An Unashamed Closer Look

If you visit our church on any given Sunday, you will find sitting in the dead center of the front pew two college students. One, a boy, has been attending church there with his family for years and years. The other – a quiet, unique girl with short, dark hair – has only been a part of our family for nearly two years now. She’s been coming since the month she accepted Christ at a Young Life camp two summers ago – the same camp where I happened to be spending my last days on staff. It was a special summer for both of us, I guess.

There’s something else you might notice about this quiet girl if you watch her long enough: she’s legally blind in both eyes. Sure, she can see enough to get around without assistance most of the time, but most everything she wants to study in detail has to be held just inches from her face.

This past Sunday our congregation celebrated Communion together. As is common in our church, a table was set up in front of the altar to hold some of the Communion supplies. It happened to be right in front of the center of that first pew, but despite the crowded conditions, our two college friends didn’t give up their regular seats.

Besides holding the bread and the wine (well, juice…we’re Baptist…), the table also held a beautiful display of decorative items. Thought-provoking pieces such as a crown of thorns, a cross and several cups and plates were carefully arranged on flowing piece of black satin, which had been artistically bunched, curled and gathered at all the right places. It was a beautiful setup, and one I’m sure wasn’t “thrown together” at the last moment.

Towards the end of the service – during a song, I think – curiosity must have gotten the better of our friend in the front row. Without hesitation or concern for anyone else, she stood up and walked the few steps to the table in front of her. At first, she bent down close to look at a couple of things, then she picked up the flat, decorative plaster cross propped up near the crown of thorns.

I watched the faces of a few people near her as she held the cross, turned it over in her hands again and again, and even struck it on her palm a couple of times as if to test it’s sturdiness. I could tell that most people were as apprehensive as I was. Not only was she disturbing the display and distracting others, she was running the risk of breaking our cross!

Then something in me in changed. I looked at that sweet, blind sister in Christ and realized that there was an analogy to be found in her exploration of the table that day. She wasn’t afraid to step up and examine the Cross of Christ. She had no problem picking it up and running her fingers over it, or holding it close so she could see its details. Then I watched as she got down on her hands and knees to get a good look at the huge altar Bible displayed on a stand on the lower shelf of the table. It didn’t matter to her that hundreds of people were watching – she wanted to see the Bible for herself, and so she did what she needed to do.

I thought about it later and wondered how many people reacted just as I had at first. I wondered how many thought about going up there and asking her to sit down, or how many talked over lunch that afternoon about how “inappropriate” her behavior was during the last moments of the service. And then my mind wandered back to that analogy.

How much must it delight our Father’s heart when the truly blind in the world are bold enough to step up and examine His cross? How often does He long for all of us to throw down our pride and ask to see Him up close? And just how often, I wonder, do the rest of us stand back in judgment and disgust, worried about things that ultimately don’t matter? Oh, how many times we must get in each other’s way trying to protect the place settings on our Lord’s table. Shouldn’t we all be allowed to touch and feel His thorns? Shouldn’t we all be allowed to approach His table and hold our face against the elements to see what they’re all about?

I, for one, think I would have fallen into good company with the disciple Thomas. I love the Lord – please don’t get me wrong on that one – but I certainly tend to over-think things. I rather need tangible evidence sometimes to ground realities in my heart and mind. I definitely would have wanted to touch Christ’s wounds, I just probably wouldn’t have been bold enough to say so.

I’m glad, though, that when Jesus invited Thomas to see His wounds He didn’t say, “Come here, Thomas – look at my wounds. There they are encased in environmentally controlled bullet proof plexiglass. Aren’t they beautiful? Please don’t come any closer than the yellow line, though, if you don’t mind – your breath and the oils from your skin could contaminate the viewing area. Just look from there – you can get the general idea of what they look like.”

Much to the contrary, Jesus invited Thomas to come and touch His wounds – to feel the holes made by the nails and to slide his fingers in the path made by the soldier’s spear. This leads me to believe that our God says more than just “come and see” – He wants us to come and experience up close and personally everything we possibly can about Him. Ours is a “hands-on” Christ, and all are invited to come to Him, unashamed and full of questions He can’t wait to answer.

I wish this past Sunday I had encouraged my sister in Christ to keep looking and keep touching. I even wish I had possessed the inner strength to go and touch those thorns for myself – just as a reminder of all our Lord did for me. Our sister may be blind, but the Lord shows me time and time again that in some ways she has a much clearer view of Him than many of us with perfect vision do. I hope I can learn to approach the cross with her kind of unashamed curiosity.

