed, of course, because what did this not-quite-4-year-old know about the book of the Bible the preacher was talking about and what those chapters contained?

Nothing.

Yet she was perfectly willing to state her opinion that one chapter was better than another. It was a funny moment and it made me smile, but then it made me think.

How often do we adults think something like this? How willing are we to state an opinion - possibly educated, possibly as uninformed as my 3 year old's - as an absolute fact?

I don't really watch any TV news any more (I get most of my news online these days) and one of the reasons was it felt like every news announcer, no matter which station, was saying the equivalent of "Chapter 3 is better."

Opinion, when you know it's opinion, is one thing. But when it's being stated as fact, that can be dangerous. What if the person stating their opinion as fact is as clueless as my three year old?

Miss Lili will grow up. She won't remember this sermon or the funny thing she said that Sunday night. I hope she'll learn to keep her opinions in their proper place, since what is funny in a preschooler is less so in an adult. (Please understand, I am definitely not saying all opinions are bad. I have quite a few myself. It's just that they need to be in subjection to facts and evidence, and, as far as spiritual matters are concerned, in submission to the guidance of the Holy Spirit and the Bible.)

And I hope I keep listening to the lessons my children are teaching.

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More Than a Feeling: INTJ Faith

Some people who have studied personality types rank INTJs as the least likely to believe in a Higher Power or be identified as religious.

I, a self-identified Christian and person who considers herself both deeply spiritual and religious, tried to reconcile this disconnect. What is different for or about me?

Before I start listing those things that come to mind, I want to say this upfront: Spiritual things are spiritually discerned. (1 Corinthians 2) Whatever else I say in this post, all spiritual awakenings are to the glory of God. They are the work of the Holy Spirit and no personality type can claim they are simply better at faith or spiritual things or that God chose them because they deserved it. No one gets to boast. (Ephesians 2)

That said, here are a few reasons I think my story might be different from other INTJs:

1. My pastor (for most of my life this has also been my dad) did not over-emphasize the emotional side of faith. Some of my fellow church members were more emotional than others, but it was not required as evidence of faith.

2. I was not raised in a raucous, rowdy religious tradition. Services were orderly. "Fellowship Time" (aka greet your neighbor, shake hands, or hug) was the most awkward section of a service. (And honestly, I still don't like it, even though I understand it better now.)

3. I was taught systematic theology from an early age. When I asked questions like, "But why do we believe this?" I was given thoughtful answers, by both my parents and youth leaders. "Just because we always have," was never the default answer. ("Just because" being probably the worst response you can give an INTJ on any question.)

4. I was taught apologetics. Josh McDowell. Henry Morris. Ravi Zacharias. Lee Strobel. The evidence for and against the historical Jesus was debated and discussed.

5. My love of reading was encouraged. When I was a teenager my dad loaned me all his Francis Schaeffer books. Later, as an adult, I picked up C.S. Lewis, G.K Chesterton and Dorothy Sayers, among others. Do I believe exactly like these great men and women? No, of course not. But they are evidence not just for a risen Christ, but that learned people can believe in God, a saving Christ, and spiritual things.

6. My habit of debating was encouraged instead of squashed by my first youth director. One interesting product of this: my favorite sparring partner was my future husband. And yes, I would argue a point I didn't believe to the death, just to win an argument. (Some things never change.)

7. Back to the Holy Spirit again. Faith is a mystery. We are incapable of coming to God on our own. In His grace and mercy, God saved me according to His own will and I am forever changed and grateful for this.

Frankly, I don't know how my fellow non-religious INTJs get through life. Life is hard. It's scary. It can be incredibly lonely.

INTJs are great at imagining an incredibly realistic horrible chain of events and bad at asking for help when it comes to pass. We respect and trust very few of our fellow humans. For this INTJ, the fact that I am NOT the ultimate authority or expert is a relief.

God made me. He saved me. He loves me (yes, "just as I am").

And because of that I will serve Him and praise Him and love Him and seek His glory, not because of a feeling I have but because it would be nonsensical if I didn't.

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Steel Helmets and Spiritual Armor

image source: Thru These Lines via Flikr

As I was reading in preparation for my list about World War 1 books, I came across an interesting anecdote. (I would tell you which book but I forgot to write it down. Note to self: your brain can not remember all the things you want it to. WRITE IT DOWN.)

When the Great War started, soldiers wore the soft caps they had been issued with their uniforms. No one in Britain or France was prepared for the new style of conflict, for how destructive it would be, with machine guns and trench warfare and snipers taking shots at your soldiers at all hours.

Obviously, they had to come up with a different solution, something that would actually protect a soldier's head. So, the steel helmet was born of necessity.

What happened after the steel helmets were introduced? Head injury numbers went...up.

I think if something like that happened in our military today the American Press would be screaming, "Get rid of the helmets! They cause head injuries!" Or something like that. Logic, of course, not being a strong point with our 24/7 media coverage of the "news".

Because there really is a simple reason why the injury numbers went up: wear a steel helmet, get shot, be injured and need medical attention.  Wear a soft cap, stick your head up over a trench side, be shot, die.

Do you walk through your spiritual life and think, why do all these bad things keep happening? I'm trying to do the right things, but I feel like I'm being attacked from every direction.

The Bible tells us that the spiritual life is a battle. Remember this passage?

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints, (Ephesians 6:10-18 ESV)

When you're not in the battle, you don't need armor. When you've been saved by God's grace, you are born into a battle. But sometimes we're not aware of that battle. Sometimes, and I think this makes sense if you're saved as a child, you haven't taken up arms in spiritual warfare yet. Life doesn't change, not outwardly, not significantly. There seems to be a time of, well, I don't know what to call it exactly, other than grace: Grace to learn and grow in the Lord, almost like a non-combatant.

