Buck the System of Complacency

Scandal of Grace. Have you heard that song? Have you felt that you are wrapped up in a scandal where you are more often than not on the receiving end of God's grace? Not earned. Not deserving. Not worthy. 

I'm there. Every second, I am there. And I meet people out on that edge, so I feel better about my junk because it's sometimes a little shinier than the guy next to me. But really, it's still junk. 

Even now as I type these words, do I believe it? Do I think I am undeserving? When I'm handed trust and opportunity, is there a place at the back of my brain that whispers, "you did this. You earned this. Well done"? 

No. 

Not enough. 

And yes. 

But I'm a work in progress. I've stood up in the boat, and I am hunched forward, hands gripping the walls- the wood refusing to yield under pressure. My eyes a deadlock on Jesus, and though he is a ways off, I know he is walking on the water, and I know what I'm to do. My eyes a deadlock on Jesus. He's not letting go. I'm not letting go. 

My leg is over the side…

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

It Riles People

Ever been accused of riling things up?

I have.

Try choosing a ministry other people aren't on board with. Try pointing out heavy truths of slavery and oppression taking place on the streets of your town. Try moving to a state or a city or a neighborhood that people don't quite understand. Try selling all of your stuff and giving it away. Try walking to a church in your neighborhood and calling those in the pews your "people" whether or not that church has the coolest VBS and worship program. Try leaving your church to spend your Sundays in a different way. It riles people.

Everyone wants an explanation. Suddenly people are huddling in close to you wanting the inside skinny on why you're really leaving. Simply stating that God is doing something with you isn't enough. Don't even try it. Well, try it. And good luck with it. It riles people.

Suddenly, everyone feels they are closer to you than he or she ever truly was. You can't quite remember becoming close enough with them for this conversation. They don't say it, but they mean, "I know you aren't around gossiping, but obviously you will tell ME."They are riled.

You find yourself at a birthday party and people want to hash it out. They are riled. People pull you out of service and need to know if something happened. And to that we should always be able to say, "Yes."

Yes. God is at work here. Prepare to be riled if you aren't in cahoots with his plan.
And be ready to be a lone reed if you are.

Every day and every minute you are trying to stand before God and hone in on his still small voice. You want nothing more than to lock eyes with The One Who Calls You. You find your grasp is a white knuckled fist upon his robes. And you are low and humble and crying more days than not.

In the end, do you know what you will discover? You need to know that when people get riled up it is much more their issue and much less your problem. You aren't riling anyone, actually. What is happening is the Holy Spirit is about you, and rather than meet that with support, their fear jumps up. And then rather than meet their fear with grace, we sometimes find that we are afraid of that very thing they are talking about. And if we aren't careful we begin to reverse the work God is doing in us. We are no longer out on the waves, eye to eye with Jesus and his deep grace. We are swimming back to shore, walking up to our chair, and pulling a towel over our face to block out what we left and what we are now missing. It's a sham.

That fear? It's a sham. God says, "Grace abounds in deepest waters. Join me. Look in my eyes and feel my heartbeat in time with yours. This is when your doubt subsides and you are strong in me. This is how you know me. Most importantly, this is how other will know me- when they watch you." It riles me.

Sometimes

Sometimes you'll find you are standing, and you look around, and it appears to be just you and your shadow. You'll reach right. Left. Back. Waving your hands a bit wildly in the vacant space and land on nothing. Sometimes you will be praying and asking and trying and crying and gasping for just a small life line. For a breath. Pleading for God to give you a tiny break. Your friends are far. Your support has backed off. And you are standing. A lone reed. 

And in this instant you realize how drastically you're situation has changed.  Maybe all you want most in the world is to conform and blend and be lost in the crowd of ordinary. 

But you know that isn't where you belong. And because there is this silence, a space has formed to make room for a way to hear. Hear you do. And your perspective changes. 

You look down and notice your legs are strong. You look over and see you're surrounded by a quiet that is less silent and more peaceful. A quiet that has enough space between the pages to actually feel like God's whisper is jumping off the page and landing in the depths of your soul. 

It's in this moment that you catch a glimpse of that shadow once more. It is here you realize your shadow looks nothing like this one. And you start to question out loud, "is that my shadow after all?" 

And you don't even have to wait for a response. You know. You recognize. You feel. That's Jesus' shadow. He's here. He's been here. You are not alone. You are never alone. You are standing side by side and he knows you. 

Nuggets

Sometimes you can be going about in your usual way. You can be reading. Dozing on the couch. Driving down the road. You can be walking through Trader Joes wishing their samples weren't always so bizarre. And God will drop a nugget the size of a water droplet in your heart. In your brain. 

I was doing something mundane a while back. So mundane I can't even recall what it was. And I began to think about my role as a teacher and the almost absurd amount of favor God has granted me in my very first year of working for the public school system. My thoughts were a jumble of clips: isn't it cool that I get to teach these kids? Man. I see the fruit. God you are so faithful to show up. How cool to watch these lives transform before my eyes. Wouldn't it be cool if I could reach them spiritually? But aren't I? I mean do I have to say "this love is from Jesus" for them to understand that it is? Isn't that what the Holy Spirit is all about!?

And then came the nugget. In one breathe I thought how cool that God called me to this job. What a crazy turn of events. How unreal that he worked all that out so I could go get that job. 

And in the next breathe. In the flash of a synapse. You haven't been called. I've sent you. I've sent you out. 

Is it me or did this situation just get weightier?? I've always given God credit for this job, but I have viewed myself trudging down a path before me. I see the path. I choose the path. I walk along the path, and presto. I find a job God has for me. But there's more to it. 