That's the Plan, Anway...

I had plans today. Big plans. Plans to hunt bargains and buy milk. Proverbs 31 Woman-like plans. And yet, on this gorgeous day here we sit: bargainless, milkless, and with more of a mess on the floor than there was when we woke up. I haven’t even thought things that are Proverbs 31 Lady-like. Why? Because Big Brother woke up with a fever of 101.6 this morning.

I saw it coming last night. Little Brother had the same fever (only slightly higher) yesterday, and all my plans I had that day were put on hold too. When his face cooled down and his demeanor perked up late yesterday afternoon, though, I started to get my hopes up. Perhaps my plans would only be held hostage for one day. Then, right before I went to bed, I realized how silly I was being. Big Brother had his first ever field trip today – of course he was going to get sick.

I guess I should be thankful that he’s not really, really sick. Yes, he has a fever, but just like the little man yesterday, he doesn’t feel bad – at all. He’d rather be out doing something. I’m trying to be the “responsible” mom, though, and make him stay in and rest. So we’ve watched a movie (or two), played dinosaurs, built a zoo and played around with a video game. Still, I selfishly can’t get those plans out of my head.

Plans are a funny thing, you know. We can’t really not make them, but half the time we are powerless to fully keep them, especially when the plans we made for little ole us seem to conflict with the plans the entire rest of the world made for itself. On days like that some of us seem to feel like we’re entitled to our plans, and we try to make them happen anyway. Quite often the results are disastrous for someone, even if we didn’t even know they were involved. Take, for example, the hypothetical person that may have taken her fever-ridden child to the store last week, placing him in the same cart I later yelled at my kids to stop getting out of. If she had changed her plans instead of stubbornly keeping them, maybe Big Brother would be on his field trip right now. Then again, if I had changed my plans at the grocery store and just let the hooligans walk, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered so much about that first woman’s plans…

I wonder how many times a day God laughs at our plans. I have to think that He finds it at least a little humorous when we presume to know so much about life and what’s going to happen next that we set our hearts on a certain path – often without even the slightest glance in His direction. Sure, you have to be prepared, but when you don’t exactly have an accurate map of where you’re heading, doesn’t it make sense to stop and ask directions? Ok, maybe to a guy it doesn’t make sense, but to us ladies it does.

The Bible says at least two things about plans that come to mind right now. First is in James 4:13-15: “Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’” The second thing is in Jeremiah: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord” (29:11, verse, emphasis mine). Both of these passages point me in one inevitable direction: God is bigger than me. And His plans are certainly bigger than anything I write in ink on my weekly calendar.

I wish I knew what it looked like to get up every morning and ask Him what my plans should be for the day. I wish I knew how to be still enough to listen to His voice and brave enough to follow His direction. I bet my life would be a lot more adventurous and meaningful that way. I don’t know what that looks like, though. I honestly don’t know how to ask Him when I should plan on going to the store or if I’m free next Tuesday to hang out with a friend. Maybe it’s not like that, but I like to think of our Dad as the God of details, and I rather think He wants to be involved in even the smallest details of our every day lives – especially the ones we’re specific enough about to spend time planning out.

I don’t know – these are all just random thoughts today. I guess I’m just frustrated because I am a planner, and I can’t stand having my plans changed at the last minute (when there’s no time left to make new plans….it’s a sickness, I know). I can’t help but think that many of my days would go a lot better if I would simply realize that regardless of what I think I want to do, if I give Him control it will all work out for the best – plans or no plans.

I suppose I should note that I started writing this several hours ago. My writing time, however, didn’t go exactly as “planned” (the irony is just killer). Eventually I got it all done though, right? And as for the other things I “needed” to do today? Well, my husband should be home in a few minutes and I’ll finally be free to go get that milk. But there I go again, making new plans…. Oh well, the kids can always drink tea if something else comes up.

Samantha

Pop Tarts Are Dangerous

Oldest Son: "Mom, what are you doing?"

Me: "Packing your lunch for school." (pre-school, might I add...)

Son: "Oh. You puttin' some fish cookies in there?"

Me: "Of course!"

Son: "But not Pop Tarts. Don't put any Pop Tarts in there."

Me: "Why?"

Son: "Because Pop Tarts are dan-ger-ous!"

Me: "Why are Pop Tarts so dangerous?"

Son: "Because the girls will see them and they'll say 'Eww, I don't like Pop Tarts...' So that means they're dangerous."

Hmmm, and so it begins.....

