Thinking Thankful

A friend and I are working through Kelly Minter's study Nehemiah, and the last couple of weeks have spoken to me.

Yesterday I read in Deuteronomy...

"When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the Lord your God for the good land he has given you.  Be careful that you do not forget the Lord your God, failing to observe his commands, his laws and his decrees that I am giving you this day."

Deuteronomy 8:10 - 11

God is bringing us through a season of stepping out in faith.  And we're learning that taking that first step is hard, but the steps that follow are also very hard.  Not bad or full of regrets, just hard.  Many days I struggle to find hope and joy when it's hard.

All of this has been on my mind and Nehemiah has encouraged me to stop and reflect on how far we've come already, and praise God for that.  We've found a soft place to call home for now.  We're making friends.  We aren't the new people at church any more.  Our little family of 5 has grown closer.

Nehemiah has shown me that we need a gratitude adjustment.  We need to stop and praise God for what he has done in our journey.  We need to remember that the Lord is bringing us through this journey...even the hard stuff.

And then yesterday Jeannette posted about their plans for Lent.  And even though we aren't doing the random acts of kindness thing, I did identify with the blog she mentioned that is doing the gratitude thing.

The Hairdryer family is giving up ingratitude for Lent.

They don't know it yet, but tonight at dinner they will.  Every evening, each of us will use a sticky note to write something we are thankful for, a praise to God, or remember a way the Lord our God has worked in our life this year.  And then we're going to stick the note on our windows so we'll see them throughout the Lent season.

We did a version of this a few summers ago.  Remember this?



So very easy, such enormous results.

Is your family celebrating Lent?

   

All I Can Say Is Wow!

Me and 10,000 of my closest friends spent this last weekend in San Antonio for a Living Proof Live conference. Living Proof Live is code name for Beth Moore. In case you've been really busy the last 25 years or so and you've missed out on exactly who Beth Moore is, I'll sum it up for you. She's done some women's ministry stuff. She's written some Bible studies, taught some Bible classes, and led some conferences. I am confident the Word she writes and speaks comes directly from God, and those words have changed the lives of hundreds of thousands of women all over the world. And that's a conservative guesstimate. We could probably group it in the millions of lives changed . . . but who's counting?

It's taken me a couple of days to clear my head after such a weekend. When my flight home landed at about 10:30 Sunday morning, I'm sure I was glowing from my encounter with the Father. I was extremely exhausted, so if I was glowing, time with the Father is the only explanation.

I hit the ground fully encouraged and uplifted, and a little bit overwhelmed with all I'd taken in over the weekend. And I was really tired. What I needed was an afternoon of quiet, aloneness, and reflection to sort it all out. And a nap. What greeted me was my wonderful husband and my 3 precious kids all eager to make up for lost time spent with Mom. I really am a blessed girl to have such a welcoming committee. The reflection and alone time was put off and traded in for some sweet snuggling, playing, and getting filled in on all the fun I missed over the weekend.

And then real life hit. There was the whole first day of 3rd grade to deal with, plus there was grocery shopping to do, casseroles to make, lessons to plan, bulletin boards to decorate, eye glasses to purchase, and meetings to attend. And I'm so tired. This first week of school is kicking my tail. I'm too old for school.

But even with all that going on, my mind is beginning to sort out my weekend with Beth, and I'm able to form some complete thoughts. Finally.

There were so many highlights that made this weekend special. So I'm going to share them in the order that they are being filtered through the fog that is my brain this week.

Up first: thoughts, notes, and Words from the lessons Beth shared during the conference.

As I am looking over my notes from the weekend and taking myself back to what impacted me in the moment I was hearing, these are some things that come to mind.

