Louder Isn't Always Better

I listened to a girl preach this weekend. It was an exceptional treat for many reasons, the least of which being the fact that I actually got to sit in service and partake in church like a usual suspect. When you are in charge of the kids in your church family, you miss a few weeks. But she was great. I shouldn't be surprised really; for years people have been saying, "you know Ally, right? You two would hit it off." 

They mean we are the same. They mean we appear to have the same giftings. 

Honestly, I've said hi from afar, but I've never met her. I can't even tell you why we've never officially been introduced. I certainly don't need help speaking to strangers or strange people. She lives out of town and visits often. But she became part of our church when we were off church planting with my brother and then still when we moved to Idaho. She got married and left right as we moved back. Bummer. And after listening to her speak, I mean it. Major bummer. 

We could have been all those things Tiffany sang about in the 80s when rock love ballads were legit and steeped in hairspray and emotion. And lip gloss. I think that we could have been good friends, but there's a little nagging voice that reminds me she is an introvert. 

What? Wait. Hold yer phone, Tiffany. 

I need a minute to decide if I can be friends with an introvert. 

Ok. Yes. We need each other, actually. Ok. ACTUALLY I need her. Maybe it's just me, being part of the loud collection of humans called extroverts, but I've always had the understanding that introvert equals negative and they are really just striving to become extroverts. I feel maybe Ally knows something I don't. 

She isn't striving to be an extrovert. There's nothing wrong with the very vert she already is. Additionally, I am not trying to be an introvert. However, I am striving to mimic some of her greater qualities. 

Humility and genuine heart. Truth speaker. Clear. Meek but not a pushover. The meek shall inheret the earth. Meek isn't bad. Meek is the new patient. 

I am so grateful for the skills and talents I have been given. I am thrilled for the chance to be an encouragement and light and sometimes even that straight forward, in your face, never minding words truth sayer. I want to be who God created me to be. I want to embrace my extrovertnessingly * and be used in the best possible way. 

I love that Ally was just being her. Whichever vert you are, embrace it. We all need each other.  

*extroverts make up words. Embrace it. 

IF:EQUIP

Jennie Allen, you stole my heart when you said "let's crave God and run our guts out… let's get real…let's get literal" ok maybe she didn't say all of those things, but it's what I heard between the lines. 

Every week day morning I join hundreds of other girls to talk about a few scriptures on Jennie Allen's website. 

IF:EQUIP

Currently we are reading through Acts. Of the New Testament, Acts has always been my favorite book. I believe it's the OCD in me that is drawn to all the clear lines. The order. The very paired down commission given in this book. It answers questions:

What should the church do?

How should the church help?

Who the heck is the church anyway?

Where did Jesus go?

Who in the world is going to help me through this nut house?

Will there be food involved?

What do I do while I wait for Jesus to come back?

The answers are simple and so easy to read, but impossible to do on my own. Outside of God. Outside of community. And I never do them well really even when I get close to living them out at all. 

God's doing something weird in me. I'm getting the church less and less and craving the company of the hurting more. 

Yah. I'm confused, too. 

I've spent more time studying the word and with Jesus than ever before. Family crisis does that to a lot of people. But instead of gaining clarity of how much I love church, I am only recognizing how much we are doing it wrong. More wronger says Larry the Cucumber. 

Today's passage in Acts 4 says the people in the church sold everything including their lands and their houses and brought that money and laid it at the disciples' feet. They gave everything they owned. Sold what they could. Used the money for outreach. For inreach. To help anyone as they had need. 

Anyone. 

As they had need. 

Sold their houses. 

Gave it all away. 

These passages are literal. They didn't metaphorically sell their houses. If you sell your house literally, you have no house. And they didn't use some of the money to buy a smaller house. They didn't have a house. It doesn't clearly say where they lived, but we know they dedicated themselves to the apostles teachings about Jesus and who God is, to worship, to prayer, to food! 

That's it. They sold everything and lived their lives doing four things. 

Listening to God's word

Prayer

Worship

Food

This is my kind of party. This is my kind of church. This is how I like to picture Gatsby's parties. It's what I want in my everyday. 

I run a preschool. It's full of broken people, starting with me. All the way down to broken parents and this broken little clown. 

Well he is pretty great, but one day he will know he is broken. I pray already that he craves God and runs his guts out. 

And this is my mission field. I am only now beginning to grasp the weight of my role. I thought it was just preschool. Educators have this snobbery about preschool, as if it's fake school. But I'm seeing how vital it is. And the academics have little to do with it. 

This morning one of our two year olds is appearing in court. His mom makes bad choices. She showed up yesterday reeking of pot. They both wept when she left in separate cars. Today the courts get to decide if he gets to go back to mom's house. 

Last week, a mom cut me off when I tried to tell her how beautiful her daughter is. I was recapping how well she is doing. This mom does not love being a mom. I don't think she likes it at all really. Mom stopped me mid-sentences and said she needed to get to work. She was offended by my words. 

Two weeks ago a little girl told me her mom hits her. 

Yesterday a little girl wouldn't stop holding my hand. 

A few months ago, a little boy told me he never sees his mom. He goes to school only and he wants to see his mom. Then he got angry and hit me in my face and started kicking me. He was supposed to be napping. I held his feet away from me and told him he was handsome and great. He told me to leave and pushed me. I told him I wasn't going anywhere. I loved him and rubbed his back between kicks. After 45 minutes of this, he sat up and abruptly hugged me and said, "I love you". It was his first day at school. He needed someone in his life that wasn't going to quit. Who didn't have a line he could cross that made him lose their love. He bear hugs me every time he sees me. 

A few weeks ago, we had a mom complain (not quietly) about our hours. She fumed. She cussed. She stormed. She threatened to withdraw. I called her as soon as I got to work. She wept. She confessed that she is at her limit with working and just can't decide if it's worth the money to be away from her kids. The answer for me is an unequivocal "no". Not if this is where her heart is. I encouraged her to take a look at her cost to work, financial and otherwise, and decide from there. 