What I'm trying to say is that I've not just taken a job. I've been sent out. I keep company with the disciples of the new testimant. We are like a club. I've been prayed for. Called. Trained. And now I've been sent. 

Every step. Ordained. No part cavalier. No part without purpose. 

Where will you send me, lord? Make me brazen like David. Make me audacious like Esther. Call me out where only your grace can direct my steps. Send me, Lord. I am ready. 

Rainbow Gang

I've got all these children who regularly want. Food, clothes, shelter, rides, jokes, snuggles, quality time, acts of service, read alouds, basketball partners, coffee: their needs are endless. Sometimes I wake up to the barrage of their wants and want to simply pull the covers up over my head and pretend I'm someplace happy. Easier. Some place with a maid. 

But honestly, I wouldn't change a minute of my time giving to and loving on my kids. Because wrapped up inside all those minutes of games and practices and supply runs and friend shuffling and band aids and errands exists inside jokes and giggles that turn to all out guffaws and lines that we will mockingly quote for the rest of their lives. 

One of my favorite things about our family is the amount of inside jokes my kids have. They are like a movie quoting, mock making gang. They even call themselves The Rainbow Gang. They made shirts. No kidding. 

We are all jumped into the gang. If you are here for as much as one evening of dinner, you get jumped in. Your fighting is futile. You'd have to come back a couple times to get a shirt, but really it doesn't take much. Especially if you don't make us have to clarify when we are kidding. Let's just assume it's always and we will let you know if seriousness is coming. 

Sincerely, 

The Rainbow Gang

Why I Like Mike #32: Hey Sailor

Ever have those days when the people around you all seem to be speaking one language, crazy town, and you are left speechless? I mean they say something, and though you rarely are left speechless, this minute, it isn't that you can' t think of what to say, it's that you are just confused that you are needing to say anything at all? I've had a day rather like that. One one hand you have those speaking crazy town. On the other you have wise "real grown up" counsel reminding you that sometimes standing strong in your convictions will isolate you. Not by your choice. But they will isolate you. Make you a lone reed. Sometimes you are left hurting for a few minutes.

You know what's great after those minutes? Husbands.

Well mine was anyway. I grew up in the straight food stampin, free school supply giving, you better not wear red or blue anywhere on your person (stick with canary yellow. Canary yellow wasn't gang related) ghetto. We look out for our people. Even if those people weren't really your friends, if someone showed up with their crazy hanging out, you looked out for your people.

I didn't have a neighborhood. I had a hood. We watched Stand and Deliver and didn't understand why everyone thought the kids had it so bad in school. It looked normal to us. Going to high school? Well then you walk through metal detectors. They check your back packs. No, your locker isn't private property and probably, if the Dean finds your weed, he's going to smoke it.

I once woke up near midnight to go pick up heavily inebriated school mates from a party. Apparently when word gets around that you are a designated driver your friends have no qualms with waking you  in the middle of the night. So, at 2 am, we were turning our next to last corner and one of the girls in my back seat decided she didn't like the attitude of the pedestrians crossing the road- an 11 year old girl and her 15 year old sister. My soon to be ex-friend passenger and the older sister went fist-to-cuffs. Me? I stood calmly on the sidewalk with Little Sister assuring her they were just being idiots and she was safe with me. I looked out for her. She was from my hood. While these other two girls broke noses and later brandished weapons, this kid clung to my waistline and said, "thanks."

This is what I expect from people. Keep me company and tell me everything is going to be OK when the crazy talk starts. That's what The Man did for me today. He had my back. He was loyal and loving and reminded me over and over that he was there for me- just a phone call away. Nothing says romance like a man willing to stand up for his woman. It's probably a good thing he was at work when all this happened. It was DEFINITELY a good thing he was not wearing this sailor's uniform in front of my face. Five is enough kids. I need to go fan myself.

Summah Summah SummahTime

That Will Smith knew what he was rappin' about. It's all I can do to put on pants these days. I have summers off, on account of my day job. I am a teacher. Ahoy. I teach. So for the entire two weeks of June that didn't include work days, I have done a whole lot of nothing.

Do I have regrets? No. Not even one little letter.

In fact, I have accomplished much with my nothingness. Think The Nothing from The Never Ending Story. That thing made all sorts of impact leaving greatness in his wake. (Terrible. But Great).

I have:

Read no less than 4 books

Exercised regularly, still keeping my 6 aye em routine

Visited lakes

Visited an ocean

Drank coffee

Snuggled besties

Moved over 4,000 pounds of bread (ok, I had a little help from some awesome youth kids for this one)

Listened to some new music- indulgent, but new- Megan Trainer & Sam Hunt

Caught up on So You Think You Can Dance

Watched Lorelei and Luke be on again, off again, and then on again to infinity

Snuggled my kids around a few good movies

Dated The Man

Went to a different state- twice

Began editing a new book. Yep! A new one!

Spoke before about 40 Rotarians to procure some funds and community involvement in my classroom this coming year

Led 8-10 kiddos in an alternative VBS- this year, we are going into the city to do random acts of kindness. No crafts or snacktime for us. Except Slurpees. There are always Slurpees.

Started a new Instagram feed. Follow me here. 

So basically, I'm living each minute however I feel like it. I'm Julia Roberts- a fly by the seat of my pants, moment to moment. That's me. 

Beautifully, I'm in Over My Head

Busy is the new fine. Have you noticed that? 

five years ago:

"How are you?"

"Fine"

Modern day:

"How are you?"

"Busy"

Why is this something? I'm ok, really, if the busy is something worthwhile. For instance, are you busy loving the city in which you live? Is it so busy because you are sewing clothes for the needy and don't have a second to watch tv? Did you jam pack your calendar with out reach to your neighborhood school so you haven't the time for sunning by the pool? 