Wanna know what else I learned about Pop Tarts this week? If your two year old son picks out the Barbie Island Princess Pop Tarts at the store, your five year old son will still eat them if you hide them in a leftover Pop Tart box that isn't pink. Yeah, I live a life of deception.


Samantha

An Amazing Mountain View

The drive from “town” to our house doesn’t take that long (especially considering that we used to live 25 minutes from the nearest Target in our last home), although some days it can seem like it lasts forever. There’s one spot in the drive that I love the most. It’s right as you’re coming out of a switchback and cresting a bit of a hill. To your right are some houses, but to your left is a valley of mostly open farmland framed with tufts of trees and perfectly sculpted tall mountains. On a sunny spring day like today, it can take your mind off of, well, just about anything. I absolutely cherish that two-second view during my day.

When I see those mountains, I’m reminded of God. Don’t ask me why – maybe just because they’re so beautiful… maybe just because they’re so big and permanent. Whatever it is, it turns my heart to Him in an instant. Some days I just admire them. Other days I find my emotions stirred on a strange level that goes much deeper than admiration. Perhaps it’s awe, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I find it funny, though, that as many times as I’ve nearly wrecked the car because my eyes are more fixed on the mountains than on the road, I still forget that those beautiful ridges are more than just scenery – they’re where I live.

I took a few extra minutes yesterday and drove around on some back roads between our house and a friend’s. Just a few roads over the view looking back toward where I live is absolutely stellar. Rolling hills, bright green grass and clusters of lush, dark trees – it’s like driving through a magazine about scenic America. Yet when I’m in the middle of it, I’m constantly forgetting how beautiful my surroundings are. I have to leave them in order to appreciate them sometimes.

It made me think about my relationship with Jesus today. We moved to the mountains partly because we love the mountains. Sometimes, though, the part that we love the most about the mountains is how they look from somewhere else. I’m not sure exactly how that applies to my walk with Christ, but I think that all too often I forget how beautiful this relationship between us is. I live in it every day, I drive up it’s winding roads and I’m surrounded by it’s hearty vegetation. Still, I tend to forget that this abundant life that I so often mechanically plod through is something to really behold. I forget that, to those just living on the edges of it, a relationship with Christ is so extraordinarily breath-taking in ways that they don’t even understand, that they’ll often wreck their whole life trying to imitate it while still living in the valley.

Those of us who know Christ and walk with Him daily have the privilege of living in a place of beauty in this world. Is it perfect? Not yet. But it is wonderful, and one day it will be completed. We live in prime real-estate, brothers and sisters, and it’s easy to forget that – especially if we never venture into the valley to remember what it looks like.

The older I get as a Christian, the harder it is to remember just what it was like to live life without Him. I’ve almost forgotten that feeling of knowing there’s Something out there that’s better than what I know of life, and wanting with all my heart to find it. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to stand in the valley and long for a place in the mountains.

I think it does us good as Christians to occasionally venture into the valley of people who don’t know Christ and to look back toward the place where we live. I think our hearts need to be reminded from time to time how beautiful and awe-inspiring the love of God is. But it’s not enough to just go down there for the view. We have a charge from the Father Himself to invite others to come back with us. We might be the only way they ever know that living next to a mountain isn’t nearly as amazing as living on top of one. They need this relationship many of us tend to take for granted the longer we live in it, and it’s our job to let them know there’s plenty of room up here with their names written all over it.

I challenge us to make the effort to come down off our lush hill and find someone in the valley ever the next few weeks. Look back with them toward where you live and show them how beautiful it is. Chances are, their hearts will already know it somehow. Our God is so big, so amazing and so permanent that I believe no one can miss Him. Ask Him to reveal Himself in mighty and unmistakable ways to our neighbors in the valley, and then ask Him to provide us with a chance to remember how beautiful our life with Him really is.

I’m thankful today to be living on this mountain with you.

Family Practice Night

Ahhh… things are better now. So far this week everyone’s healthy. The sun is finally out and the weather is finally warm – it’s been a good day.

In fact, it’s been a strangely picturesque day. We got up this morning, I read the paper while the kids ate breakfast and watched cartoons, and then we went outside for a while. The boys played with bubbles and I – brace yourselves those of you who know me – actually tried to weed my flowerbed. It took me like an hour to get like maybe 10% of it done, then I had to quit because I was already getting a blister and my carpal tunnel syndrome wasn’t liking all the extra curricular activity. Save it for writing my hands seemed to scream with every pull. So I gave up and watered instead. I still felt very domesticated and secretly hoped that the neighbors were watching.