I want to sell my house and give it to her. Only I don't own a house. I want to bring my money to be her money, so she can stay home with her girls. I want to take that mom and her two year old to lunch and remind her of her amazing qualities. She has them for days. I want to hold that little boy and teach him that even when he feels alone, he has God. I want him to know that the Holy Spirit isn't figurative. 

I want to be New Testament bold. I can't even figure out how except to dedicate myself to these kids and their parents and my staff. None of us is exempt. 

Mike Teevee

Do you ever look at a situation and suddenly see it so very differently than perhaps you have ever seen it, even though you may have looked at it your entire life? 

When I was a kid, I would sing along with Bonnie Tyler. I had the album, and I rocked it. Especially the song Total Eclipse of the Heart. 

And it wasn't until I was rocking out to it as an adult, having not heard it for a decade, when I realize I wasn't singing the right words. In fact, I was saying made up words. Really? Why did this take so long. 

There's a line where the orchestra builds and she belts out that she's "living in a powder keg and giving off sparks." Only. I used to sing (and frankly still do because funny habits are worth keeping) "living in a powdy gag givin off sparks". So close. So nonsensical. Hmmm. So not even a real word there. 

I was so wrapped up in the dramatic feel of the melody. So moved by the build of each stanza. The whole thing stirred emotions and made me want to create a drama to perform on the streets of Las Vegas. I knew it would turn others to Jesus. The end. Bonnie and I were agonna change the hearts of teens everywhere. Because really. We can all relate to a living in a powdy gag. It hurts. Turn AROOOUND. 

Well. I assumed so because she sang it with such emotion. But once I learned the real words, the song actually made sense. I viewed it completely differently. The light bulb in my brain finally went on. 

This week I started an in depth study of the book of Acts. It's my favorite New Testament book because it gives such clear instructions on how we are to function. It takes all the information from the Old Testament, and it explains our mission in four simple actions. You'll have to read it yourself really, but it's worth your time. And even though I have read it so many many times before, I feel like before I was living in a powdy gag. NOW it's as if scales have been torn from my eyes and I can hear and see and receive so differently. 

The writer's is suddenly Mike Teevee from willy wonka and before he was just a bunch of tiny particles floating along the ceiling. A jumble and a mess, and the information is only somewhat recognizable. Now it's all coming together. And I am loving it. 

Every time I read the day's passage I want to go back again and again and let it sink further into my brain. I cross reference and listen to others discuss some points. And then I go back and read the parts I want to stick with me all day. 

I have so much to say in my prayers that I can't possibly write quickly enough. 

I am so excited. I wake up in the mornings and check my email box for today's installment of what I am supposed to read. Shoot. Maybe I AM living in a powdy gag!! Maybe I AM giving off sparks!! (Where does one purchase a powdy gag?) 

I don't know what changed other than my perspective. Other than me asking God for more of him and less of me. Other than me adopting the motto "crave God and run your guts out!" 

He's so faithful. 

He's so good. 

Join me and hundreds of other women in this study of Acts through IF:EQUIP. 

It's well worth your 15 minutes every morning. 

Wrestling

When I was a kid, my three older brothers wrestled ALL. THE. TIME. Seriously, it was their answer to everything and their solution to all of life's challenges. 

Don't like the steelers? LETS WRESTLE. 

You ate the last cookie? LETS DO THIS!

It's too hot to play outside? WRESTLE!!

They didn't even have Nacho Libre to set a standard saying wrestling is cool.

It was inherent. 

I am not sure if they taught me that phylosophy or if it really is our human response, but sometimes I don't feel any different. If I were to see inside of my mind, it would probably look like my 1970's living room: hand-me-down furniture, red carpet(yep), two ideas wrestling their hearts out to be heard, and my mother sitting in a pink arm chair yelling "NO WRASTLING!!"

(Anyone else's mom call it WRASTLING?)

I'm wrestling now, that's for sure. Anyone else? Anyone else feel their truest, and often least favorite, parts of themselves threatening to creep back in? People have all different names for those dark parts: sin nature, flesh, human nature. Whatever you want to call it is fine by me. I just want it to go away. So I wrestle them down until they are small in hopes that one day they will be small. One day they will be so tired and so small I forget they were ever a part of me at all. 

I wrestle them so they will begin to understand they have no real business here. I get to decide who I am. WHOSE I AM. My soul was bought and captured and declared no longer available the second I said yes to Jesus and not my Self. If I remember that, then I can be confident in the outcome of the match, even if the wrestling does take a while or leave me breathless. I have peace all through that wrestling match. 

I'll wear the required uniform (tights) and I'll get to the highest point and say, "WILL THE REAL CHRISTIANS PLEASE STAND UP!" 

Because I'm tired of sitting by hoping something is going to come of my life. I'm tired of asking (wrestling with God) until I beat down my selfish desires and hear God and then turn around and offer excuses of why I can't do what he is asking me to do. 

The fact is I can't do those things. They are good and I usually only want good for ME if we are being honest. You can't do those things. Good for other people. Not without God. He is the good in each of us. He is the endurance and strength and the only way we can even be a part of blessing others. He is the good we pass forward. 

I have decided I can go it alone (just me and God) if I need to, but isn't living so much better when your friends are there?

It's time to gather up. Find your commonalities. Talk amongst yourselves. And then decide what you can be doing to pay forward what you receive every morning: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. For there is no argument against such things. God wants us to have them. They are gifts. And the more we give away of ourselves, the more we receive these. It's a wonderful circular system. 

So ask yourself "what can I do? Right here. Right now. With the resources God has given me. With the people I see before me. What can I do to make someone feel loved? To put someone first?" 

Here are some ideas that have been rattling around in my brain. Feel free to add to the list:

Buy a package of socks and hand out a pair of them and a bottle of water to every homeless person I see. 