Or is it more, "I'm so busy. I haven't _____" fill in the blank with something vital like showering, spending time with Jesus, or dating your spouse. 

Sometimes busy and busy are as different as busy and fine. When you're busy for Jesus, you get it when you read that Abraham got up early to obey. That Jesus got up early to pray. Joshua stood and faught all night- under the still sun. You get caught up in Jesus and his word and his plan and his work. You get this supernatural stamina and peace about you even when the busy collides with life. 

As I type, I'm in the questionable smelling cafeteria at the hospital. My mother is upstairs grumbling and irritated as Ms. Havisham at doctors and nurses wanting her blood and her consent to do surgery. She's listing the ways she is too busy for surgery. 

Want to know the weird part? I started writing this blog yesterday. Before this was happening. But it doesn't matter. Every day for each of us is seeming to look the same. It's, "hurry hurry! Eat this delicious meal I prepared for you so we can get on to the movie!! We have to make the previews." Then we sit for the previews and find that we keep checking our watch. "We need to get home and get to sleep; early soccer game!!" Gah. 

I'm not pointing out my mother because she's behaving a certain way. I'm bringing her up because this is usual for each of us. All of us. 

And why shouldn't we be? Busy loving. Busy caring. Busy paying 100% of our attention to whoever God puts before us and beside us and around us. As long as THAT is our long list of busy. We have a kropog of time here on this earth. I don't want to waste a minute of it wrapped up in simply being busy. 

Ever have those minutes where your sleep is restless and you sigh more in the day than usual? And then, you take stock because the worries aren't worth the stress of it all. You don't need to live like that! Figure out what's causing this uneasiness and dump it like a cheating boyfriend. Right??! 

Except, when you finished cataloging the parts of your day, you realize your life seems to be doing ok. There's really not much to cut out. You add another sigh and dig a little deeper. "What is it? What's creating this funk?" You ask yourself where'd you come across these droopy shoulders, only to realize the weight spread oppressingly across them comes from those around you whose hurts are so big and too much for you to carry. Your sighs are seeping with empathy, and the cracks in your heart are from their pains.  They are hurting and you are wanting so badly to hold them and hug them and love them and tell them "even this is going to be ok. This? It's not small. I won't say it's small. But it isn't so unbearable that it will pull you down. This? God has even THIS." 

And then you sigh heavily and curl up on the couch. Your sleep is broken. Your mind is always just off task. And you would give anything to rip that aching from your friend's hand and heave it into the abyss where it probably came from in the first place. "Here satan. Have it back. Go sell crazy someplace else; we're all stocked up here." 

You know what I am finding? I'm finding God doesn't want me to shoulder the burdens of others anymore than he asks me to carry my own. That's mercy. His mercy says "Here I am. Take this." And he hands us his yoke. A burden of peace. A smothering of grace. A whole gravy boat of beautiful. A tidal wave of "lean not on your own understanding." 

That's what I want. To trade my ashes in for his beauty, even if the ashes were never mine. Because really, no ashes are ever mine. Jesus took those singed pieces of our souls and died on the cross and payed no mind to our uncomfortableness over the whole thing. 

We want to take from him with our left hand and give him something with our right. But who would want what we have to offer? I want Jesus and that is all. I want him and his peace and his joy. Take your ashes. Take your anvils. Take your crutches. I'll take Jesus. 

Mostly

Mostly I've been up to my eyeballs. Detroit? Well. Detroit was the most intense couple of days I've spent on purpose. 

My days there included at least 8 meetings, but probably more, a new coffee favorite straight from the early 1900s when it used to be a butcher shop, and some very vulnerable hearts. Oh. And a spider and her baby egg sack cooked right into my omlet. The previous words are not a joke. Spiders and baby egg sacks are never welcomed near me. Never. 

After Detroit, I came home for less than 48 hours to cook, clean, cook, grocery shop, pack, and cook. 

I also had some coffee and missed Detroit. Not Detroit. Hamtramck. I promise that's how it's spelled, and I promise if you go there your heart will creak. Some forgotten hinge will rattle away the rust. 

Then began the second leg of my spring break journey called "Can We Survive Bodega Bay in a Tent Trailer?" The answer to that is mostly yes and then no. We left a day early, right around the time the emergency weather system said "seek immediate shelter". It worked out ok. Samuel found a sea snail the size of his head, my children all decided they enjoy catching crab and digging for clams, some realized they hate seafood, others realized they love it, and then we freed Rick. Rick the sea star. He's back in the wild. And just in time because we left to head home and got trapped on the winning side of a snow storm. This also worked out just fine because the winning side of the snow storm included a two night sleepover with my most favorite family ever and IKEA. Snow? What snow? 

Upon our arrival home, I broke standard protocol and cleaned out my van and started laundry immediately. No waiting. It helped that this may be the first time I've arrived home from a trip and not been completely exhausted. It helps that my children are older. It helps that we got to decompress a bit in Sacramento. It helps that we packed all of our favorite clothes, and if we don't wash them now, we will be hosed.

Also. It helps that I spent nearly all of my hours lying in the sun and reading a book. Oh teen lit. I love you. 

Shortly after the last bit of laundry was finished, the last precut celery stick remaining from our trip was eaten, and Right after I found my computer cord it was time Elijah's surgery. 

This kid broke his nose in 6th grade. It all seemed too painful to take him in for a rebreak, so we embraced his slightly crooked nose. Until he became a man child and not only was it no longer slightly crooked, it was hindering his breathing. Surgery. 

He's been down and out and sad and bummed. This mamma's heart almost couldn't stand to watch, but then I found myself just staring at him all the time. When he slept. When he sat. When he watched tv. I'm grateful he didn't ask me to stop. It's like he knew I was filling up wth him. I needed to notice his eyelashes, the curve of his lip, and his sweet face and fill up with him. We've been on this road with him for too long not to. 