Then you begin to reach maturity, both physical and spiritual, and you begin to be aware of the larger issues around you. The darkness the world contains can seem overwhelming. The life you imagined isn't quite working out. Getting along, even with fellow Christians, is harder than you thought it would be. The news is full of terrible things, both unspeakable evil and banal distractions from what really matters.

You remember how the Bible tells Christians to "put on the whole armor of God". So you try, with the Holy Spirit's help, to do that.

And you immediately take a shot to the head.

That, obviously, can be discouraging.

But what if, instead of giving up, or declaring the armor useless, what if we thought about what it means? What if we take these attacks as evidence that we are actually on the battlefield and that we are actually fighting against something so much larger than ourselves? What if the fact that we're injured but not destroyed means the armor is working the way its supposed to?

Don't give up when you've taken a hit. Don't assume you'll never do anything great for God because you're just so bad at this spiritual warfare thing.

You may simply be wearing your spiritual armor for the first time.

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What's So Special About Church Camp? Part 4

P - Camp is the chance to Prepare.

Camp is kind of a unique thing. There's a unique emphasis on spiritual things and doing the right thing. Sometimes it's easier to feel like a Christian at camp, surrounded by other Christian kids, or at least kids not exactly opposed to Christianity.

But that's not the way life is the rest of the year. We do our best to equip kids to face the real world. We teach a biblical worldview. Not just what we believe but why we believe it. Kids are not too young to learn apologetics.

Some kids need the time at camp to realize they don't need their phones every second of the day.

Some kids need camp to learn how to make friends with a new crowd of people.

Some kids need camp to learn how to lose gracefully.

Some kids need camp to see how they can push themselves and feel pleased by their efforts.

Some kids need to see what a godly man or woman act like, how they respond to difficulties or trouble.

Some kids need to be reminded that commitment to Christ is not just words we say, but a life to live.

Camp, done right, is a way to prepare a child for the other 51 weeks of the year.

Part 1: Choose
Part 2: Achieve
Part 3: Minister

What's So Special About Church Camp? Part 3

M - a chance to Minister.

Some children receive this benefit - a chance to minister to others - as well as the adults. A popular child will reach out and include a new kid. A child will sit with a hurt friend since she can't go on the hike. Someone will help a friend make her bunk before inspections. They'll work together on projects and during group activities.

But in spite of those things, this one is primarily why church camp is good for adults:

A chance to unplug (although maybe not as completely as we enforce this rule for the kids. Counselors with spouses back home have to check up every once in awhile)

A chance to learn patience.

A chance to sacrifice your own desires (MORE SLEEP!) for the good of others

A chance to benefit from truth, simply explained

The staff from our church does not pressure children to make a decision about Christ. We never - not ever - ask a child to pray after us or say some words.

We listen.

We teach.

We try to answer their questions (and children have a lot of questions) as best we can with the Bible.

And we pray, a lot.

We aren't trying to make a quota of professions of faith (real or imagined). Instead, we pray for the Holy Spirit to do what only He can do and awaken these young spirits to their need for a Savior. The joy of it is we get to be part of that.

Part 1: C is for Choose
Part 2: A is for Achieve

What's So Special About Church Camp? Part 2

What's so great about church camp?

A - A chance to Achieve.

Our camp has memory work, team competitions, personal challenges, sports, swimming, bunk inspections, board games, and challenges that stretch your creative muscles (design a flag, make a poster for your team, make up a song about your team, etc.)

No child excels at everything we do. Some children will not be recognized as the fastest runner or the neatest bunk. Some will stare at a creative assignment with blank faces. Some will breeze through their memory work and others will struggle. Some will be constantly surrounded by a group of buddies and others will take longer to warm up. Some will quickly grasp the rules of a new game and others will need two (or three, or more...) explanations. Some will sing enthusiastically in choir or act their hearts out in drama. Some will wish they could do craft every night.

Some children will be staying away from home for the first time, proving to themselves (and their parents) that they can do it.

For the staff, it's a chance to push ourselves. Play more games of dodgeball than we have in an entire year. Swim more. Stay up later and get up earlier. Supervise more meals, patch up more scrapes, remind more children about sunscreen, sing longer and louder, answer hard questions, pray more.

This is why everyone goes home happy and exhausted. You've achieved something - you worked hard and if God blesses, then lives have been changed.

Part 1: Choose.

What's So Special About Church Camp? - Part 1

This is our week our church sponsors for Juniors (roughly ages 7-12, although this year we've got some older kids along). We've grown up going to church camp and for the past 11 years my husband has directed our Junior Camp (and I get to be his sidekick).

Camp is stressful, a lot of work, occasionally frustrating, and somewhat expensive. But despite those things it's also worth more than it costs. This week I hope to share a few of the reasons why, using the letters C.A.M.P.

Today: Choose.

Camp is a week of choices for the kids and the adults.

There are the relatively easy questions for the kids:

• Cereal or hot breakfast?
• Save my money for snack bar tonight or have a feast this afternoon?
• Pick up my clothes or hope the bunk inspector won't notice?
• Play dodgeball (again) or Shark Tag?
• Swim or play a board game?

Then there are the slightly harder questions

• Will I follow the rules?
• Will I participate with a good attitude?
• Will I listen to the classes? And let others listen too?
• Will I include this girl I don't know in my group of friends?
• Will I try my best even if I don't receive an award?
• Will I be a good sport in dodgeball or will I resort to excuses? ("It didn't touch me, it touched my shirt!")
• Will I grumble about the "no cell phones, no electronic devices" rule or will I take this chance to really unplug and focus on other things?

And then there are the choices with eternal consequences:

• Will I ask questions about what it really means to follow Christ?
• Will I grow in my walk with Him?
• Will I give up a sin I've held onto?
• Will I really focus on the memory work so I can always remember it or will I rush through it to earn a prize?

The chances to make choices come often at camp. The results of bad choices are usually readily apparent. The good choices help make camp a joy.