Carry five dollars in my car each month and let my kids take turns deciding what stranger to give it to. 

Buy a coffee for the guy behind me. 

Clean up someone else's mess. 

Write an encouraging note (by hand) to friends I haven't talked to in a while. 

Finish writing my book. 

Fill the empty bed in my son's room with someone who needs a place to sleep. 

Open my home to whoever wants to eat here. 

Tape four quarters to the meter after I leave for the next guy. 

Assign a prayer request to every hour on my calendar. Set it to notify me and pray for others all day long. 

Buy an encouraging book for someone who is having a tough time. 

Volunteer in a shelter or with a local homeless kids' program. 

Teach English as a second language at my church- for free.

Say yes to helping others as much as possible. 

Go to the university and hand out cup-oh-soups and oranges to passers-by.  

Decide who you want to be. Wrestle down your lazy and non compliant flesh. And do something. Watch how God multiplies it. How he multiplies you and your energy and resources. 

Because what would happen if we took a day. A week. A month. And decided to give to every person we saw in need. It doesn't have to be money, but it can be. It might be. And if it is, God will give you money. If it's time, God will work it out. You may find you have to give up things, but isn't it worth it? 

It's time. 

Stand up. 

Move. 

Because at the end of this life we all want someone to stand up and say something about us. Now is your time to write that something. 

Restless and Running

When you get to a place in life where you look around, and all you see are bits and pieces of what you think your life is supposed to include, you get a sense of frustration. Well. I do. 

I'm leading a bible study. The title is Restless. And I am. Restless, I mean. And thankfully I am finding I am not alone. Jennie Allen, the author, talks about threads in our life. She means all the different bits and pieces in our life that God has allowed or given or placed. 

For me these include my skills as a writer. My book that feels as if it will be perpetually in progress and never finished. My desire and love for teaching. My job at my church. My husband and my role as his wife. My insatiable love for music. My children and my role as their mother. And my longing to work for Mike Mercer at Compassion First. 

Some days, and in some ways, I am desperate for these things. I want them so badly I catch myself gritting my teeth in anticipation. My muscles flex. Relax. And flex again. I take a step and act one of these out for a minute or at least the length of the scene, almost like I am in a play. But when I have to come back to the mundane it's as if I changed the channel. Turn off this little part of me that was minutes before glowing and growing and good. 

It's not me. I mean, it's me, but the glowing and growing and good? That's all God. See, we don't glow alone. Actually we revel best in darkness when left to our own accords. But where the glory of The Lord is there is freedom. And light. And tall shoulders. And kindness. These come out when I am functioning in the gifts God placed uniquely in me. With me. For me to use, so just maybe someone will look and see Jesus has been here. 

It's easy to be motivated and take off at a steady gallop when the path is clear and lit up and narrow. But widen that sucker up and you've got gnarly bushes. Trees that throw apples at you. Dangerous predators lurking. 

But the truth is nothing important has changed. Even if your road looks totally different all of a sudden. You could be standing at a fork in the road like Robert Frost, deciding between what looks predictable and what looks like an adventure. But God is still the same. Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. 

And when you realize this you begin to see that you aren't actually dragging around seven separate threads. There's a knot at the top. This God who is the same if he were seven single strands or the beginning of a very finely woven tapestry. 

And you start to feel like maybe these threads have a commonality. Maybe my writing, my desire to teach, my heart for the girls affected by sex trafficking, love of high schoolers, music, wife, mother. You catch a glimpse of a common denominator. They all have the potential to bring God all the glory. And you begin to pray for real. Not that the path would be smooth, but that you'd have better shoes with which to walk your path. 

Because that's what God promises. Not straight and narrow. He offers us peace while we go through it. The shoes of peace. And your desperation preoccupies your mind. 

Then at dinner the waiter brings your fortune cookie. This was inside of mine. 

Amen. 

Ask and You Shall Receive

This Friday, and seven Fridays after that, I am getting together with a couple ladies in my house. I've invited them so I have reason to clean. Ha. Ok. Partial truth. I've invited them to coffee talk and mull over some God conversation through a book called Restless. 

I've written about Jennie Allen. She wrote the book Anything. Boy did she mean it. I'm passionate about how she lives. I want to reflect some of it. Same with Flower Patch Farm Girl. These girls look the world in the face and punch it in the junk like ninjas. Like boss ninjas in high heels and skinnies and a plaid scarf. That's the kind of Christian I want to be. (Yah. I'm sure that's a loosely interpreted scripture.) 

The only rule with them is that they have no rules. They love. That's it. That simple, short, life altering word. 

LOVE

And things happen. People's hearts change and God gets seen and heard. Then the people get restless. 

If I asked you to give me one area you would love to jump into and help, what would you say? If you had to pick a way to help others, how would you help? Who would you help? Picture the group. 

How old? 

What gender?

What's the theme? 

Does it seem crazy enough to just work? That's God. Run with it. 

Wanna know mine? 

I want to work at a school, to be opened to girls and boys sent here to America through sex trafficking or other tragic pasts, and I want to teach them English and give them someone to trust and hug them and remind them that they're beautiful and loved by a king. A real. Living king. 

I want to sing with them and stop what I am doing to listen to them recap a funny story. I want to introduce them to that game where you have to get the Oreo from your forehead and Into your mouth because they trust me enough to be vulnerable. I want to high five them down low as they return to their seat after their armpits sweat out during a presentation. I want to leave them notes in their locker reminding them that God has traded the ashes of their once wrecked life for new beauty. And when the memories and emotions of that once broken life creep back in and they want answers, I want to look them full in the face and say, "your story isn't finished. That never should have happened to you, but your story isn't finished." 

I want to cook dinner with them and teach them to throw pasta at the wall. I want to sing with them and shout to the ceiling. I want to pray with them every morning and pray over them every night as I fall asleep. 

Recently I was asked what makes me tick. What's my passion? Where would I reach my hands if my arm could extend anywhere I wanted? Well that is the answer. 