• Over and over this summer, God has impressed on me the importance of being an intentional Mom. I feel like our family has been in survival mode for one reason or another pretty much since the girls were born. And now it's time to come out of that season and become intentional about my job as a Mom. This was not a major point in Beth's outline for the weekend, but she did mention in passing a couple of different times that becoming free/feeling secure will take a lot of hard work. You won't wake up one morning and surprise yourself by saying, "Oh, wow! I feel free/secure today." It's going to take some work, and you will have to be intentional about it. That's how I feel about being a Mom. I will not wake up one morning and say, "Oh, wow! My kids are such wonderful little people." Being the best Mom I can be will not happen by accident, and it will not come by surprise. It will take some work and I will have to be intentional about it.
• Another thing that impacted me was the idea about putting my beliefs into practice. It's not a new concept, but the wording this weekend really spoke to me. My theology has not transformed my reality if I allow insecurity/fear/being too busy/etc. to rule my life.
• The text for the weekend was Psalm 16 and verses 5 and 6 read this way, "The Lord is my portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The [boundary] lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance." (ESV) Beth shared the idea that our life is made up of boundary lines much like the nations of Israel in the Old Testament. She wanted us to consider 4 things that define that boundary and form our life. 1) Intimacy with God - our life cannot exceed the degree to which we are intimate with God 2) Our Past - it defines who we are, it changes our perspective 3) Life Experiences - much like our past, give us perspective and sometimes purpose or focus 4) Spiritual Gifts - be who you were created to be, spend your time working towards God's purpose for you and not wishing you were blessed with someone else's gift

There was so much more, but these points are clear to me right now. I will definitely be spending more time in Psalm 16 during the weeks to come.

Thank you for speaking to me this weekend, Father.

Processing

To be honest, I'm kinda' tired of talking about this. It's draining and such a downer. I know if I'm tired of talking about it, you've got to be tired of reading about it. But here I am writing about it anyway. . .

When we agreed to help out on the youth retreat this past weekend, I felt very ambiguous about the decision. An "I can take it or leave it" kind of attitude. I pretty much told Honey to decide what he wanted to do and I would follow, support, and, most likely, have fun doing it. So, like so many times before, we left the girls with Mom & Dad, and Bubba, Honey, and I boarded a bus full of teens headed to the retreat site.

Just a side note here to say that Bubba thoroughly enjoyed himself. You know, he was the youth group baby for so long that lately he's been talking a lot about missing camps, and retreats, and such. His brain knows that it's not our job anymore, but his heart misses all the fun and attention he got from the teens.

As soon as we got to the church and began loading luggage, we saw one of our old teens. He had just finished 8th grade when we left and now he is well in to his 10th grade year. I love 10th graders. They've finally grown up and aren't as nerdy as they were in middle school. For me, it's my favorite age, and usually the time I form stronger bonds with the kids. In 10th grade, they can actually have a conversation with you and the glimpses into higher order thinking come more frequently.

Anyway, our old teen was attending this retreat with a friend from school and it was really great to see him and establish that he is, in fact, several inches taller than me. And to top it all off, we were assigned to work with the 10th grade group that weekend.

Saturday night, we were finishing up an activity, when I saw Old Teen. I sat down next to him hoping to catch up on his life when I became very aware that I had just interrupted something. He was talking to another teen and although I didn't hear anything Old Teen said, I heard the other teen's reply. "So if he left, why is he back here?"

In that moment, I froze. Emotions that I thought were worked through and in the past erupted to the surface. To this day, one of our greatest regrets about the timing of our resignation and the secrecy that surrounded it is the fact that we were in relationship with many teens and their parents. A trusting, give and take, friendship relationship. And, literally, one day we were promising that we were dedicated and committed to that group, and the next we had "resigned to pursue other opportunities". To my knowledge, no explaination was ever given to anyone, including us, about why we had resigned. At the very least, we felt everyone thought we were heartless and shady, not worthy to be trusted. It took many tears, prayers, and conversations for me to realize that where the teens are concerned, it's not about us. We weren't calling them to follow us, we were calling them to follow Jesus. They can do that whether we are there or not.

What still hurts is knowing that human nature doesn't allow one to just not know. Oftentimes, when we don't know the true information, we make up our own version of the truth. We make assumptions and harbor feelings that may or may not be right.

So, I froze as I sat down, because I wasn't sure I was ready to hear Old Teen's version of the truth. And I really didn't have it in me to honor our former elder's request to "just tell them to talk to us" if they ask you what happened. Even though, to this day, that is really the only true answer I have.

Before I could get back up, excuse myself, and allow them to finish their conversation in private, Old Teen awkwardly cleared his throat and asked the other guy, "So, what kind of truck did you say you drove?" And I felt invited to stay.