The adults at camp have choices too:

• Will I be patient with these children even when it's a hot day and I only got five hours of sleep and I haven't had any coffee yet?
• Will I choose to find something to encourage in each child instead of a fault to correct?
• Will I lovingly, gracefully correct a child, if necessary, instead of snapping?
• Will I go to the pool even though it's a long walk and I don't really care about swimming?
• Will I referee yet another game of dodgeball even though some other counselor should really take a turn and I'm starting to feel put upon?

There are lots of choices to be made at camp, and some will have eternal consequences. That's reason number 1 why I think Church Camp is a great thing.

Did you attend camp as a kid? What choices did you make?

Home, Nostalgia, and Another World

My family moved from Indiana to Tennessee when I was four years old. The next 15 years of my life were spent in the humid plateau of Middle Tennessee (no "hills of Tennessee" there).

We went "home", to my parents' home city (Cincinnati), for a week or two in the Summer and a few days around Christmas. My grandparents lived (and continue to live) there. Their homes held endless fascination and comfort for me and I was always glad to visit. My cousins lived near one set of grandparents and we played together. I endured (mostly) gentle mocking of my "southern" accent, even though the folks in our Tennessee church claimed we talked (& acted) like "Yankees."

Since my parents homeschooled us, my siblings and I had no ties to the local schools. We didn't root for a particular high school football team. We didn't have ties to the local traditions or memories. Some of the food was strange. (Fried pork brains, anyone?) We were Cincinnati Reds fans surrounded by Atlanta Braves country.

I grew up there. I married there. I worked there.

I left there.

As a 19 year old young married woman, my husband and I moved to the city where my grandparents lived. My parents had already moved back the year before. I moved to a city I didn't know, even though I'd been born there. A visit or two a year does not make you a resident.

The traditions are not mine. The inside jokes don't make sense to me. I have no ties to the highschools or colleges. I homeschool my children so I have no deep affection for any particular school district. Some of the food is weird. (Goetta?) I am deeply ambivalent about football, but surrounded by cars that have "Who Dey?" stickers.

My husband and I have given birth to babies here, we've bought and sold houses, gone to Reds games and graduations, symphonies, theme parks, and playgrounds. We've voted on local issues and contacted our congressman. We've put down roots. I walk down our hallway to our kitchen and think, "I love our home."

But I stepped outside of our van on a muggy, Middle Tennessee May night and I could smell the fresh rain-washed scent I remember from my childhood. A few intrepid lightning bugs flashed a welcome.

"Hello! Remember when you kept a jar full of our ancestors in your room on Summer nights?"

I haven't lived there in 14 years. But that night I knew, deep down inside, this is home. The crickets were singing familiar songs. The air was heavy and soaking rain would have been a relief. Even the dirt - redder than you might think possible and dotted with limestone - is familiar.

I immediately remembered nights where my sisters and the kids across the street played endless games, even after the sun had gone down. We sat on top of the swing-set and laughed and dreamed about our futures, who we would marry and how many children we'd have. We caught lightning bugs. We made clubhouses. Generally confined to two good sized yards, we still had what can only be remembered as adventures.

And I remembered sitting on our front porch and talking about everything with my future husband on hazy summer nights. We left no current event or philosophical argument unturned. We were dreaming about what our life would be, who we would be. We never really discussed where we would live. It didn't seem to matter then.

Our home now may be 300 miles away, but part of my heart must stay behind whenever we make the drive back North.

That part of my heart skips on little girl spindly legs and hugs exuberantly. "Oh, you're back! Welcome home!" Every thing she says is prefaced, "Remember..."

There's obviously a spiritual application here, but I'm going to make it again: sometimes that longing for home is a longing for a place we've never been. We were made, as Lewis reminds us, for another world.

We love this earth, this home. We love the people around us. And yet there is always some piece missing. Maybe that bittersweet longing that rises up on a warm Summer night is a whisper, a reminder, "Remember. You were made for another world."

Meanwhile, living here on earth, I don't know how it's possible but I know this is true: Home may be where the heart is, but pieces of your heart can be left in more than one place.

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picture sources: author's own, Pinerest, Pinterest.

A Desire for the House of the Lord

Growing up as a PK (pastor's kid), I spent a lot of time at church: Sunday morning. Sunday night. Wednesday night. Tuesday night neighborhood outreach. Choir practice. VBS. Mission Conference (my favorite). Visitation. Ladies' meetings. Lock-ins. Bible study. Bible Institute classes. Banquets. Work days. Just because.

You name it, I was there.

The funny thing about it is not how often we were there but the fact that I liked being there. Not only for services, but just in the building. I knew every inch of the church building where I grew up (even the places I was probably not supposed to go). I preferred practicing the piano there: it sounded better. I liked to curl up with one of the old books in the library.

Fast-forward. Now I'm an adult. My husband is a preacher. We are STILL at a church building multiple times a week (though not the same one where I grew up). I STILL can't imagine missing a service. When I have to stay home with a sick kid (as I did last Wednesday), my entire week feels wrong.

Unfortunately, some of that is just habit. I rarely leave a service thinking, "I wish we could live here." (Yes, I occasionally wished that as a child.)

Worse than that, I rarely leave wishing, "I hope Heaven is kind of like that."

What's the problem? Well, yes, there are things our church could do better. There are some spiritual battles that have knocked down our church and we did not simply bounce back. There's a bad economy and the winter was long and an old church building requires constant upkeep and there are always things that could be improved.

But those aren't the real problem. The problem is...me. I am the problem.

I focus on the negative. I forget the joy of my salvation. I grow weary in well doing. I get discouraged by the illusion that the wicked are prospering. I begin to think that the Truth is not enough.

Maybe you struggle with this too. When you see the sentence, "My church would be better if__________," you have no trouble filling in the blank. If the music were just... If only the preacher would... If we didn't have so many services... If we were only together more often... If the Sunday School curriculum were... If we could just have small groups... If we had this instead...