I want to work for Mike Mercer of Compassion First. If you don't know this organization, get to. If you have a dollar a month to spare, send it. If you ever think of Indonesia, pray for them. If you have a daughter, niece, nephew, son, sister, brother, or cousin remember that God's Grace is sufficient. 

Jesus said we don't have because a don't ask. Well, I'm asking. Can I work for Compassion First? Please? Amen. 

So, of you have been feeling restless and stuck in a life that seems busy just for the sake of being busy, meet me at my house for the next few Fridays to go through this book, drink some coffee, and watch a little video. We can and should be doing more for God. People need people. Are you people? I'm people. Let's do this!

Words Can Be Sticky

Ever come across a quote and know it's going to change something about you? Maybe change everything about you?



Ever read something and wish you hadn't because once you read it, it's part of you now? You can't unhear words. Sometimes you can choose to phase it out or focus so hard on something else you aren't as affected by it, but sort of you still are. The second you start to wonder, "Am I strong enough to hear this again without freaking out?" You can't possibly know until you repeat the words or you listen to them again. But then it's too late. It's a terrible cycle. Unless of course God keeps bringing this word around and around to get it through your my thick head.

Today (and last May) I read a quote by A.W. Tozer. He says, "What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about is."

He wrote those words in 1978. I was two, but I am pretty sure he wrote them so that one day I would hear them, and they would stick. These words have implications. These words get a little heavier when they are in the same chapter as this quote:

"To risk is to willingly place your life in the hand of an unseen God and an unknown future, then to watch him come through. He starts to get real when you live like that."

Because we don't know God simply because we grew up learning about him or because we go to church. We don't know him because we were baptized or refrain from cussing. Really knowing God doesn't happen because we volunteer to bring food to needing people or help with the annual food drive.

Willingly place your life in the hand of an unseen God...

watch..

He's real and he wants to show us in the small things and the big picture, but it's going to take a moment of risk on our part. Then the most important thing about us will in fact be what comes to our minds when we think about God and it will be words like

good
trustworthy
hope
true
consistent
always
safe
peaceful
big
bigger
biggest

Know what I mean?

I'm a Rebel, Dottie

I was flipping through Pinterest one day and came across a DIY blog that had a well  written author and cute ideas. I saved the blog to my bookmarks. 

This morning, when I woke at five because my internal clock obviously functions on New York time (I don't have the answers you are looking for), I read my bible, read a devotional, checked my emails, prayed for a few people on my mind, read through my list of blogs in my bookmarks; you know. The yoosh. 

So this new blog, which has decidedly been removed from my list, hasn't made the cut. And it isn't just the author. Although she's slightly bonkers in her angry stage. Her readers and their comments hurt too much. 

She wrote about how tired she is of women being asked to dress modestly. She quoted scripture, confessed to being no longer Christian, and belittled men for being so simple minded. And like a true politician, she incited the riot, and then she cut bait. She had so many comments: back and forth arguments. It was crowd mentality at its finest. This is nothing like nonsense at its finest. Well. Not really. 

She blames the church. Well who doesn't, lady. It makes sense though, since God created everything. But in a way, blaming God (because deep down we all know he is the beginning and the end -it's why everyone on a crashing plane prays) just proves that he pretty big. 

She blames men. She blames society. And the most interesting point? When she blames rapists for blaming women. Weird but true. I'd love to see the research on this. 

My question isn't about modesty at all. It's more about why people get so heated over things that are so minor. 

Hear me out. Modesty is important. I know what you are doing when your boobs show. I know what you are looking for when you wear those short shorts and then pretend you don't see when people are looking. I have boobs. I get it. 

But what does religion have to do with modesty? Nearly the entire thread of comments was about "as a Christian". At one point, a woman introduced herself as a Mormon and preceded it with "Christian or not". Whoa lady. You better check yourself. Before you wreck yourself. (Is it her fault if these readers do not understand the rules of word modifiers? What she meant was this isn't a religious issue). 

And I agree. We all live on the same earth, but we do not all live in the same world. We just don't. I have never been raised in a male dominated country (although my grandfather might have sent me on a ship back to Lebanon if my family would have let him. He had hopes I would be a belly dancer. Aw. Grandpa. Funny.) I have never had sisters. I have never lived as a girl who DIDN'T have three older brothers. Our worlds aren't the same. 

My modesty levels were not set by the church. They were set by my brothers. And not because they were getting back to their Lebanese roots and bossing me as the men. They approved or disapproved based on their experience as dudes. And I approved and disapproved based on my experience as a chick. I never want my body to be a conversation piece, even as someone's inter dialogue. 

And someone along the way reminded me that one day I'll have a husband, and while I don't mean I am a possession when I say I belong to my husband, 

well. 

I belong to my husband. He belongs to me. It's even. We are gifts, not property. 

It's not religion. It's self respect. It's not men's incapable feeble minds. It's respecting others. 

Men aren't feeble. They are more than capable. They are strong and gentle and full of all the gifts God left to them : love, kindness, self-control…

Their shoulders are literally broad for a figurative reason. They carry so much. Why does it offend so many women to cover up a smidgeon and help them focus?

It's pride. We feel a certain way when we dress a certain way so we ignore how it might affect others. 

Less religion and more common sense. Because hey, if I knew you loved alcohol. I mean REALLY loved alcohol. And maybe it's caused you to slip up a few times, would I walk by you on the street and offer you a drink? Would I invite you to a movie or church or the roller rink and hold my drink in your face, daring you not to touch and being offended when you did? No. I do what most Christians do: drink in private and share a bottle of water with you ;)

Mostly what I want to say is thanks for being intelligent. I'm glad you don't attack one another in the comment section. "I like the way you talk".  

