"The Rule"

We’re back from “The Christmas Story, Side B”, the part of the holiday during which we travel to NC to see my husband’s family. All-in-all it was a good trip, and this was a good holiday for us (yes, even with all the illness from before and a possible touch of food poisoning courtesy of the “golden arches” somewhere near Asheville).

On the way home tonight I was thinking about some of the extra cash we have received over the past week in the form of gifts and my first (yay!) speaker honorarium (I’m official!). As visions of after Christmas clearance sales and a few nicer-than-usual meals danced in my head, I forgot all about the unspoken rule in our world. You see, it seems that somewhere, a long time ago, it was established that any time our family finds ourselves with any financial room to breathe, something big must break or die. I’ve come to believe that it is actually somehow a law of nature that even affects other people, but is specifically targeted at our family. Oh, when am I ever going to learn, though, to just assign that “extra” money to the “repair and replacement fund” the minute we get it? Why do I have to tease myself by daydreaming about things like SpotBots and computer monitors – things that will never come to pass as long as “the rule” stands?

So, you might have guessed, we didn’t even make it home before “the rule” was upheld in force. As we crested that hill less than 2 miles from our driveway and nestled into the curve of the road, my eyes locked onto the metal road sign we’ve passed a million times that says “Dangerous Intersection”. Though nothing was happening yet, it was as if my mind was saying, Take a good look at that sign, because you’re about to become very familiar with it.
It was at this point that the tires on our 1997 Town and Country decided they were tired of the wet roads we had been traveling for the past 5 hours, and simply refused to respond to any commands my husband gave them from the steering wheel. Locked in the motion of the curve we had already begun, our van stubbornly pirouetted its way across the oncoming lane and into a ditch, spinning at least one and half times before resting against that sign I had been admiring. Just like that, our front bumper and who knows how much of that “extra” cash were both ripped away in the same, unbelievable moment.

Accept for hearing me yell “Jesus! Help us!”, our two boys didn’t even notice anything had happened. They were so glued to the third showing in a row of “Meet the Robinsons” they completely missed the whole dance. I’m very thankful that Jesus did, indeed, help us. No one was hurt and thanks to in-car DVD players no little ones will have nightmares tonight. And who knows what could have happened if that sign wasn’t there? Yes, we might still have a bumper, but we might also still be in that ditch in a lot worse trouble.

And so it is. My friend Laurie (who I am very thankful for) is driving over right now to rescue us from the effects of “the rule” with her spare van that seems to spend more time in my driveway than it does in hers lately. Oh well. Next year maybe we should ask for “extra cash” and honorariums in the form of gift certificates that can’t be spent at auto repair centers. Although, that might be just another way of asking for the fridge to die… Infernal rule...

That's All There Is To It

I can’t believe Christmas is already over. It was a different one for us, I might say. Five of the six people in my house (my parents were here) at some point had one of two stomach viruses, and the four of us who live here permanently all had colds. Our two year old has Reactive Airway Disease, which meant that his cold turned into something akin to asthma. So instead of celebrating the yuletide with eggnog and candy canes, we sat by the tree drinking Gatorade and taking breathing treatments. There was no decking the halls with boughs of holly, but we certainly stocked the hall bathroom with lots of toilet paper and Kleenex. Overall, though, we didn’t miss a beat. Christmas was still about Jesus, family, and watching my husband (the only one who didn’t get either stomach bug) stuff himself with more food than should be legal in most countries (I love you, Honey!). Really, though, we did have a great holiday together in spite of everything working against us!

Christmas night I talked for 50 minutes on the phone with my 96 year old grandfather in Florida. I forget how fascinating it can be to have a conversation with him! He told me stories of working in the rock quarry as a young man, and things he could remember that happened when he was two. He filled me in on family members I never got to meet, and ones I should know but only vaguely remember from the last reunion we had some 15 years ago.