Some "divine discontent" is a good thing. We should always be striving to improve in our Christian walk. The status quo isn't good enough in Christian life. We can love better. We can obey quicker. We can strive for excellence in our programs and services. We can fix our eyes on Jesus instead of the world or even another church.

But the number one way to work on the inadequacies - real or perceived - of my church is: letting the Holy Spirit work on me. That's what will enable me to walk out of a Sunday night service thinking, "You know what would be good? If Heaven is something like this."

Check out Psalm 27 to see the above verses in context. The entire thing is incredibly encouraging.

The Joy of Opening Day

Today is Opening Day in baseball world.

And despite cartoons like this:

We can still be friends if you had no idea and couldn't care less.

Not everyone is a baseball fan and that's OK. (The fact that everyone is not a Reds fan is a problem, but we'll deal with that another time.)

So, you're one of those "Opening Day for what?" people and you want to know why we care? Glad you asked:

1. Opening Day is a new start. No matter what your team did last year, on Opening Day you're undefeated.

2. Opening Day is a reminder of why you like the game. The energy is positive. The fans are happy. No one (well, almost no one) is complaining about the umps, the manager, the pitching staff, or that guy that should have stolen second.

3. Opening Day is a leveler. Even if your team won the world series last year, they have to start again this year.

 Now forgive me for getting all introspective on life, but there's a reason sports metaphors are so popular. (Don't worry, there won't be any math or sports trivia on this section of the quiz.)

Maybe last season in your life was rough. Maybe you struck out more than you connected. Maybe you warmed the bench, never quite figuring out your place. Maybe a teammate had more success than you, more accolades than you, or even just more fun playing the game.

This is why we have Opening Day. Last season, for better or worse, is in the record books. Spring Training is over and done. No more practice, no more hypotheticals. Now is the time. This is a new season and you can try again. Get off the bench. Aim for the thing you missed last year. Work harder. Enjoy it.

As long as you are on this earth, God is giving you a new season. The thing about life is, even if you messed up yesterday, you can try again today. You can declare, "Opening Day. Starting now."

Today is your Opening Day. Greet it with joy.
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Learning Lessons Taught By a Cat

So, one thing that came with the house we bought last December, is a cat. She's an outside cat, her name is Sam (Sammy, Sammy Kitty, Kitty, etc.), she's gentle and has so far been a fairly delightful pet.

One annoying thing: cat sounds at night.

Last night was one such night. The yowling (no way does "meow" begin to cover the sound) was becoming sustained and ridiculous. There are doors to our deck in our bedroom. Sam sleeps in a little house right outside our bedroom.

My thought process went something like this:

A. We have a cat that lives on our deck.
B. There are cat sounds coming from our deck.

If A & B are both true (they are), then our cat is being annoying.
Logical conclusion: yell at cat to knock it off.

So I opened the door and scolded our cat (I did not yell, because: neighbors.)

I believe I said something like this, in my sternest voice (and trust me, I can do stern): "Sammy! Knock it off!"

Then my silent cat jumped down from her perch on our deck furniture and ran over to me. And I noticed another furry body on our deck, with eyes gleaming at me in the darkness.

I had scolded the wrong cat.

Some cat that didn't belong on our deck was there, howling at our cat. Our cat, being the gentle and, it must be said, fraidy-cat  that she is, was avoiding this intruder. (And before you jump to another logical conclusion, let me assure you that our cat is "fixed" and no, there will not be any Sammy Babies running around our deck.)

Philip had to come help me encourage the intruding cat to leave the premises. (Hey, it was night time and I was ready for bed. I had only intended to scold a cat, not chase one.)

Now, 12+ years of parenting have prepared me to learn some humbling lessons from my children. This was one of the first instances of learning a lesson from my pet.

The logic was sound. The conclusion was valid.

And yet, I got it wrong. There was an unknown quantity, this time in the form of a rogue, unexpected feline.

But how often do I get it wrong in other, non-cat related ways? I'm an INTJ or ISTJ personality type. I like logic and order. (I also over-think everything, but that can be a positive if it sometimes results in a blogpost. Ahem.) I like conclusions and answers and certainty.

There's nothing wrong with that, necessarily. But it could become wrong. Because, alas, I do not know everything. I don't understand everyone's motivation. There are factors I haven't counted.

Lately, there have been some issues bugging me. They've nagged at my brain and taken up space. I've thought about them too much. I'm trying to wrestle out conclusions and, here's the part it's hard for me to accept: there may not be a logical conclusion to some of these issues. There may be an unexpected cat. Then there's the possibility that in some of these instances, my part might be the unexpected cat for other people involved.

I'm all for applying logic. I think our world would be greatly improved if some folks could engage their logical thinking skills and give their feelings (sing with me now: "FEEEEEEELIIIIIIINGS!") a break.

But maybe, in our dealings with each other, we can show grace. We can save the stern dressing down for later, or never. We can assume that there is something we don't know, something we don't see, something we haven't encountered before, and therefore proceed with the caution and kindness we hope others will show us.

I didn't exactly apologize to Sammy. She is, after all, a cat. But you can be sure I'll check next time before I start scolding her. There may just be another cat.

A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger. The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright: but the mouth of fools poureth out foolishness. Proverbs 15:1-2 KJV

Stretching Me

Our family of seven (SEVEN!) still fits in our mini-van. Barely.

Every seat is taken. When we go on a road trip we're packed like sardines in there. (Sample dialog: "No, that case goes under her feet, the pillows go by her.")

I'm sure you can imagine it. Tigger, being neither the oldest nor the youngest, and no longer requiring a car-seat or booster, well, she gets the middle of the back seat. This is probably the worst seat in the van. No window to herself, no cupholder, nowhere to lean her head.