I want to be Nehemiah

Before you remind me I am a girl, let me clarify and say Nehemiah is a go-getter. God said jump. Nehemiah did it and added a round of push-ups on the end for good measure. And while he was doing them, he convinced hundreds of men to do it with him. It's like he sent an invitation to crazy town, and people looked around and knew this goal, this dream, this desire was just what being a Christian looked like in action. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

God spoke to him, and before he dared utter a word, he prayed to God for wisdom, guidance, clarity, words. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

God called him to such an outlandish task, he had no hope of completing it without God's absolute favor. So he asked for it. He believed in it. He walked in it. Scoffers be damned, he didn't follow them anyway. He followed God. God be blessed and pass it along. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

He managed to motivate men to volunteer their efforts, muscles, energy, and eventually their lives. He knew what they were fighting for, and he keyed into that purpose and spent his breath encouraging and committing to them. One writer says it this way, "He invited them to play a role in God's story". Whoa. What? 

A role in God's story? But I do that! It's called parenting. It's called mentoring. It's called discipleship. It's called following the prompting if the Holy Spirit. It's called using my gifts to bring God glory. 

Nehemiah did all of this and said, "yes," to being part of God's story. And he was granted favor. 

His goal was not only God approved, but it was a part of God's story. That wall was protection. That wall was God's glory, and we see that repeatedly throughout this story. Men built the wall with tools in one hand and a sword in their other. I never face this level of opposition. And it shows. I am never as invested in whatever I am a part of in the same way Nehemiah and his men were passionate about building this wall. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

As I step into the shoes of this new ministry, I find myself faced with so many of Nehemiah's same obstacles. The difference between us right now is that I am not Nehemiah. I am working on it. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

Coming to a Close

So many things are coming to a close in our life right now. Some are direct, but some are happening to people around us.

Friends having final babies (or so she thinks)

Nephews graduating

The school year

My daughter's first year of high school

My first year of full-time work

My first year ever of full-time teaching

My two mid-kids are ending elementary school

Hopefully my little kids' last year of school outside the home until high school.

But with all this comes new. God is faithful like that. He is the God who gives and takes away. And we should count every minute of that joyfully.

He takes sickness. He gives health.
He takes jobs and gives new ones.
He takes houses and gives homes somewhere else because we realize home is where the family is.
He takes kids and makes them grow up and gives us adults we are proud to call son or daughter.
He takes our sin and gives opportunity for growth and life.
He takes us as we are and gives us love we hardly deserve.

He is faithful. For everything he is taking, I anxiously await what he plans to give.

The biggest gift I think I will be given is time. Time with my husband and time with my kids. Such a priceless gift.

So is this leaf bouquet my twelve year old Elijah made me at the park the other day.

Anything:Day1

Our book club has begun. Officially. I love the atmosphere at Starbucks. My hazelnut latte wasn't too bad either. The best part though was being there with my teen. She is cool and loves Jesus. People these days don't tend to enjoy kids being involved in church activities that aren't explicitly kid activities. It's too much of a soup pot. No, church these days prefers segregated soup. So, in keeping with my wild thing side, and our mandate to disciple other generations, I invited teens.
She added plenty to the conversation, and even spoke some truth like a champ.

This week, for those of you who are joining us, we are reading the first five chapters. That is about 25 pages. Maybe less. Order your book on amazon now. Do it. Do it!

Our bookstores here have been bought right out. I know because I bought izzy the last one.

In a few days, I will post some interesting questions. I'd love to hear your answers to them. Meanwhile. Be blessed

Anything? That Seems Like a Lot

I awoke just now to rain on my window pane. I don't live in Seattle, so it's easy for me to say I love it. It is 3 in the morning, and I have been listening to this Nevada downpour for an hour. That's a big deal here in the desert.

I want to just lie here and soak it in like a sponge, but my mind wanders in a million directions. Some prayers. Some unsettled business. Some reminders of what needs to happen from my to-do list. Some mulling over of the books I just finished.

I want to, but I can't turn of all the thoughts. I am thirsty for water. I am thirsty for more. Of everything.

My husband is not home and I miss my big kids. Two are on a mission trip and one is living life in Southern California with some friends. They will all be home by Friday, but that seems far.

Ten caterpillars are morphing into butterflies in my classroom. Right now. I am worried they will turn before my students can come back to see it.

Teenagers flash through my mind intermittently. I pray for them. You pass through my mind, my friend and reader. I pray a blessing on you. It's ok if we haven't met. It's best if we have, but I pray either way. Be blessed.

I can't find my cards. Over a year ago, I outlined my entire book on twenty index cards. They are my secondary most important resource to writing this book. And I cannot find them. Please say a prayer on that one for me. It's giving me a belly ache.

All of these thoughts, but really I keep circling back to one.

I pray about my future. I think it's changing. There is a need that warrants filling. And God is unsubtly dropping hints. Smooth. Normally, I would say this isn't for me, but the fact that I am so vehemently doubting my ability for God to use me in this space says otherwise. Like Moses.

"You've got the wrong guy. Teenagers?" I say.

"Yes. They like you. You are weird, but relatable." He says.

"But, I am an adult. Aren't I supposed to be scared of teenagers? They can be weird. Oh. Er. I see. But they come with face piercings. Uh. Hmm. I see. But I want to be liked. If I boss them they won't think I am funny anymore." I stammer.

"They don't need a peer. You are WAY too old to be their peer.," he says with a smirk.

"Thanks Lord. That's nice. I feel good now."

I can almost feel his shoulders shake to hide His laughter. He adds, "they need someone who isn't afraid to love them as they are, where they are, and who won't be afraid to tell it to them straight. They don't need bossing. They need Me. They need a leader to sympathize with their problems but hold them accountable to love others more than themselves. Their focus is all wrong. They need someone to give them a little shove because right now they feel like they can't make a difference. But you know better, and I want you to tell them."

"Lord, I don't want to be Moses. I don't want to say 'you have the wrong guy'."

"Then don't," he says simply.

"Ok. Protect my relationship with my own teens. I don't want them to feel like I am butting in. I don't want them to feel like I am invading their space. They are my priority over other kids."