Then we cleaned up and headed into town to pick up Daddy and go mattress shopping. Glory hallelujah, we’re getting a new mattress! It’s really time when you can make your bed up – comforter and all – and still see all the dips and sags in the surface. On the way we stopped for cheeseburgers (I know, not exactly the picture of perfection, but hey, everything else was going well). This would be the point at which I began to realize just how much people in the fast food industry take advantage of us – I mean where else are you going to be charged 50 cents for a piece of cheese?!?! I mean 50 CENTS – but I digress….

The boys and I came home and took naps, then this evening we ate dinner as a family, baked a chocolate cake together, went to the park and flew airplanes, took a drive in the mountains, played ball outside and wrestled on the living room floor. I mean, does it get any better than this?

And you know what I was thinking the whole time? I was thinking how much I was actually enjoying my two year old. We weren’t fighting. He wasn’t whining about anything. Everyone was getting along… I know every day can’t be filled with bubbles and chocolate cake, but I’m wondering if things would be at least a little different if a few more of them were.

Then it got me really thinking. What if we cut out Little League at age four and replaced it with Family Stays Together Night? When our oldest played soccer last fall, I think we only missed one practice/game because of something out of our control. We made sure we were there every week, on time and dressed out because we had made a commitment to a team and we had paid money to be there. Soccer was definitely a priority for those couple of months.

Family time, though, seems so often to be the first to go when the schedule gets tight. We showed up for soccer no matter how tired or busy we were, but we wouldn’t have gone to the park today if we had just been too exhausted from all that had happened over the weekend. We excused ourselves from other obligations on Monday nights last fall because they were practice nights. I don’t think, however, that we would have been playing in the yard tonight if something else had come up that we “had to be at”.

I guess what I’m wondering is this: if it feels so rewarding – so right and so great – to spend time together as a family, why oh why do we skip out on it so easily? Why are days like today so rare for our family that I would actually even consider blogging about them? And what can we do to change that?

If our commitment to a team of four year olds who couldn't really care any less about the game of soccer was too important to break, shouldn’t our commitment to family be a thousand times stronger? Then why isn’t it? It just makes me wonder, is all. What must it say to our children when these two priorities are backwards?

I wonder if we would have more times like tonight if we had to pay someone to have them. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but what if we took that $70-odd dollars required for one kid to “play” soccer (a.k.a. spin around in circles and pick flowers on the field while all the other kids actually kick the ball and run after it), and gave that money along with a signed contract of commitment to someone who would hold us accountable to having family time. Would we show up every week, dressed out and on time, ready to spend time together? Would we put it first ahead of other things we “have to do”? Would I find that I enjoy my two year old a whole heck of a lot more than I ever thought was possible?

It just makes me wonder, and I guess it gives me a lot to think about. Maybe our family needs more nights to practice being a team than my son’s soccer buddies do. If we do get to the point of paying someone to commit us to family time, though, I think I might take the chocolate cake baking out of the weekly routine. Sure, it was fun, but I don’t think my backside can handle that much family togetherness…

Yuck

We’re being held hostage by the ever-dreaded stomach bug. For once I was the first to get it, then the littlest in the middle of the night Saturday, and finally yesterday Big Brother got it before we were able to get dressed for school. I knew it would eventually come back for him – it’s been like waiting for the other shoe to fall all week. We’ve made our plans loosely and avoided dairy foods and ice cream just in case. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’ll be the last victim. I think this one’s a quadruped – three feet down with only Daddy left to squash. Defeatist thinking, I know, but it’s probably true.

I'll write something as soon as I can!

It's All A Matter of Perspective

My five year old cracked me up as we walked out of church Easter morning. He was excited over the day (and over his first ever piece of bubble gum given to him in Sunday school), and was kind of skipping and jumping through the now-empty parking lot. At one point he tried to jump off a curb and lost his balance. He scrambled and staggered like a cartoon character, and somehow managed not to eat the pavement. “Wow buddy! Nice save!” I commented.

He then stopped dead in his tracks, cocked his head to one side, and looked at me as if the proverbial light bulb had just clicked on.

“Jesus saved me!” he declared with an awe-filled voice.

I failed to catch the connection in his little mind with what had just transpired with his clumsy feet, so I rather thought he was regurgitating something he had learned in Sunday School that morning.

“Yeah, buddy, Jesus saved you…” was all I could think to reply.

We resumed walking/skipping and within seconds he tripped again. This time I got exactly what was going on in his mind.

“Whoa!” he yelled. “Jesus just saved me two times!”

Here’s to hoping Jesus saves you today.

“For you, O Lord, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before the Lord in the land of the living.” Psalm 116:8-9