So. Now. Now I have the capacity to be here and write and blog and share and breathe. But only just now. A minute ago would have been too soon. 

I've decided I mostly want routine, and possibly its a lost cause. If I were a disney character I would stop and sing "Let it Go" loudly. But I'm not. In fact I find myself grasping harder for routine only to find more evidence of it slip between my fingers. 

I've got children, so routine is paramount and impossible. Their schedules only seem to get crazier as they get older. Ah the good ole days when that lady kept saying "enjoy them as babies. This is the easiest season." 

First off, don't say crap like this to mothers of babies. Sure, tell them to be in the moment. Tell them to take pictures, both physical and mental. Be emotionally available. Play the fool and dress up with your preschooler. But don't act like what they are going through is less difficult than what is yet to come. 

Second of all. She was right. Just right.  I needed to be reminded of the fleeting seasons and how snuggling was second nature. She was right about all of it because she also said I would miss it so much. Darn you random lady with the motherly advice. 

I'll be right back. I'm going to go be intentional. 

Miracles Are Afoot

There’s so much business about us. Some people are in the car business. I am in the teaching business. I know a guy in the singing business. My kids are in everyone’s business. We visit people in the doctor and dentist business. But none of that compares to God’s business. He dabbles in miracles. Well, more than dabbles. Frankly, it’s a miracle we get to wake up every morning, breathe deeply when we desire, and sit in the sunshine. That’s all because God deemed it a good day for miracles.

Corrie Ten Boom lived in a crazy and chaotic time. She believed God is who he says he is. And when she was sent to a Nazi concentration camp for harboring Jews behind her bookshelf in a make shift closet, she knew for sure she believed in miracles.

KEEP READING...

Today, I am writing over with some new friends. Awaken Reno is a local organization committed to helping women discover who God has created them to be. They are giving a voice to women illegally trafficked and sold into sex slavery. Click here for more information. 

A Side Project

I quote movies; it's what I do. Recently I was asked in a panel interview, "What do you do to relax or blow off steam? When you feel you are getting too overloaded, what do you do?" I am sure I said something serious; I am pretty sure I said I write. And, that's totally true. I am doing it right now! It wasn't until much later when I realized I actually quote movies.

Not merely when I am overloaded, stressed, or have too much going on in my brain. I quote movies all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. It's my equivalent to being in a musical when one guy starts singing a song and suddenly everyone in the joint knows his lyrics and his dance moves. What he really has is a team of people creating the best scene possible with words and choreography.

Well, I don't need the dance moves. Strangers want to put me on Ritalin when I dance, so as a community service, I don't dance. You're welcome. However, if a guy spends months or even years developing what turns out to be a guffaw inducing script, I am going to steal his lines and call them my words. Try and stop me, Napoleon. (< this is a movie quote.)

This entire back story is merely my way of pointing out that, "There are two types of people in this world: those who love Neil Diamond, and those who don't. My ex wife loved him."

SIDE NOTE. That was a movie quote. That quote has been sitting on my tongue all day just waiting to be used. Wanting to be slipped naturally into an already happening conversation. That opportunity never came, so I shoved it in to this blog post all awkward like. Just accept it.

Again, I am off course of where I wanted this to go. I am here to tell you I have a side project.

SQUIRREL. (< this is a movie quote)

I am working with a non-profit organization to bring awareness and an end to sex-trafficking. The group is called Awaken, and this might be the first time in all of my life I am standing beside sisters doing something out-right crazy for God and seeing miracles. For reals. Miracles. But I am easing into it. "You rush a miracle, you get rotten miracles." (Do I even have to say it? Movie quote.)

Anyway, I would love for you to join me. Just click HERE and jump with me to another tab to see what we are working on. See the difference that God is making. See the crazy that he has planned for just an everyday guy or gal who is willing to stand up and say, "WHO'S GOIN' WITH ME?!" as they hold their gold fish up in the air. (

A Rocky Faith

I wouldn't call my faith rocky everyday. Just today maybe. Don't get me wrong, I doubt like the turtle: slow and steady. I don't want to. But most days there's a sliver of doubt. 

Today, I had a minute where I had to remember God knows what's best. A little girl my heart melded instantly to is spending her last day in my classroom tomorrow. She needs different help than what we have to offer. I don't have what it takes to make her healthy. I have stood behind her and held my hands at silent awkward angles, praying for her secretly. I have walked behind her and laid hands on her while praying in my head for her body to be healed. For her mind to be changed. For her heart to surrender to Jesus completely. All the while she thinks I'm just scratching her back and encouraging her to keep up the good work. I call it being a ninja Christian, but my skills just weren't right. God has something different planned for her. I hope her new teacher prays. 

Then God brought to mind a discussion I was having with a co-worker. We tend to spend a few minutes of our weekly planning time hashing through the Bible. Ah, public school system, you hire some rad people. Anyway, we were discussing the authority in the world. Specifically the verse that says the only authority is that which God has put in place. We don't have to worry about whoever or whatever seems to have power or authority in our lives because it all comes from God. 

My friend pointed out that this conversation seemed to pair up perfectly with the verse I read earlier: 

Hebrews 2

Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control.

And then there's my favorite line of one of my most favorite worship songs. Oceans by Hillsong United says, "Grace abounds in deepest waters." This little heart breaker? She gets God, whether she knows it or not. He is holding her and planning for her and working for her and loving her and providing for her and His grace will abound in her deepest waters. God has her totally and fully in the palm of his hand, just as he does me and you and my babies and my husband and...and...and... I can't think of someone this doesn't apply to.