He also told me how sad he was that his neighbor and long-time friend had died just the night before on Christmas Eve. Then he was rather candid and honest about his own health – reminding me that he is legally blind from Macular Degeneration and that his lack of appetite has caused him to loose so much weight that he’s afraid he might “blow away in a dust storm”. As I listened to him and thought about how only two people came to visit him on Christmas day, I came to my own conclusion that he must be terribly lonely and sad. His overall thought about his own life, however, is completely different. I can’t even begin to count how many times he said in amazement and wonder over his situation, “I’m just blessed, that’s all there is to it.”

I hope if I live to be 96 that my attitude is as grateful as his (although I know I won’t live that long – I’m praying for the rapture to happen before my boys are teenagers. I work with teenagers, remember?). Despite all that’s in his life that the rest of us can only see as obstacles, he knows in his heart that he’s blessed by his Father in Heaven. I love that. I also love his philosophy on living: “I just get up and do something. If I don’t like what I’m doing, I just do something else”. 96 years of life on this Earth and he’s boiled it all down to that. I’m so stuck in this busy routine of things I “have to get done” that I can’t even imagine being able to live so freely, but I think he’s really got a point in some ways.

As I prepared to say goodbye I told him that I hoped he enjoyed the rest of his Christmas evening. “Oh, I will,” he said. “And I’ll enjoy the day after that, and the day after that one, too!” I hung up the phone and looked at the mess of Christmas presents scattered in played-with pieces all over our living room floor. I listened to the littlest one of us cough, and walked past some stale sweets that normally would have been eaten if we had all had our appetites. It seemed overwhelming at first glance, and maybe even a little disheartening in a sense. But you know what I realized in the midst of it all? I’m just blessed, that’s all there is to it. Thanks for reminding me, Granddaddy.

Being Fitted

Five seems to be a number that has been popping up in my life lately. My oldest is turning five in a matter of days. He was allowed to invite five friends of his choice to his birthday party. I’ve lost five pounds this week (thank you, stomach virus). Though my body has felt pregnant much of the past month, it has possessed a need to remind me without question that I’m not – guess how many times! That’s right, five! I suppose I should be glad that the theme isn’t eight or twelve, right?

I just realized that as I sit here and type these words that won’t get off my brain this morning that it’s five days until Christmas. There’s that number again. Does anybody know if there’s a lottery somewhere that only requires you to play one digit to win? Hmm. It might be interesting to see what else comes in fives this week.

There’s a verse that’s been resonating in my heart since I read it over a week ago, and I woke up with it on my mind again today. It’s not a “five” verse (though close – it’s John 11:4), so I don’t have a great transition to move from the random trivia of the day to what the Lord’s been sharing with me. I guess I’ll just dive in and hope that it makes sense somehow!

The verse that has been ministering to my heart says this: “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” That was Jesus’ response to hearing that his buddy Lazarus was on his deathbed.

I admit that it was a little confusing at first. How could he say it wouldn’t end in death? Lazarus dies, right? But then I realized something. Jesus never said in that verse that Lazarus’ illness wouldn’t involve death, or that he wouldn’t experience death. He simply said that it wouldn’t end there.

I think God is preparing my heart with this verse. I believe it is bouncing around in there for a reason – so I won’t forget it later in the course of my own sickness. I don’t know any other way of saying this, but I feel like I’m being prepared for a battle. It may be a physical illness with the female issues I’ve been dealing with, or it may be something a little less tangible. I don’t know what it may look like, but I just feel like it’s coming – like He’s fitting me with armor to withstand the fight.

Whatever is coming my way, this verse has already offered me such encouragement and safety. He has shown me that the little deaths we face in this life – no matter how big they seem – can end in life and His glory. Lazarus’ sickness ultimately ended in his resurrection from the dead. Surely our sickenesses – whatever they may be – when given to Him can be just as life-giving to us or someone else.

Who knows what waits in the woods surrounding the path ahead. My heart takes strength in knowing that even if the fight seems outnumbered five to one, the One fighting for me is bigger than all my enemies combined. Whatever the sickness headed my way, it will not end in death. The Lord my God is faithful and mighty to save, and He will not leave me exposed a second longer than He needs to.