"Just tell them that. Be Frank. He's great."

"Funny. Ok. Use me. I'll do it. Show me what it looks like. Show me how. When. Because I think it's going to start small. As do so many good things. I feel myself jumping the gun heading to the end of rather than the starting point."

"Pray. Just ask. And, hey. Ask each day. Not just once. There's a lot to talk about. If this is the only time we discuss it, you'll miss things. I will show you along the way. In my timing. For I know the plans I have for you. Did you catch that? I KNOW. those are the important words of that sentence. You are saying it wrong. Your emphasis is on the plans instead of me. Be willing. Be here. Everyday. Look for it. Be the part of Moses who did it afraid, but he did it still. Are you willing?"

I should pause and see if it's true, but I just say it, " Anything. Lord, I will do anything. You loved me first. You love me still. You love me when I am a total spaz. I will do it afraid. Anything."

Beginning the first Saturday in May I will be leading a book study on Jennie Allen's book "Anything". We will read a couple chapters each week, and meet back here to discuss what we get out of it.

If you are local, we are meeting at Starbucks on Saturdays at 8:30 each morning. Books are available at your local Christian bookstore or through Amazon.com.

Begin now by asking yourself, "What are you willing to do for God? How big? How scary? How self-sacrificing?" Bring your answer May 4th.
Contact me for further details.

Specifically Speaking

Sometimes I get so convoluted with words and noises and confusion that I don't hear what's being graciously whispered into my ear repeatedly. I know He is whispering, but I can't make out the words. I know what you are thinking. "She hears voices? I am out."

But the truth is sometimes God will talk, and if we catch him mumbling, it's probably because we are too busy and focused on all the wrong things to take a minute and ask for clarity. Not just clarity. Confirmation and understanding.
So, he's been mumbling (aka I haven't been listening really) and it wasn't until I spewed advice that I realized where I heard that awesome advice before. God said it.

To me.

Right in my ear.

And I didn't comprehend his words, only that he was speaking.

So not only am I a bad listener, but I also do not obey. And I steal God's advice for myself and pawn it off with a straight face like I am Dr Leo Marvin looking for a ground breaking new book (please watch What About Bob. It's for the children).

I am full of it.

Frick.

Happy ending? Today is a good day to start tuning in and looking up.

Just try it. See what you notice. Tell me what you hear.

Mrs Hannigan

I am pretty sure she is standing over my shoulder.

She's God's number one on my case of whines and whimpers.

Example:
God wakes me up because people need prayer or I was supposed to do something midday, and I opted to postpone that plan, and God woke me at night to fulfill it. To which I whine "but it's in the middle of the night." Then I hear Mrs. Hannigan mumble and mock over my right shoulder "but it's in the middle of the night".
Yah. She's drunk still when I picture her (am I the only one who didn't know she was drunk? I literally thought she liked to stir and drink her bath water).

Anyway. I mulled and chatted. Prayed and read. And. Awesome. It's not 3a.m. Anymore. Now it's four. I am wide awake.

I should go write. I should go read my bible and finish up my bible study. I'll probably stumble to the bathroom and read my book (not in the bathroom. Once I get back in bed).

I could take a shower and comb through this beast of a hair do.

I would clean something, but that sounds awful.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Story of my life.

The Praying Wives (or wife to be) Club

Also known as PW(OWTB)C. Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

Hello girls! This is the place to share some info, ask some questions, and lift a sister up. SOLIDARITY SISTER! Maybe we could don sashes and sing Sister Suffragette together, I don't know, but I am so happy for every woman that has made a commitment to pray for her man over this next thirty days. Want more info? Want to join us? Click here.

Here are a few of my favorite thoughts so far.

pg. 14
"Many difficult things that happen in a marriage relationship are actually part of the enemy's plan set up for its demise."
It's just the truth. We do not war against flesh and blood. We do not war against our men. And if we ARE declaring war against our men, we are working for the devil. :/ too harsh? it's just the truth. And I want to be on the right side.

pg. 17
"A wife's prayers for her husband have a far greater effect on him than anyone else's..."
Our prayers for our husbands have divine gravity.

pg. 23
"It's your responsibility to pray. It's God's job to answer. Leave it in His hands."
The end.

How about you? Favorite moments? Not so favorite moments?

Greedy Grip

My friends, Erin and Dan-O, once had a toddler. She is old now, but when she was an itty bitty sly thing she sneaked into the kitchen garbage can, where she confiscated a few stale Whoppers I threw away. When I caught her, she gripped her chubby little hands around those candies as if they were her last melons for the next million, billion years. I tried prying those puny fists open, but she gripped harder and screamed, "DON'T TAKE IT!! I NEEEED IT!" To that I cracked up laughing and had to call in reinforcements, because as it turns out, toddlers saving candy from the trash are infinitely stronger than me. This true story took place more than 15 years ago, but I think of it often when I begin to get the greedy grip.

We have been doing all of this back to school shopping. I really do love spending money. I love picking out school supplies. I love finding smokin' deals at thrift stores and dollar stores and re-purposing the oddest treasures into greatness. After two days of straight shopping, I left my body and viewed myself as the adult watching the toddler give a handful of Whoppers a new lease on life. I took stock and heard myself screaming, "I NEEEED IT!" Aren't you a little old for that behavior? Why yes. Yes I am.

Also, I am too aware of people who hurt and need and would really like some food. I have not taught my kids to be patient for things or earn them or choose the essentials so we have left over to give away. Oh, don't get me wrong. I wrote to God in my prayer journal this morning asking him for opportunities to give. He may have asked what in the world do I have left to give? There is a chance I had no answer. There is also a chance I made a disappointed face and felt like a schmuck.
Just look away. I can't take it.