And yet. Knowing this. Knowing all of this, I manage to squeeze in my slow and steady doubt. Did I do enough? Did I pray enough? Were my words enough? The answer is yes and no all at the same time. Because I could never do enough. Ever. it isn't in me to be enough for this sweet girl. But God's grace really does abound in deep waters. He is enough for her- today and tomorrow and on Monday at her new school. 

And I will take a second and take stock. Did I show Jesus as much as I could have? All the time? Did I listen to the Holy Spirit and obey? I'll remember these answers next time and for the rest of my students. And I will not finish praying for this little faith filled girl. As a teacher, we meet students who are sent to change us. She is one of those for me. 

 

When The Sleep Draws Near

For a girl who wakes nearly every night somewhere in the middle- when the stars are in their comfort zones, and the moon is caught up in conversation with the man up there- I relish this minute coming over me. The sleep is drawing near.

I know it is happening because I stop forwarding the songs on my Pandora, I have to read and reread a question for clarity, and I begin pausing to think and reflect and the ideas begin to flow. Oh, are you one of those whose ideas flow when you're bright eyed and wide awake? hmm. weird. I don't know what that's like. I prefer my thoughts to be all over the place and forgotten by morning.

The weird thing is that although I forget writing even a word of whatever piece I am working on, it seems to turn out pretty sense making when I come back to it the next day. The sad thing is this is what it takes to make me stop bossing and for Jesus' quiet spirit to finally be heard. oops. I am a work in progress.

Maybe if I had diamonds to wear all day long things would be different. Diamonds that glitter like stars in the sky. I say we try it; it's a valid experiment.

Here's a short glance at my stream of consciousness; don't be scared.

That fire fighter. He loves me. I need to get him a card or something and write how grateful I am for him.

My neck hurts. I need to schedule myself a massage- oh. call the ENT for Elijah tomorrow.

My poor boy. I am so sad he has to get his broken nose fixed. So painful. I should get him a card or something and write how grateful I am for him.

I need to turn in my calendar for my Detroit project. I wonder who else wants to come to Detroit with us. Oh. shoot. We need to get our plane tickets and I need to pray God makes that money happen. "Your will, Father. I believe I am supposed to be there. Please find us the money we need." I hope my boss is fine to give us that last day off. I am so grateful for my boss. I need to get him a card or something and write how grateful I am for him.

Ok, so what I write isn't deep. But it makes sense. To me. And helps me remember to buy cards.

Occupy Till I Come

I read a phrase tonight that came across as a military directive: “Occupy till I come.” 

Just those four words. But immediately I stood up a little bit taller. My ears perked, and I wondered at God’s meaning with this phrase. I felt like it was a challenge thrown at my feet.

How easy would it be to translate this into something that suits my needs? For all of my days I could twist this into something simple, lazy, chipper, bold, brash, and maybe some days not at all Christ-like. 

Phrases like, “Live it up,” or, “You only live once,” pop in my mind. We could modernize it and give it a nickname. “Sup? OTIC. I’m doin’ it.” Naturally when it’s come to this, it’s come to failure. Pretty sure God intended something powerful when he breathed out, “occupy till I come.”

Just before this phrase appears in the book of Matthew, Zacchaeus is the butt end of the gossip train, and Jesus is at the center of what everyone perceives is a scandal. 

There’s gasping and chest heaving and dinner. Which seems totally out of place, but Jesus invites himself to dinner with a true shady character, and of course the shady character accepts, and then believes Jesus, and his whole household is saved forever. And do you know why? Because first Jesus was occupying until it was time, and then Zacchaeus and his entire family realized what it meant to, “occupy till I come.” First they stood a little bit taller, and then their ears perked up. Suddenly they were hooked. 

They watched as Jesus came to be about the Father’s business. They took in his actions: He lived to win souls by loving for real. Man, that’s just better than any Kool-Aid out there. It’s such a small sentence and a huge summons all at the same time. 

“Occupy till I come” means you take what you have been dealt, handed, blessed with, and you do any and everything God asks. 

Say hello to that person. Take food to that family. Invite that girl over for dinner. Pay for that woman to go to retreat. Compliment that guy on his work. Hug it out with that co-worker and tell them Jesus was and is and is to come. Stop and pray with that neighbor. Babysit that young mamma’s kids. The list is unending.

All Jesus did was invite himself to dinner. What a rude gus. He didn’t even wait to be invited. He couldn’t. He was too busy occupying.

Updating

The gym? Still killing it, but now I mean I am lying down on account of a low grade infection who seems to have taken up residence in my kidneys. Don't worry, I am healing and chugging the liquids. 

And sleeping. Also I just rubbed today's mascara in my eye. 

Awesome. 

Happy Friday everyone. Make it a keen one.  

It's 11:10; do you know where my sleeping pills are?

OK! Fine, I don't take sleeping pills. Really, I take about zero pills. I'm one of those essential oil weirdos and proud of it. Might make that last saying a shirt. And my friend who started me on that crazy weirdo essential oils actually works for a screen printing company, so she could totally hook me up!

Not the point.

My point is it's late at night. It's been a very long day of wrangling children to school, wrangling a classroom of sweaty 5th graders who still don't seem to know they out number me, trying to muster the self-control not to eat the candies our secretary hides in her desk just for the teachers (hangs head in shame), birthday parties, gymnasium workouts, and the eating. OH the eating.

I have a busy life. Good but busy. I am busy with all the things I want to do, and possibly a couple things I could live without (aka dear dishes. Why can't you be more like paper plates and handle yourself?) But recently I joined the gym.

It's January; why shouldn't I? Of course I should. And I am killing it. And by killing it, I mean I am more aware of my rolls and I can' t stop eating. I feel one of those cyclical stories about to happen. I call this one If You Take Me To The Gym.