I just hope that whatever the battle is, I only have to face it once, and not…well, you know. I gotta run – I’m supposed to wake the boys up in, well, five minutes…

A Random Heart Break Story

So my five year old told me tonight that I broke his heart – a little piece of it anyway. It wasn’t in the manner in which I broke it three weeks ago when I made him cry – mind you. Tonight I apparently scared his heart into pieces.

What happened was this: While he was taking a bath, I needed to go into the bathroom to get some tissue for my incessantly running nose (it’s just not Christmas if someone in our house isn’t sick). He didn’t hear me come in and I said something in answer to my husband who was out in the living room. At the sound of my voice, my sweet little boy was so startled he nearly drown himself in the tidal wave that was made when he jumped from lying on his belly in the water to sitting upright and clutching his chest.

“Mom!” he yelled. “You scared me!” Then he put two fingers on each temple and closed his eyes. “Wait a minute,” he said as he concentrated. “Yep…my heart’s still working. It’s still scared. You almost broke it! You did break just one little piece…”

I must say, I’ve never laughed at breaking someone’s heart before, but I just couldn’t help myself this time. He was so serious! I guess I should be more careful in the future…I wouldn’t want to give the kid a heart attack. I'm off to go sneak very quietly into bed - who knows? This condition might be hereditary!

**UPDATE**

I got a very nice early wake up call this morning at 4:45. It seems the cold I have been harboring the past couple of days has made it's way into the birthday boy's world (not good, by the way). When I realized that neither he nor his now very awake younger brother were going to bless me with going back to bed, we all got up and went to the couch.

We were just settling in when he said, "Mom, I'm just shaky." I asked him why, hoping that he wasn't coming down with both my cold and his brother's stomach bug from Sunday. "I'm shaky because last night - when you scared me - a little piece of my heart broke off." Oh, brother - talk about a guilt trip!

"I Just Need to do Something!"

Wow - I cannot believe it's been 5 days since I last posted. Admittedly, we've had a lot going on, but this week has really flown by. I appologize to those of you who are faithful readers!

This week in the midst of speaking, the car dying (yet again), getting ready for a youth solitude retreat this weekend and preparing for Christmas, my soon-to-be 5 year old handed me a fresh bundle of perspective. Sunday evening as we were pulling into the church parkinglot he suddenly exclaimed, "Mama! People don't have money!"

I caught myself really wanting to respond with "Yes, and we are some of those people!", and instead said, "Yes, you're right. Not everyone has money."

"I just need to do something!" he said. "Let's take one monies to their house." His out-of-the-blue revelation kind of surprised me. He is a giving kid, but he's also 4 and not all that aware of how finances and life tend to intersect at the roughest of points. I don't know what it was, but something had triggered this sense of caring in him and I didn't want to miss the moment.

The very next day we went as a family to buy toys for three disadvantaged kids and a bag of hygiene products for an outreach our church was getting ready for. I had thought about doing this earlier, but had decided against it after checking our bank statement. What can we do? I thought. Someone else will take care of them, but it's just too much on our tight budget this year. I really believed that and I wasn't willing to look at it any differently. So the Lord chose to speak through the mouth of my son and motivate us to use the money that was His anyway to take care of His sheep.

I tend to be a pessimist when it comes to finances. As a one income family in ministry, we don't have the financial resources that some other families might (though things are a lot better than they used to be), and sometimes I let that get to me. But when I stop and think about it, our faithful Lord has always taken care of us. We may have had many months where we couldn't make ends meet, but we have never lacked anything we truly needed. He takes care of us and will continue to do so.

Through experiences like this one with my son, I am learning not hold on so tightly to what God has trusted us with. He wants us to take care of each other, and He's ready to bless us when we're obedient in that. I honestly didn't want to give away our money because I was afraid of not having enough for us, but I see now how silly that was. Don't mistake this as some kind of magic trick, but we received more than three times the amount of money we spent on those toys and toiletry items in cash within 48 hours of buying them. God is indeed faithful and will give us what we need when we need it, but He expects us to share what we have when He needs it.