Plus she has a younger sister on either side and at times they both want her attention. On our last trip to Tennessee for Thanksgiving, each sister was pulling the arm closest to her. Tigger tolerated it for a bit but she finally wailed, "They're stretching me!"

We made her sisters leave her alone and all was peaceful in the backseat again, at least momentarily.

But I, as I am wont to do, thought about what she said.

"They're stretching me."

And I realized that sometimes, that's what God is allowing to happen to me too.

Take my children, for instance. They need me. A Lot. There are meals and messes and library books and concerts and laundry and squabbles and diapers and hugges and kisses and band-aids and baths and...the list could go on for a while.

Here I am, at 32 years old. When I was younger I had ideas of Being Someone or at least Doing Something Big. Those ideas didn't usually involve people wiping their noses on my skirt or washing bowls caked with oatmeal at ten o'clock at night. Again.

But, as tired as I am and as long as the days are, I see how God gives me grace to stretch for those needs.

Then there are the realities of our life. I see a smaller than average income (for the U.S. standard of living) and a larger than average family. The numbers don't seem to work on paper.

And yet, every month, the miracle of all our needs, loads of our wants and even some things we hadn't imagined, are covered. The budget isn't the only thing that stretches when that happens.

Then there's our marriage. We've been married 14 1/2 years. We've been a couple for two and half years longer than that and we've known each other since 1985 (I was four, he was eight. Love at first sight? Probably not. But who's to say, since I can't remember that far back?). We know each other incredibly well.

And yet, there are times when we look at each other and think (or even say out loud): I can't believe you just did that. Do you love me / respect me / care about me / know me at all? Marriage is a stretching business.

Being a family is a stretching business. The to-do list grows longer. Nerves fray. Tempers flare. Tears fall.

Then we have to apologize (yes, we all do, even the parents. Especially the parents.). Sometimes we need to get more rest. We say "no" to outside things and settle down together to get through another tough season. We hug. We make-up. We put on happy music or quiet music or Miss Lili's favorite music so she can fall asleep. We try to say loving things, do loving things, think loving things, even if we don't feel them at the moment.

And I am stretched to be so much more than I had imagined. See, the good news about the stretching God does in my life is that I am not a rubber band that will eventually snap. I'm not even one of those creepy stretching toys where the arms eventually become hideous and deformed.

I am made to stretch. I am made to grow and change and mature. When I am allowing God to work that way in my life, I'm actually following His plan to become more like His Son and less like whatever limited vision I had of myself.

One of the great singer-songwriters of my parents' generation wrote a bittersweet song about grown-up life called Coming Around Again. I like the whole song but my favorite is the chorus where she sings, "Don't mind if I fall apart. There's more room in a broken heart."

OK, maybe it's cheesy. But that's really what it's like. Marriage and Motherhood will break your heart. They'll stretch you more than you thought possible. Then you find out there is more room in a heart broken by love for these people God has entrusted to you. You find out that you can stretch, yes, one more time, one more runny nose, one more sick child at two a.m., one more dropped bag of groceries, one more hurt feelings episode, one more dentist visit, one more temper tantrum.

Being stretched is God's way of making more of me than I would choose to be. God's refining process for His children is not always some Big Grand Thing That Must Be Done. Sometimes, many times, it's just getting up in the morning and doing what we're supposed to do, when we're supposed to do it, in the way He wants it done.

Are you being stretched too? Let's encourage each other.

This post is linked to Titus 2sday hosted by The Time-Warp Wife.

Excuse Note, Or: But I Have a Reason

We lived through another long day. A long day with many errands occasionally punctuated by fun. (Any errand running day with five children is a long day. I love my five but I'm not going to lie to you.)

Then the errands were over, the fun was complete (trip to the library, supper at Chick-Fil-A, just what the tired family ordered!). Home again.

Home where we could not just crash and sit and finish our Cherry Cokes with crushed ice from Chick-Fil-A (OK, that was just me. The kids had apple juice.), and read our new library books and just generally goof off.

Because, laundry. Because, dishes (from earlier in the day, not Chick-Fil-A). Because, chores.

These were accordingly done with varying levels of excellence and /or cheerfulness from the weary parents and the tired but not admitting it (and over-stimulated) children.

One child was not balking at doing the chores but she was not working quickly either. At a certain point (about fifteen minutes after the point where I was convinced the children needed to be in their room for bedtime already) one of my children was still out working on folding her clothes from her basket of laundry.

"Just take that to your room and finish it," I instructed, still working on a task (or two or three...) myself. She didn't move.

"There's more room out here," she said.

I was slow to react. It really had been a long day. But eventually my brain caught up.

"Maybe you didn't hear me," I said after a few long seconds, "I told you to take it to your room." I spoke slowly, I didn't yell.

She complied. (And, it must be pointed out, without whining, complaining, or crying, which is good.)

And then my husband and I talked about what had just happened. Well, first we did that thing where our eyes meet and we just shake our heads because we are in complete agreement with each other.

Maybe this would be a different story if she had asked, "Would it be OK for me to finish out here because there's more room?" Or even just, "Could I finish it here?"

Even then, the answer would still have been no. Philip and I were ready for the children to be in their room. End of story. But it would have been a lighter moment. Instead it felt heavy and important. Like I couldn't let her just ignore my instructions now because what about later? And has this been happening lately without my noticing?

"What made her think that disobedience was OK if she had a reason?" I asked my husband.

Boom.

This is what I do. This is me.

I think disobedience is OK because I have reasons. Oh boy, do I have reasons.

There are things that I know I should be doing. There are things I know I certainly ought not to do.

But I have reasons. (This is more comfortable, I know how to do this other thing better, I have more practice doing this, I'm tired, I'm hungry, There's more space over here, This sounds better...)

The thing about reasons is they're just so doggone reasonable.