If you take me to the gym, I am going to work up an appetite. And I will probably ask you for an omelet (which means I will just snack on these pretzels and mound of almond butter while it cooks). Of course he saltiness of the pretzels will make me thirsty, so I will ask for a glass of water.

When we are at the fridge getting the water, I will notice the orange juice and ask for a small glass. After I gulp down my juice, it will remind me of how much I love oranges and that I still have at least three minutes left until my omelet is finished, so I will eat a Cutie.

That itty bitty orange will remind me of that time we had mini-muffins, and I will ask you to check to see if there are any in the pantry. You look and find one. It's blueberry and delicious. My omelet is finished, and as I carefully adorn it with A-1 sauce, I realize my mind is elsewhere.

I begin eating my omelet, all the while thinking of those blueberries. And, naturally those blueberries remind me of a most delightful spinach salad I took to lunch last week which just so happens to be filled with quinoa, spinach, pumpkin seeds, and, you guessed it, blueberries. I'll ask you to go to the fridge to get me one.

There is one left, which I devour in three minutes. It's amazing, and I have to tilt the miniature plastic ball to get every drop of the vinaigrette dressing. I realize I haven't even bothered to close the refrigerator, and peak in just in time to see the almond butter on the top shelf. Seeing the almond butter makes me want to dip a salty snack in there, so naturally, I head for the pretzels. And chances are, if you give me those pretzels, I am going to need a refreshing drink of water to wash them down.

I realize this story doesn't get me back to the gym, but let me just be frank and tell you I am going to the gym about 4 out of 7 days in the week, and this runaround comes from one day's workout. Now multiply that fat camp by four workouts and let me lie down. With a smoothie. Because I am hungry.

All

the

time.

And because I am a Gooney, Goonies never say die. No. Goonies say, "Can I get just one more bite of that?"

What's A Motto With You?

The best part about that title is I am not even really speaking of mottoes. I couldn't help myself.

Moving on.

I am a total New Year's resolution girl. Every year, growing up, we used to sit with paper and pencil in hand anxiously. We would divide the paper into three sections: short-term, medium-term, and long-term. Then my entire family would spend 30 minutes or so racking our brains trying to think of what we hoped to accomplish in the coming year. It was such an organized event that we would pull out the previous years' goals and see where we accomplished or straight went awry.

My parents taught me the craft of a goal board. They taught me what baby steps were well before Bob Wiley came on the scene. They made a resolutionary out of me.

Yes. I made up that word. Just now. And I stand by it.

I am completely and rebelliously a resolutionist.

I did it again. Did you see that?

Yeah, well, you can thank me when you drop that new word off at the water cooler tomorrow at work. People may smile and call you "Quippy". I would like that.






Moving on.

I do my best to make my goals just close enough to attain them and not so far off as an endlessly dangling carrot. This line is fine.

I also insist that the goal be worthy of my time. Because, guess what. Extra time is for napping. And guacamole.

Last year my goal was to floss every night. I grew up in a non-flossing home. It's been a difficult habit to embrace. I used to turn to floss when I was desperate. My floss and my priest were basically on the same level: a need to know basis.

OK.

I am not Catholic, but my point is I never flossed regularly. I'm a new woman. That goal was attainable and worthwhile, and quite frankly cut about 20 minutes off my bi-annually dental cleaning appointment.

On the heels of this success, heading into the new year, I was thrilled to come up with a new resolution.

Everything I thought of seemed too cliche. Too BAH. I mean, I will likely get back into the gym. I will start bringing my water bottle to work. I broke up with donuts ages ago. I have added a silly amount of vegetables to my diet already. And I cut out all the foods to which I am allergic or intolerant. BO. RING.

And then my friend said something a little crazy and against my usual. She said she isn't a resolutionist. OK she didn't use that word because I hadn't made it up yet. But she would have. She could have. She should have.

Anyway, she doesn't choose a goal. She chooses a word. Isn't that wild?

Maybe it's normal, because as we were texting, another girl hopped into our conversation and said she does that same stinking thing. WHAT!? Yeah well. All right then. I can get on board with this. I think.

I can forgo a year of resoluting. Just one year. I think.

So. I've spent the better part of the conversations in my head throwing out words that represent my year to come. Some were deep. Some were sheer lunacy. But I think I found it.

My word this year is
COURAGEOUS.

Mostly the kind found in Joshua 1:9.

Have I not commanded you. Be strong and very courageous.

I've stepped into a few uncharted territories. I need to pull myself up by my Bootstrap's bootstraps and be courageous. This is so clearly a goal I will never achieve on my own. I'll be looking up. I'll be jumping in. I'll be screaming like Bob Wiley on his first elevator ride. And hopefully, by this time next year, I will be able to look back and mean it when I say, "I was courageous."

Conversations Before Coffee

I have limits, people. I can't handle certain conversations before coffee or 10 aye em. 

The lady next to me just said the phrase "making love sounds better. Sex is too worldly." 

It's before the coffee time, but she is a 70 year old mother to five; she can say anything she wants and we listen. Usually I am with rapt attention, but Ellen. It's before coffee. 

It's the morning after the birthday party for one of my best sisters. I would add her link here, but the blogger app also has limits before the coffee hour. But if she was here she would say great words like, "you might be a wreck, doll, but you're God's wreck" or "you just gotta put one foot in front of the uthah. Now. Pass me an olive". 

Do you see the people I have to keep up with? I'll never make it. 

Send coffee. 

Send waffles. 

No. Just send the coffee. 

With "syrup". 

Darn You Perfectly Brewed Americano

Some places just know how to coffee. Yes. I used coffee as a verb. Try and stop me. No don't. I bruise like a peach! 