I'm starting to learn not to complain so much about what I think I have and don't have. I may not feel "rich", but to my son we are not a family that doesn't have money. I'm glad he could hear God's voice a little clearer than I could this week.

There are hundreds of kids out there needing those of us who can to hold on a little less tightly to the financial blessings the Lord has brought into our lives. We might see the need a little more clearly during the Christmas season when there are donation programs sponsored on every corner of our town, but it still exists long after the mistletoe has been taken down. Ask the Lord to show you where He might have you serve His sheep this coming year - you might be surprised at how much you really have to give.

Well, I'm off to chaperone 15 kids on a solitude retreat (wish us luck). I'll have something new to write about when I get back!

The Sunday School Answer

Today in Sunday school I asked the high school youth I help teach what was the worst Christmas present they have ever gotten. We went around the room and one by one they told of underwear and socks, toilet brush sets, homemade sweaters and other well-intentioned gifts that had bummed them out in years past. Then we came to one of the jokesters in the room. I couldn’t wait to hear his answer – I just knew it would be hilarious! Then he spoke.

In all seriousness he nervously said, “Well, this wasn’t a present, really, but my dad left on Christmas morning and never came back. So…that was pretty much the worst thing I ever got for Christmas.” For a little while none of us were really sure what to say.

I appreciated his honesty, and my heart broke for him. Can you imagine your father walking out on you at Christmas? I can’t even fathom the hurt and the confusion that must have left him with as a little boy. Surely he must think about that in some way every Christmas season.
Later this evening I was watching him at youth. I was thinking about his comment and how sad it made all of us feel, and this sweet picture came to my mind. His earthly father had walked out on him the very same day we set aside to celebrate his Heavenly Father coming into his life! Right in the midst of the pain and hurt of being abandoned by one of this world, he was and is surrounded by images and reminders of the Father who will never forsake him. Each Christmas surely must come with the bad memories of that one worst day, but each one is also bathed in songs of worship and stories of His love and birth that have to remind our brother that his true Father is right here with him.

As we sang praise music and worshipped at youth tonight, my thoughts went out to this sweet brother in Christ. Take heart, little brother, your Father loves you. I wanted so much to make sure he knew that. But you know what? He’s not alone. Regardless of our past, we all need to understand how much our Father loves us.

I hope we all get a chance this Christmas season to take the time to thank Jesus for entering our lives – as broken and faulty as they were – when everyone else would have walked away. Let us praise Him for His unfailing love. Let us remember His faithfulness and be filled with joy at His presence. For our Father has come to us – Emmanuel, “God is with us”. We never have to fear that He’ll walk out on us, because 2000 years ago He went to impossible lengths to be with us forever.

Thank you, Jesus. You are the best gift any of us have ever gotten.

Feelin' Frumpy

I’m feeling frumpy this week. There, I’ve admitted it. Frumpy as in my jeans don’t fit quite rite and I’d rather be in pajama bottoms all day. Frumpy like I’m tired and moody and I can’t stop eating (brownies, pickles, chocolate, fruit cups, caramel corn rice cakes…you name it). Frumpy like I don’t want to do anything productive, and frumpy like I cried 6 times last night for no reason – three times during ER, twice during the news and once while playing Zuma online (it’s addictive, don’t start).

So now it’s time for you to put your hand on your hip, cock your head to the side, and in your best oh-you-little-devil-you voice ask me the question I get asked at least once a week (it comes with the age, I guess): “Are you pregnant…?” To which I would get to shine up my favorite cheesy 1950s housewife smile and mockingly reply “Why, no, I’m not! But I am on a medication that makes me feel like I am! Isn’t that darling?”