 Now, I will be using this experience as a life lesson for my children. Not only confessing what I got caught up in, but I will also be asking them what in the world can we do about this now? Lots actually. But we will come up with a plan together. Then I will pray that they will not grow until next school year, so we can really get our money's worth. :/

And NOW, you may be asking yourself what this picture of Samuel has to do with anything. I will tell you. Nothing. It has nothing to do with anything at anytime, but you needed to see it. And, you are welcome. Someone give this kid his own show. No script needed. This picture was taken while he patiently waited for his cousin, Raine, to finish trying on her jeans. We just looked over, and there he was, on the couch at Children's Place, with the bib he picked out, and the face he knew only a mother could love. He wore it anyway, and here we are today. One step closer to having our own show.

I am thankful for that face and second chances.
 

Morning Thoughts on a Saturday

I awoke this morning to my husband getting ready for work. He's a good man. In fact, he is The Man. Ask around. I am not even kidding. I decided to make something of my day since he was off to save lives. I mean, I want to have something to say to him when he comes home with the list of lives he saved on his 48 hour shift. Laundry seemed like a logical beginning. Then coffee. Then Jesus. No, it doesn't bother me that I did two things before I read my Bible.

I have had this discussion with people. I think God cares more that I am paying attention and coherent when I sit to learn and listen instead of insisting I open my eyeballs and pick up my Bible. I usually fall asleep if I do that. And, while I am sure God isn't offended, I am sure sometimes he thinks, "Silly girl. Too many rules." So, I wake up, maybe spend a few minutes with my groggy and still snuggly kids, and then make my way to my Bible.

Here is what I realized:

I take too much for granted. I feel like things will be there when I finally decide to get to them.

I have blessings
more than I know
I am not thankful enough

I have love
more than I show
I do not share it enough

I have time
more than I spend
I do not use it enough

I have a song
more than I share
I do not sing it enough

I have a gift
His name is Jesus
He alone is more than enough

I take for granted too much. I want to be arrested in my heart. Bleeding for those who are too drained after a lifetimes of grief to bleed anymore.
I am too lacking in compassion. I do not hurt with people. To be honest, someone will trip and I giggle a little and THEN ask if they are OK. Well, that isn't always a big deal, but I find it rolls over to the serious moments.
Yesterday I read a news caption on one of those tickers on the bottom of the TV screen. A pilot of a small plane crashed into the Truckee Airport. He died.

My first thought was a prayer, "Lord, please don't let it be someone I know." I felt terrible for saying it, even in my mind. Why would that matter? So that I would not hurt? What about that man's family? His mother? His wife? His kids? What did I just say? That it's OK for him to be dead if I am not affected? Is that what I meant?

So, I asked for forgiveness for my narrow-minded heart and began again. I prayed for that man's heart- that he would be with Jesus. I prayed for his family and anyone affected. I prayed that God would use this time to be heard by those left behind. I put myself in his wife's place and it hurt.

I read once that you should be a part of what breaks your heart. I think I get too busy to know what that looks like. No matter what I try, my calendar overloads. I want to be radical. I even know some of the drastic moves I need to make, but they are counter intuitive and they make me have to focus on things inconvenient and not self satisfying.

"Would you open up my eyes so I can see? Would you open up my ears so I can hear? Would you open up my mind so I can know? Would you open up my heart so I can love you more.
I wanna serve you my God. I want to give you all of me?"- Shawn McDonald

I want to mean this with all of my heart. I want to make room. I want to see all that God wants me to see. I want my eyes to be closed to all the nonsense that keeps me from living with purpose. No exceptions. I want to clear the stage.

I love this song by Jimmy Needham



It breaks my heart and makes me hopeful that I am not as callous as I think sometimes. It challenges me to seek.

This just in

Praise the Lord!! We found a house!!! It's a beaut Clark! Thanks for all your prayers. Wanna stay for dinner? Wanna stay forever?
Surreal: that's the word I sense when I look at my life right now. A month ago I was fighting for contentment. We were brewing compost tea and looking forward to our new little girl hens offering fresh eggs. Our garden was flourishing, and I was making headway in my book. For real.
Then I read Flower Patch Farm Girl and she spent an entire post saying "Anything, God. I am up for anything. I will do anything. What's that you say God? Sure. I can do that and anything else you want. I love you more than me. I want to love them more than me. Anything". I felt inspired. But I was wimpy and trying to be honest with myself. So I whispered, "lord. I could do anything" but then I screamed "BUT DON'T MAKE IT HURT!!"
Then I picked up the phone. We aren't wanna be homesteaders anymore. We aren't contemplating that five acres we had our eye on. Mike is no longer considering cowboy boots and a riding mower.
Instead I am imagining where to put my new dressers and where I want the tv. Instead I am working on lesson plans to keep kindergarten kiddos entertained for the year. Instead I am considering which new gym to join and thinking up organization techniques that will make simple tasks of our new lives: two full time working parents and five kids in school full time.
It's not that any if this is bad. It's just that now I need to embrace a different lifestyle. We lived here for seven years, but it's as if we are starting all over. I don't want to feel down. When people ask if I am happy to be back, I want to say thrilled and mean it. But I need time to process.
I read psalms to help me. I read psalm 1- one of my total faves. I repeated the word "anything. Anything, Lord" because even through the whisper, I meant it. Even through my fears and so much unknown. I meant it. God showed me that I can be like a tree planted by streams. Fruitful. Plentiful. I felt good about myself that God was speaking to me. That I was feeling his reassurance. I even extended myself grace during this transition time. I allowed myself the opportunity to just focus on me and my house and my family. I am obviously so great. It's not like I have to jump right into life. It's summer after all. Sigh.

Then he showed me the verse that says "in EVERY season, I produce fruit." and he brought back the words I whispered. "anything, Lord". Then I spent time repenting that I am an idiot. That I could lead the parade for idiots. And I thanked him again for ever allowing me to be part of anything for his kingdom.
I am trying to be fruitful. I am willing to do anything. Sigh. Anything Lord.

We are moving in to our house tomorrow. Prayers and any abled bodies are welcome.