Photo cred: I stole this photo from the web. 

I had a meeting at The Coffee Bar last night around 4:30. Just a quick stop to meet a new friend who gave me the low down on all the information I'll need for a smallish major new ministry with which I am helping. 

Awaken. 

I love them. These women love Jesus in a major way: with Grace and practicality. With heart and hands. Faith trudging through disbelief. 

So far I am all talk and coffee, but come Sunday I am jumping in. Two women are temporarily setting aside their high heels and heart breaking career of turning tricks at $200/hour to take their GED. 

Too big to grasp? Too contrary? Too "why should they even bother if they are going to go right back to that old life?" 

Yah. Well. I'm not in their shoes, but I know what baby steps are, and these girls are taking them. And for some reason, God is letting me help. 

So between an angelic Americano and this buzz of "what am I getting myself into? My heart is about to get vulnerable, I just know it. Lord, is this another mascarade that seems like I am the one helping, but really I'm about to get helped?" I find myself not sleeping. 

All through our meeting I kept saying, "the devil wouldn't be trying so hard to keep these girls down if they weren't about to make a huge difference for Christ. He wouldn't even care." And it's true. 

And by that, I mean if you don't feel the devil messing with you in some way, just maybe you don't matter enough to the kingdom. Just maybe a couple of 20 something year old prostitutes are closer to changing lives for Jesus than you are. 

Right along with that though? If you are enduring some heavy about now, there's a good chance you are in God's will. Youve tapped your chest and said "come at me bro" to a real enemy. Stay the course. You aren't alone. 

I feel shaken up by this. I feel like these girls are on the verge of something amazing. Noway am I getting left behind. 

I wanna jump up with my hand raised and shout "Let me come!" Like a typical little sister. I'm pumped. 

Photo cred: I stole this photo from the web. 

And then. I can't sleep. So I hang out on my twitter and the worst news story comes across. 120 children died last night. Six teachers. 

Taliban (tomato). These jack asses (tuh-mah-to) who think they are changing the world. And they are. And honestly, there is little I can do to change how they spend their lives. Waste their passion and faith. 

I can be their opposite. 

Now I see. A few more pieces just slipped into the puzzle. I'm to be contrary. I'm to be their opposite. 

When they spew darkness, I'll shine light. 

When they breed hate, I'll work harder for unconditional love. 

When they bring death, I'll breath life. 

When they marginalize, I'll be a peacemaker. 

When they shower depression, I'll pour on joy. 

In the same way they are too big and too far for my hands to affect them, my God is too big and my faith is too committed for them to touch me. 

Get behind me satan; you know your place. 

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. 

Ready. Steady. Quick Recap

Ok. First we

Ran into Effie Trinket and the angry chick from district 7. Late night showing of Hunger Games: Mockingjay part 1. 

Then we

Witnessed downtown become just a smidge brighter with the lighting of the tree. Followed by

Laughing. Pizza. And a lot of laughing. When I say a lot of laughing, I don't mean someone told a joke and we laughed longer than the average person for that minute. I mean in our house we laugh SO MUCH. When we aren't laughing we are singing. And sometimes we are yelling. But only sometimes is that yelling angry. And to be fair sometimes the laughing is facetious and full of mocking undertones. And I'm sorry. I'm just sorry. 

And then it got real. Folks, I'm going to level with you. I was a little shocked to look over and see The Man had taken on this position a little early even for Thanksgiving. This man doesn't sprawl. I should know. I've secretly and obviously watched his every move for 21 years. Ok. More obviously. I don't even try to hide it!! In fact, yep. I'm about to confess something. When we were in high school, I heard he worked at Walmart. I went every night for a week. Never saw him once. I was so irritated that I sucked at stalking a guy who barely knew I existed that I very uncooly asked when he was working and where I could find him if I happened to stop by. Insert air quotes where you think best. You should probably use more sets than you think for that sentence. Also. Who even thought to check the garden section??!!

Seven times a charm, I tell you. anyway. One thing lead to another and 

We are winding down another year of being Mike and Shontell. Sometimes I lay in bed and wonder how he found me and what ever made him think that he should break up with my best friend and ask me out. Out of my hands people!!! Would you believe me if I claimed innocent bystander? 

A Drop In the Ocean

I've accepted that my arms are the lengths they are. I mean, I am 38. They aren't going to grow. I accept it. I know my limits. I also know that even though my arms measure a smooth five feet seven inches in wing span, my reach still has potential. Today, I decided to stretch my skinny hands right out in front of me and into my closet.

I am joining women across the world to raise awareness for girls held captive in the lie and bondage of sex trafficking. The statistics would cause your heart to bleed.

Awaken can fill you in on those and what is happening here locally to put an end to this darkness.

Dressember can help you be a drop in the ocean. Sound too small? So is a mustard seed. So is a chicken pock. So are two tiny little lice bugs who love each other very much. Do you get my point?

Dressember is a drop in the ocean that raised $165K last year. I am putting my dress on one leg at a time just like all the other girls on this team. You can help by sponsoring me. Make a flat donation or pledge a dollar or more for each day I wear a dress in December.

For some girls, this is easy. For me? Not so much. I lost my heart in a pair of 501s when I was in middle school. I have committed to love them forever, and it is going to break their hearts when I ground them to their hangers. Dear button flies. I can't quit you. Except for the month of December.

All of the money collected will go to these guys. 

Won't you help me send a message?

Oh Rebekah

I love reading through history. Women and men that changed the world and made mistakes and learned and were still so integral to writing a great and crazy, all wrong and all right, history. I appreciate their accomplishments; I welcome the challenge to match them footstep for footstep.