I’ve been on this new pill now for a few weeks, and I think eventually it’s really going to help me out with some problems I’ve been facing. I guess I just have to wade through the side effects of a faux pregnancy first. The thing is, though, that it’s particularly torturous when a small part of me really thinks it wants to be pregnant for real right now, while the rest of me knows that’s not an option anytime in the near future (at least on my agenda, anyway). So, that being said, I just feel frumpy.

Frumpiness aside, though, I think I had a pretty good week. I finally cleaned the baby blankets and too small clothes out the boys’ closet (which, given all the fake vibes from my uterus and stuff felt rather backwards, like I was putting away the muffin tins while the oven was preheating…). I also made a new meal my family went nuts over, did all the laundry in one day (never mind a load is still sitting in the dryer), and used $17.25 worth of coupons in one $20 trip to Target. Perhaps frumpy weeks aren’t a total waste.

Right now I’m off to hopefully finish Christmas shopping with my three favorite men. We haven’t even left yet and I’m already looking forward to coming home, taking off these awkward jeans and baking some homemade cookies. Hmm, could it be that frumpiness is actually really great, and I just haven’t learned to appreciate it yet? Let me answer that one later when I’m in my pjs.

Words from the Silence Part 4 (last one!): Just "Checking"

The rest of my time at the retreat teetered between more incredibly random (and not-so-spiritual) thoughts and, honestly, tired, dutiful prayer. With nothing else to do I tried to go to bed at 8:30, but couldn’t sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. I’d sleep for a bit and then get up and sit in the stinky chair to pray. Every time I think I’d run out of things or people to pray for I’d think of a new list and roll out of bed. I wish I could say it was a sweet time, but I’m not what you would consider a “prayer warrior”. It can be hard for me to stay focused and pray sometimes, but I’m glad I stuck with it.

At some point during my time on the retreat I found myself sitting at the desk in my room and looking at the pattern printed on the laminate covered particle board. It made me chuckle to think of the effort someone put into creating mock imperfections so the finished product would look more realistic and “natural”. It amazes me that the furniture business finds worm holes and grain imperfections in wood desirable. I personally don’t want to know that my bed was once gnawed on by varmints, but people like to know that the wood they are buying is authentic, and I guess worms don’t eat fake wood.

Sitting at that desk I remembered going to a log furniture store with my husband recently. We were just killing some time, but the lady there felt obliged to teach us everything we could possibly ever want to know about making furniture out of white cedar. I asked her about the cracks you always see in log-style furniture that makes it look rustic, yet a little unstable. She then, very happily I might add, told me about “checking”.

Checking, she said, is the natural process by which the wood expels moisture. This is good because if wood doesn’t expel moisture, it will rot. So you want your cedar furniture to check. You want it to be able to breathe through that sometimes very big-looking crack. “But doesn’t it make the furniture break?” I asked. “In 18 years of making furniture, I’ve only ever seen a piece of wood check past the core and break three times,” she answered.

In remembering her lesson I realized that through times like this solitude, my Father “checks” me. He breaks open a little crack in my surface (sometimes a big crack), and lets out all the stuff that will make me rot if I keep it inside. Sometimes people may see those cracks and be offended by them. But if they know the truth of why they exist, they’ll come to appreciate them and see the character they bring out in me.
The truth is, people need to see our flaws to know that we are real. They need to see our wormholes and our moisture cracks, because they want to know that we’ll stand the test of time. Deep down inside, though, what they really want to know is that they are just as real and natural as we are. Seeing our cracks and understanding them helps them accept their own.

So that’s why I’m sharing with you some of the “check marks” the Lord made in me over my time of solitude. It really was a rich time that I’m truly grateful for. If you ever get the opportunity to go on a guided retreat like that or to steal away and make your own time of silence for a whole day, I’d encourage you to do it. Sometimes God needs us to stop talking so He can get a word in, you know?

Thanks for letting me share my heart and my “checks” with you. I’ll be back in a day or two with something new.