I'll just do this thing my way in my time because I think it's a good idea. I know I should do that but I'm not going to because...

Do all things without murmuring and disputing?

Love my neighbor as I love myself?

Keep my tongue from evil?

I have reasons why I can't, why I don't. (Those are hard things! And that's just the tip of the commands iceberg.) And all the while the Holy Spirit whispers to my heart, "Do you think your disobedience is better because you have a reason?"

There are no excuse notes. I don't get to say, "Well, losing my temper is OK this time because..." or "I know I should be kind to this person who isn't very kind to me but I'm not going to because..."

So many reasons.

And yet, I want to remember the reasons why I ought to obey and not just obey, but obey with joy. My Heavenly Father knows best. He has a plan for my life. His understanding is perfect and mine is not. He equips me for what He requires of me. I can't complete His commands without His help but He provides what I need. He is gracious and just and loving and merciful and patient and good.

If I can remember those reasons, those truths, my other reasons fade away like an excuse note written in invisible ink.

For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do. (Romans 7:19 KJV)

So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin. (James 4:17 ESV)

For what the law could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh, 
God sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh: 
That the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; 
but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit.
For to be carnally minded is death; 
but to be spiritually minded is life and peace. (Romans 8:3-6 KJV)

This post is linked to:

"I Can't Know How"

Miss Lili has a standard response for when her daddy, sisters or I ask her to do something she's never done before: "I can't know how."

Now, we try not to laugh at her mixed-up phrases - at least, not when she can hear us - but this one makes us smile.

One of her sisters asked her, "Don't you mean, 'I don't know how'?"

Her answer: "No." And then she said, slowly and deliberately, "I tan't know how."

This response is especially likely when asked to do something she would rather not learn: putting on her own church shoes, doing some task for Baby Brother, complete some household chore for the first time.

Now, lest you think Philip and I are overly permissive parents, let me assure you that we inform Miss Lili that yes, she certainly can know how and we will assist her in learning the task or in, ahem, being properly motivated for the task if necessary.

See, that's the thing. Maybe she doesn't know how to do something yet, but she can learn how. At her age she's soaking in information and forming new skills on a daily basis. Her excuses are just that: excuses.

I am, unfortunately, not so very different from my stubborn and determined to be ignorant three year old.

I see something that needs done. I see someone who needs help. I hear God whispering to me through his word some area of my life I must improve or some discipline I should be applying.

And I don't even look up. I stay where I am,doing what I am doing, and just as casually as Miss Lili I declare, "I can't know how."

Speak to a stranger at the laundromat? I can't know how.

Give a soft answer when I want to angrily retort? I can't know how.

Let go of my worry and trust God the way He ought to be trusted? I can't know how.

Work without recognition? Can't know how.

Forgive - again? Can't know how.

Set a cheerful example even when I'm weary? Can't know how.

Make plans when I'm over-stimulated already? Make a meal for someone else just because? Write a note of encouragement to someone I don't know well? Can't know how. Can't. Can't. Can't.

You see it, of course you do. I know it deep down. I can know how to do these - and many other - things. I can try. I can learn. I can - with God's help and guidance - step out of my comfort zones. I can stretch. I can change. I can grow.

Which means, "I can't know how," is really just another way of saying, "I won't."

And just the way Philip and I, as parents who love their child enough to insist on reasonable, regular growth, will cause Miss Lili to learn and apply new skills, well, God does the same with me and with any of us who He call His children.

I can know how. You can know how.

Start now.

Treasures in Wipes Containers (or Earthen Vessels)

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She carries the box with both hands, this treasure box. To some eyes it might be just a diaper wipe container. To her eyes, this is a treasure box. This is where she keeps her treasures safe. Safe, away from the inevitable sisters, safe from losing, safe from forgetting.

She opens her box. She wants to show me. (And, oh, may I always realize what a privilege it is to be trusted with her treasures.)

"These are two pretty rocks I found. This is my doll's necklace. This is a broken necklace. This is a Canada quarter and this is an America quarter. This is an Indian Head." (Note: that last thing is some sort of shiny, metal image of a Native American in full headdress. I am sightly afraid it came from a tobacco product or something like that.)

She sorts them out in front of us. I admire her treasures. She starts picking them up again, ready to stow them back in their diaper wipe treasure box.

"These are just treasures because I found them," she tells me.

These are treasures because I found them.

I am not special. I feel this more at certain times. I recently told my husband I used to feel like a "bright young thing". I had expectations of what I would do, what I would become, what I would be.

And here I am at 32 and I have neither done nor been those things. I may be young in comparison to some, but I am not young or bright in comparison to others. I may not yet be old (whatever that means) but I certainly feel more like an "ordinary, not young thing" than a bright, young talent.

I am not special.

But here's what God whispered to me (and it's funny because He used my 6 year old and her treasure box to do it): you are my treasure because I sought you and found you. I sent my son to seek and save you. You are mine. Your name is written on my hands. I have loved you with an everlasting love. I chose you before the world began. You are mine. I commended my love to you while you were still a sinner. While you were still my enemy, I sent my son to reconcile you to me. You are mine. You are a treasure because of who you belong to, not because of what you are. You Are Mine.

2 Corinthians 4: 6-11

For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;

Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;

Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.

For we which live are alway delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.

I still have goals and plans for what I would like to accomplish in whatever time God grants me on Earth. There are still dreams left to dream. But whatever I accomplish, whatever I finish, whatever I do, whatever I am, the glory must be to and for God alone.

Quarter Blessings

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 Lately Philip and I have had money on our minds. OK, that didn't exactly sound right. (Anyone else get an image of money piled on top of a brain? Just me? Moving on...)

I hesitate to say we've been worried about money, first of all because I don't want our family and friends who read this to be concerned about us (more than they already are) and secondly because it just sound so...faithless. Unspiritual. Carnal.