Maybe I appreciate their screw ups just as much. Or more. I am good to learn from them in this way, too. This is the perfect scenario in which to live vicariously. And the amazing thing is how the worst and craziest seeming people get their stories repeated just as often. We know the infamous as well as the famous. We need to. Past improprieties are the bricks that build us.

This morning, I was reading about Abraham and his guaranteed blessings. Could you imagine that? Guaranteed blessings? Well believe, yo. We have it. When Abraham died, God sent an angel to tell Isaac he would be receiving all that was promised to his father. Whoa. What an inheritance. Brilliant work, God.
Then I moved on to reading about Abraham's daughter in law. When Abraham sent his servant to Canaan to find her, he was beyond confident in God. He prayed, his servant's prayed, and they all believed. This bride-retrieval-mission was bathed in God's will. Like a poorly kept secret, they were all in on it.
His servant arrived after days of traveling and spoke first to God when he arrived at the well. "Let the one who is to be my master's wife offer me water and go on to offer to water my cattle" (Shontell's English Translation). Bam. The first woman who approached, Rebekah, spoke his very words. The bible says even before the servant was finished speaking to God in his heart Rebekah walked up, water jar in hand.
Her words were God's words. Her heart full of the Holy Spirit before she ever met him or he ever really came here to live with us. She was smack dab in the middle of God's will for her. I know that feeling. It's overwhelming, like the ceiling can't hold you.
Nor your skin.
Your heart feels like a cartoon that keeps pumping through your fancy shirt. You're sure everyone around you can feel it. It almost hurts because you know you don't deserve it. You remember the bricks that build you.

Despite that, you sense that God is bigger in you than all of that. I am so grateful for that. That feeling that I will never again be that ignoramus out of God's will. Away from God's path. That assurance that I am complete in God's will and untouchable. And, yet.

I find myself falling for that little selfish whisper. Which turns into a murmur. And then we are having a heated dispute before I cave and believe him because that little evil genius is just a little bit louder than God. Suddenly, I am Rebekah.

Rebekah who went from so engrossed in God's will that her words were mirrors. Ventriloquy. Not a magic trick at all, but full blown Jesus Freak. But time passes and smoke clouds the glass, and she. me. I am at it again. Far from the will I know. Believing the nonsense that threatens to consume me.

Maybe I have never loved one of my twins more than the other. Maybe I have never taught my boy to lie to his brother and then his father in order for him to get ahead and cheat my husband out of his blessing and inheritance. But do the specifics matter? My sin creates space. A deep void only fillable by the one true lover of my soul. The guy that never quits or gets tired of holding me up. Even when my faith is tiny and I feel I need to take things into my own hands which inevitably fail. Grasping is always a mistake. White knuckling this world leads to death.

As always, it comes down to my choices. How do I want to be remembered? Would it bother me if someone, anyone, walked in the room and overheard me talking, working, watching, listening, debating, disagreeing, convincing. Who am I gonna be? More Rebekah or less of her?

In this minute, I will admit I am closer to the version I don't want to be. But I am letting the death consume me to make more room for the one who really matters.

Numbers. The Fall Version

7- the number of Fridays left until Christmas. (Sorry. That one was shocking. I should have started with something calmer). 

1500- ALMOST the square footage of my new house. 

7- the number of people living in that little space. 

55+- the number of times I look out my window and smile because I live in this house with this view. 

8- the tree count in our backyard

5- the number of times I have watched You've Got Mail in the past month. 

28- the number of 5th graders I teach everyday. 

5- the number of afternoons I leave with a huge grin from my job. My heart is full even on the toughest days. 

38- the number of birthdays I have celebrated in my lifetime. 

20- the number of red and white roses my husband secretly delivered to my home while we both were at work. 

Too many- the number of times I underestimate that man. 

60- the number of boxes we have unpacked in the last week. 

3- the number of furniture pieces we still have to sell because they don't fit in our new house. 

One Bajillion- the number of candies we collected last Friday. 

6- the number of costumes I created or coordinated to lend to one of the best Halloweens to date. 

1- the number of times I have seen The Box Trolls. 

2- the number of times I want to see the Box Trolls again before we buy it on DVD and make it one of our annual October movies. 

11- the number of boxes we have left to unpack. 

11- the number of times I've thought to myself "do I really need whatever is in this box? Can't I just chuck it?"

Look around you people. The best two months of the world are about to happen. Come enjoy them at my house. My coffee and my couch are always ready. Especially if you live far away and want to have a jumbo party sleepover. 

Yah. You heard me. Jumbo party. 

The Perks

There are so many perks to my life. We all probably focus on what's holding us back more than the perks, so I'm giving today a new spin. 

First of all, I get to do the job I love. I was created to teach. The end. 

I teach in all sorts of ways and this role has looked differently over the years, but I have just always been a teacher. Right now it's in a classroom full of 5th graders. I love it, and I love them. 

And because that's my job and it's fall, I have had a week off. Round here we call it fall break. 

Never heard of it? Yah, well this here is Nevada. We do weird stuff. Like this picture. And these vests. And these poses. 

We also stumble upon insanely amazing ice cream parlors. Whoa, Nelly. You just saddle that horse and sit for a minute. If I were you, I would order the espresso chip dipped in chocolate. Come to mamma. 

Sometimes we snuggle. And watch 30 episodes of Friends. WHAT?! WE WERE ON A BREAK. fall break. 

I said that already. 

How you doin'? 

Let's just say that there were discoveries, and IHOP, and movie after movie, and theatres, minutes of miniature golfing, and snuggles, Friends, real life friends, eggs, Eggs, and on and on. 

Sigh. I'm full up. My cup runneth over. 

Now, husband. Please come home. This week has sucked (sort of) without you.