Words from the Silence Part 3: Irrational Fears

So after His revelation in my heart (which I talked about last post), I started asking myself why people who struggle with anorexia like to cook food for others that they would never eat themselves. Their struggles are never really about food, after all, but something deeper in their hearts. I realized that they try to reason this way: “Well, they aren’t fat like me, therefore it isn’t dangerous for them to eat this food. If I eat it I’ll only get fatter.” But what did that look like in my spiritual anorexia?

I thought about it for a while and realized that my thinking was, “Well, they’re not unlovable like me. It’s dangerous for me to accept these truths about God because if He rejects me then I’ll know for sure that His love doesn’t apply to me.” What a disgusting and convoluted thought that must have been to our Lord. How could His love not apply to one of His own?

That got me thinking about irrational fear. It’s irrational to think you’re fat when you weigh 100 pounds as an average-height adult (not that I weigh that…I’m just saying…). It’s just as irrational to think that you are incapable of being loved by a loving God. I immediately realized how true this was, but I didn’t know what to do about it. How do you change that kind of thinking?

I began to pray about what to do with my irrational fears, and then it hit me. In the reality of knowing Jesus, aren’t all fears irrational? Doesn’t the Bible say that perfect love casts out fear? I knew then that the answer to my fear was to draw nearer to my Lord and to see Him for all He truly is. In the truth of His presence and His Word I will find all the assurance I need to dispel the fear that I am unlovable in His eyes.

I left that dining hall changed and free to eat from the spiritual meals I serve. His truths are just as much for me as they are for anyone else I talk to. Later that night we really did have Communion (with bread and wine…they skipped the meatloaf this time), and during that time I heard Him say, I loved you first. This whole relationship thing was His idea, not mine. I don’t have to chase Him and wonder if He’ll like me. He loved me before I ever even knew I loved Him.

It had been a beautiful day full of truth and reconciliation. But I still had about 16 hours of silence to go.

Words from the Silence Part 2: The Skinny Chef

The thing about taking a vow of silence with your mouth is that your brain doesn’t always follow. It takes a while for your thoughts to stop milling around up there. At times I wanted to laugh at how I seemed to talk to myself about the most random things. My favorite random thought was when I asked myself: “Quite possibly nature's most perfect fruit”…now is that the kiwi or is it the banana? Ok, so not every moment of my solitude was ultra-spiritual.

So I left you last time with me feeling like God had taken His own vow of silence in my life. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t seem to connect with Him. I wanted so much to hear from Him, but I think I had about given in to the fear that He wasn’t going to show up for me. And then we went to dinner.

As we were standing outside of the dining area waiting for everyone to gather, the Lord suddenly broke His silence to me in a very strange, but captivating way. I’ve struggled with an eating disorder in the past, and from time to time unhealthy thought patterns creep back into my life and have to be chased away with prayer and His Word. Some of these thoughts had been pestering me the days leading up to the retreat, and God chose to use them and the practices of an old, old struggle to bring new light to my eyes.

Out of nowhere, He reminded me that some people who struggle with anorexia love to cook meals for other people that they would never, in a million years, eat for themselves. Then He very gently whispered to my heart, That’s what you’re doing in your ministry, Sam. You’re setting the table for others with all these good, deep spiritual truths, but you won’t allow yourself to eat from them!

Wow. It was like a punch in the gut to realize the truth He had just spoken into my heart. In my speaking, writing, teaching – even in my relationships – I have been serving others healthy, delicious truths from the Lord, but I wasn’t taking in any of them for myself. Why? Someone once told me “Never trust a skinny chef”, and now I realized I am that skinny chef. Why can’t I digest what I’m feeding to others?

By now it was time to walk in the door and eat. As I stood in line and scooped peas and mashed potatoes onto my plate, I heard Him say to me: Eat, knowing that it’s good for you, and knowing that if you don’t eat you will surely die.

I don’t know if anyone has ever experienced Communion with meatloaf and ice water, but I tell you I did that night. I cried as I ate, not because of the physical food but because of the spiritual truth it represented to clean my plate and savor each bite in the process. But still the question remained: why? That too would be answered with a picture from a familiar struggle.