Seizing Is Not The Same as Seizure

Sure these two words share a root, but so do koalas and kangaroos. This past week, I have been processing and asking and questioning and releasing in my conversations with God. We have lived in Idaho for almost a year now, and well. It hasn't stuck as quickly as Reno.

In Reno, we went to a church my brother recommended. They had me at free Krispie Cream donuts and coffee. Plus, the pastor actually seemed to be good at what he does. We fit. We just knew it was gonna fit like OJ when he tried on some gloves. Only we saw no need to weasel out of it. We were thrilled. I met two of my closest friends instantly. One is only a blog lurker (dear Ms. Marie. come out of the interwebs closet. We all know you are on here), the other has quite a mouth on her. Everything about the city was great. It was as if we were in a bowl with Reno and someone just added water. Presto Zingo. Instant happiness.

Years went by, and my husband lost his job, and he was offered a new job as a really hot fire fighter in Idaho. We accepted and set about to finding a church and adding water. But instead of instant happiness, our eyes were opened to how good we really had it. Presto Zingo. thump. My head beating against the wall.

I spent a lot of time comparing. I spent a lot of time griping. I spent a lot of time fighting tears. I spent a lot of time spazzing out and lashing out irrationally. Thankfully, God can handle my spastic fits.

Then I realized seizing is not the same as seizures. They may share a root word, but then the similarities end. Whining, tantrums, pity parties, and vocal aggravation: these are things that lead to seizures. Focusing on God's promises of fulfillment for my life, accepting where God has me, and leaning fully on his understanding (rather than my teeny tiny perspective): that's seizing!! It happened this week.

I became content with God's portion and his cup. I realized his lot for me has fallen on pleasant places. I was able to truly thank God for moving us here. I don't think I compared my two cities once. I let Reno go, like ripping that last little part of the bandaid off. And I was OK.

Why does it seem that just when you get comfortable, the rug gets pulled out? About 8 seconds after my bandaid was removed and my contentment washed over me, God said, "Hey, now that we have that covered..."

'It was like that old joke, "All those who think they have it made take one step forward...not so fast George Banks!"'

I am George Banks in this scenario. Only, when I  started processing again I was angry and I accused God of yo-yo'ing me around. AH. God is so good. He didn't even roll his eyes at my stupidity.

It isn't God that's in control of that yo-yo. He is not a yo-yo kind of guy. He may own cattle on a thousand hills, but he doesn't have a yo-yo. No my friend, that childish game is all mine. All me.

That nauseating back and forth of highs and lows is actually my faith. Not God's faithfulness. He is solid and steady and dependable and right and real. And that blasted string is affixed so tightly to my finger. And, honestly, I don't want it to go.

WHAT? I know what you are thinking. Who wants to live life like a yo-yo? But I need to remember what the yo-yo is like, so I don't ever want to go back. Rather than yanking the string off completely, I am asking God to snip it, just enough to leave that little string tied to my finger. And, I am telling God that I am up for anything. ANYthing. Because I totally trust him.

Lord, I totally trust you.

satan. Suck it. I hope you choke on a yo-yo.



 

Welcome to Hollywood

If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret? I want to be a writer when I grow up. Some may argue that I am already grown, but I will point my finger back at them and say the fact that I call my self a grown up, and not an adult, proves I am IN FACT a child. I am comfortable with it.

I have given a few tid bits here and there and I have honestly made some headway toward completing this bad boy I call THE BOOK.

Sometimes I get very excited about a project or calling on my life, only to organize and plan, and then I get a fake case of ADHD, and I can be found setting up for a fully different project. I refuse to let this be true of my book. So, in order to be truly welcomed to Hollywood, I am shouting out my dream (this reference should be familiar if you have ever watched Pretty Woman. Everyone who comes to Hollywood has a dream.)

Here is an excerpt. Again. Just so you know I am not going to stop wrestling until I get the blessing I have been promised. This is from chapter one, and I am getting ready to outline how a mother and a missionary are one and the same. (One in the same? Home? Hone? These are the battles that plague me.)

Do you ever feel like you cannot remember your purpose? I mean, maybe you know some of it, but you cannot quite find that big glowing path some of those other joy-filled mothers claim to be following. At the end of the day, you have washed some laundry, dried some dishes, cooked some food for people living in your house, and swept a floor. Still, you are left thinking, “That can’t really be all I am meant to do, right?” Maybe you find yourself pursuing so many paths that between keeping up with your kids’ hectic schedules, your husband’s business dinners, and an ongoing list of ministries, you end each day staring at the wall, mouth agape, wondering what in the world you accomplished. * And, please, do not get me started on giving back to the community, because most days I think showering is about as giving as I can be to others. Unless, of course, you count how many diapers I contribute to the dump each year, the number of children I have added to the earth, or how knowledgeable I am at getting lip gloss out of clothes once they have gone through the dryer. Of course, after I am done with

* Picture Goldie Hawn after her first day of playing ‘mother’ in the movie Overboard. Remember, the kids just kept throwing grapes at her while she mumbled ‘bub buh buub?’

this line of thinking, I start to feel guilty for feeling so useless. (Isn’t our thought process relentless?) One minute I am overwhelmed with my calling and the next I am just confused by it. I do not think God meant it to be so confusing. If you are a mother, your purpose is clear. You may or may not be called to Africa, but you are certainly called to be a missionary. 

I repeat- you ARE called to be a missionary. Take a minute and look around. What do you see? Whom do you see? My friend, you are looking at your mission field. Your mission field is your home, and your mission is to share Jesus with those little (sometimes Aborigines) who call you mommy. 

Please don't plagiarize me. It's considered poor form. Please be blessed. DO IT! Sorry I bossed you. I just really want you to feel blessed and challenged and encouraged that you are not alone in this confusing mess called mothering.

The * is a foot note that (outside of this blog) is located in the foot note department, not the middle of my work.