But there it is. Maybe I don't want to call it "worry" but it's something and it is consuming a lot of our discussions. Should we get an extra job? Should we pursue this or that? Should we give up on looking for a house? Can we cut the budget more than we already have? MONEY.

I kind of hate it.

So then this happened: I was picking up a card at Hobby Lobby for some friends who were getting married. I love Hobby Lobby. And I love it more now that I've realized we can buy cards with Bible verses in them without driving thirty minutes away to the nearest Christian Bookstore.

Anyway, on with the story (yes, I am telling one): I only had a card to buy. They had three checkout lines open (unusual at our store but that's not part of the story). I chose one and ended up behind a nice looking young adult. She was paying cash. She handed over her cash to the cashier but she was $1.20 short.

"I'm so sorry," she said to the cashier and then to me. She sent her boyfriend out to the car to look for a couple more dollars or enough change to cover it.

I was already digging in my purse / diaper bag (too much trouble to carry two bags these days. Black diaper bag for the win.) See, I was also going to pay cash for my purchase. And I had my envelope at hand. I had a dollar and quarter out before you can say, "Dave Ramsey Envelope System".

"Let me pay that," I said.

"Oh my goodness, are you sure?" This flustered, nice young woman stammered. I laughed and handed the cashier the money. The girl left after saying thank-you a few more times. The cashier told me, "That was really nice of you."

I didn't expect a Nobel Peace Prize for my five quarter expense but I felt like a million bucks. I had that nice, comfortable feeling you get when you've done something nice for someone and no one was making you or even asking you to do it.

Five minutes. $1.20. Feeling good that even with all our stressing about money, I could still help someone else.

And then this happened later that day:
We were spending some time with my sister, her husband and my nephew. They had come to see our rental house and spend a few hours in the afternoon with us and the kids. We were talking. (When my sister and I are together, there is a lot of talking. Other folks squeeze in when they can.)

Then my sister reaches over in her backpack (she doesn't do the separate purse / diaper bag thing either. Backpack for the win.) and tosses a little baggie at me. A baggie full of quarters.

"Can you use these at the laundromat?"

"Sure."

"Good. You can have these and I don't have to carry them around any more." (She said something to this effect. That may not be a direct quote.)

You have to understand that the laundry has been one of the stresses of this move. No washer and dryer in this house means schlepping our stuff to the laundromat once a week. And it takes money our budget doesn't really have. I've been squeezing it out of other things in our budget. So doing laundry is also related to the money stress.

I paid the rest of someone's bill. Then my sister gives us a bag of quarters as if they were play money and useless to her.

And God was smacking me over the head with that baggie.

"Do you get it? The money is mine. Dollars, quarters, it's all mine."

This is what I know about God (and also about my sister): she didn't give us the quarters because we had given something to someone else. God is so good that He probably would have inspired my already generous sister to give us those quarters even if I had just impatiently waited for that young woman to pay her own bill. But He didn't. He used the two different incidents to teach me something about Himself and about me.

Does this mean He's preparing a house or a part time job or a less stressful situation for us? I don't know. What I do know is He's God. All the quarters are His. I'm thankful I get to be a part of giving and receiving the blessings of His quarters.

And later today, when I lug all these baskets to the laundromat, again, I'll be smiling a little more than I usually do.
 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. James 1:17

Spiritual Lessons from Sweet Pea

Sweet Pea has been talking to us - serious talks - for several months about salvation, baptism, serving God and such like things.

She has talked to her granddad (also our pastor) about these same things.

On Mother's Day Sunday night, she told our church that God has saved her and that she wants to be obedient to Him in baptism.

This is all, of course, very exciting.

Now a confession for you: I'm a confident mom. I do not second guess our parenting decisions very often. I do not worry about my kids not having their own rooms, or the latest gadgets or really, about a lot of things that other moms seem to worry about.

But I do feel the burden of spiritually raising our children. I'm afraid they just know the "right" answers without truly understanding what they mean. I'm afraid of putting them off too long when they do know what God wants. I'm afraid of raising Christian-ized Hypocrites. But I'm also afraid of raising Couldn't Care Less Rebels.

The Spiritual aspect is the Real Deal, Important part of parenting and it scares me. Which is when I need to realize, yes, I am inadequate. But God is not.

So, anyway, after Sweet Pea's big announcement we were back home and getting ready for bed. She walked by our computer where the digital wallpaper changes and it happened to change to a scene of Egypt.

"Mom, do people in Egypt still worship idols like in the Bible?" Sweet Pea asked me. I explained how Egypt is a Muslim country now. She thought about this for a second - a very brief second.

"I might need to go there when I'm a grown-up," she declared. "I need to tell them about Jesus - they need to know!"

And my mind immediately thought, oh, I hope not. I thought of the dangers, of the political situation, or the reasons why that would be a difficult life for my daughter.

She thought of the people who need to hear about Jesus.

Clearly, spiritual lessons aren't just imparted from parent to child. Sometimes - often? - it works the other way too.

So, please pray for Sweet Pea. Pray that she will follow God's leading in her life. And pray that her mom doesn't get in the way.

See What A Morning!

Luke.24:1-12

Now upon the first day of the week, very early in the morning, they came unto the sepulchre, bringing the spices which they had prepared, and certain others with them.

And they found the stone rolled away from the sepulchre.

And they entered in, and found not the body of the Lord Jesus.

And it came to pass, as they were much perplexed thereabout, behold, two men stood by them in shining garments:

And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead?

He is not here, but is risen: remember how he spake unto you when he was yet in Galilee,

Saying, The Son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, and be crucified, and the third day rise again.

And they remembered his words,

And returned from the sepulchre, and told all these things unto the eleven, and to all the rest.

It was Mary Magdalene, and Joanna, and Mary the mother of James, and other women that were with them, which told these things unto the apostles.

And their words seemed to them as idle tales, and they believed them not.

Then arose Peter, and ran unto the sepulchre; and stooping down, he beheld the linen clothes laid by themselves, and departed, wondering in himself at that which was come to pass.

Previous Resurrection Sunday posts:
Arise, My Love
My Redeemer Lives (with I've Just Seen Jesus)
Christ the Lord is Risen Today

Poor and Disappointed. Or Not.

I love our life. I do. I love the flexibility we have in our schedules. I love that we get to spend so much time together and that Philip doesn't have a job that takes him away from us all the time. I love each of our daughters and the baby on the way. I wouldn't trade anything - ANYTHING - for them.

We are blessed and we know that. God provides for us on what looks like a meager income (my husband is incredibly smart, talented, and creative. It just hasn't translated to money rolling in). We don't lack anything - we never wonder if we'll have food in the fridge, if we can pay the bills, or handle those pesky not-quite emergencies that pop up. (Dishwasher dies! Car needs fixed! Is that a leak? And where, exactly, is that smell coming from and how much to MAKE IT GO AWAY ALREADY?!)

Our life is a fairly peaceful, easy-going, happy one. And then there is another reality of our life: we do not have unlimited money.

I know, you're shocked.

But nothing has been pounding that in to us more than this house selling / wishing to buy a bigger house experience.

To sell our house costs money. We had to pay money to fix it up to be "sell able". The current contract offered (which could still fall through) is less than we owe. We'll have to go to the closing (assuming it happens) with a check to cover the difference. And to cover the closing costs because the buyer can't afford them.

To buy a house will cost money. We're approved for a certain amount. Right now there aren't any places we'd care to live for that amount. I check the listings every day and it's a demoralizing experience.

We looked at a fixer-upper. We don't have the money to pay cash for it and fix it up. Mortgages on fixer-uppers are kind of tricky, when you can get one at all. Then the aforesaid fixer-upper goes off the market before we can finish up the sale of our current house.

We looked at a house that I loved last fall. I loved it. Philip loved it. It had some features that I've dreamed about and only ever told Philip and God that I wanted. Best of all: it was in our price range. When I say it's my dream house, I'm only exaggerating a little bit. Because, while it wasn't perfect, I've already mentally redecorated and moved in to that house. I have had actual dreams about it.

But our house didn't sell last fall and we couldn't put an offer on it then. So an investor bought it.

Our realtor found out that it's going on the market again soon for double what we could pay. Needless to say, we will not be getting that house. It's not even close. Which is, in a way, better. Because if it was just slightly out of range and someone snapped it up that would be seriously annoying. Better to be in a different ballpark altogether.

I feel like a church mouse. I feel trapped. I feel like I am fighting a constant spiritual battle against doubt and discontent and envy. (And have I mentioned the toxic cocktail of fighting those battles along with the usual pregnancy hormones? 'Cause I have those too.)

That is not a great place to be. I do not want to be there. I want to be trusting God and content with the wonderful things He's already given us (and they are many!) and happy for other people who have more, better, nicer, newer, or bigger things than us or for people whose situations work out easily, where everything just comes together without a hiccup.

But I have to admit to you: I'm not there yet.

So, I am disappointed. I am disappointed by experiences we're going through. I am disappointed by my own reaction to those experiences, to the doubt and fear and envy that bubble up so easily and have to be fought back.

I was reading my Bible this morning and trying to refocus on the great things God has done. And it wasn't hard. After all, Resurrection Sunday is just around the corner. And as I prayed and asked forgiveness for my own sinful reactions to my life and the challenges in it, I thought of another group of people who were disappointed on a Friday a long time ago.

See, I don't believe in a Friday crucifixion, or, therefore, "Good Friday". Pastors and teachers in my life have always taught that the timeline works better with a Wednesday or Thursday crucifixion. (I won't get into all the reasons for that, but you can read some evidence for Thursday here and for Wednesday here.)

If these teachers are accurate, there was nothing good about that Friday. It was a miserable day. The disciples had lost their leader, their friend, their hope. They were hiding. They were afraid the soldiers would come for them next.

Disappointed? It doesn't get much more disappointing than that. My disappointment is trivial, ridiculous even, in comparison.

Do you realize that the only people who took Jesus's words about rising again seriously were his enemies? They put a Roman guard squad - these are not wimpy, amateur security guard guys we're talking about - at the tomb because they took the prediction seriously. They thought Peter and John and the others might try to steal the body.

As if.

The disciples, the eleven left after Judas killed himself, were disappointed. Ashamed. Afraid. They had dreamed great dreams of what Jesus was going to do - overthrow the Romans, set up His kingdom, and, while He was at it, really put all those self-righteous Pharisee types in their place for good. Then maybe He'd hand out rewards like being His second in command or material blessings that had eluded them in their lives so far.

So, yeah, disappointed is probably a mild way of describing what they must have felt.

But see, they have a better excuse than I do. They were living in the dark days before Sunday morning.

I live after that Sunday morning. I live in the knowledge and assurance of the Resurrected Lord. I live with the humbling, inexpressibly amazing knowledge that He loves me, He has saved me, and in Him I am forgiven, freed from fear of death, freed from the enslaving power of sin, including those sins I've already confessed to you in this post.

So, the earthly issues are real. It still takes money to buy a house (or sell one). Really, it takes money to do pretty much anything. And there are children to raise up. Meanwhile our country seems ever more determined to follow a path of sinful selfishness. I know that I will continue to fight against doubt and discontent and envy at times. I will face challenges, challenges that I hope never quite rise to the level of trials or tribulation, although those may come as well. But that's not the end of my story.

I live after that Sunday morning and before the day when Jesus comes again (or the day when I die and am taken immediately to His presence). And living in that space, as His child, makes all the difference. 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
(1 Peter 1:3-9 ESV)

Sunday Song - Here is Love

Just found this one in a new hymn book I bought a few months ago. What great truth!