The next morning was our official Sunday morning worship time. Not just some songs before another session was to start while the cooks cleaned up from lunch and the pre-campers played outside. Worship. Praise, prayer, and sweet communion when everyone stopped the going home preparations and came together in that once in a lifetime, never have the exact group of people gathered in one place again time. To say that I was overwhelmed with emotion that morning would be an understatement. As I looked around that room and locked eyes with the unsure 6th grader on her first retreat, the taller than me 10th grade boys, the confident Seniors, the dedicated adults and parents, the precious pre-campers that want so much to be noticed by the big kids, emotion bottled up from somewhere deep inside consumed me. I miss this.

The Fingerprints of God

**Originally published 10/16/07**
**Edited 9/13/10 to add -- Jerrod is home and back to leading a normal college life (as normal as college gets). Jerry, Jerrod's dad is in the middle of retelling their story and I am loving his insights. If you're interested, read How to Be a Neat Guy to hear the whole story from Jerry's point of view. Start with 8/25/10, he's been posting every week day.**

Last night, around 9:00, I returned from the road trip to see Jerrod. If you haven't seen his website, please take a couple of minutes to read his story. This site was actually created by a friend of the family at Jerry's request. It is the best way to get accurate, up-to-date information on how Jerrod is doing.

For the last 2 weeks I have been preoccupied with Jerrod and the health crisis he is facing. Every waking moment, it seems, is spent thinking of, praying for, or talking about Jerrod and what is happening at a hospital in Plano many miles from where I am. For two weeks I have ached to be there with Jerrod, Carla, Jerry, and Carly. To see with my own eyes, hug with my own arms, and pray with my own voice. To experience more than just the virtual waiting room that is the website.

On Wednesday morning, the day before the surgery, while in the shower, I was talking to God about my ache. I was inviting God to search my heart. . .to make sure that my reasons for wanting to visit the Sheltons was not selfish. I didn't want to go if my motivation was to ease my mind or find peace for myself. I only wanted to go if it would encourage and uplift Jerrod and his mom and dad.

As I finished my shower, I realized that it was very possible for me to squeeze in a 6 hour road trip Sunday and Monday if I could figure out what to do with my kids. Because, let's face it, a mom who's dealt with 3 kids for 6 hours in the car headed for unpredictable circumstances at a hospital waiting room isn't much encouragement to the people around her. By the end of my shower I was weighing my childcare options, knowing it was all that stood between me and a visit with our dear friends.

BEFROE I WAS EVEN FINISHED DRYING OFF, the telephone rang. It was one of our former youth interns saying that since she (A) and her husband (M) have just moved back to town and are still in the process of working out the details of their jobs, they are totally free to babysit the kids so Honey and I can go see the Sheltons. In fact she'd just finished cleaning her bathroom where she'd been praying about ways to help the Sheltons and felt like this was something she could do. So she took a chance and called. God answered my prayer for the perfect babysitter before I even had the chance to voice the need.

Needing no more signs from God, (as it's pretty miraculous for people to call and VOLUNTEER to keep my children overnight) I promised to call Honey and work out a plan for A and M to watch the kids while we made the trip.

Not by accident, Honey had a trip planned to the Plano area for work. He was scheduled to fly out Sunday and fly home on Thursday. After a few phone calls, the company agreed to cancel Honey's Sunday flight, and, instead pay for his expenses to drive down. I was able to drive down with him, stay in his hotel room Sunday night, and. . . VOILA! The expenses for our trip dwindled to my food and gas for the trip home.

I drove back Monday evening, and Honey will fly home as planned on Thursday.

The kids had a blast with A and M, and Honey and I got to hug our friends and witness first hand the power of prayer and faith as we held hands with Jerrod and watched the Cowboy game on Sunday. God is so good!

More on our trip tomorrow.

Answered Prayers

Jerrod is out of surgery and is resting well. His mom, dad, and sister got to spend time with him after the surgery. If you would like to read updates about how Jerrod is doing go to www.jerrodshelton.com . Thanks for praying.

A Father's Heart

Please remember Jerrod Shelton in your prayers today. He is scheduled to have delicate, complicated, extremely intricate brain surgery today at 12 noon CST. The surgery will last 12 or 13 hours.

This is an excerpt from an e-mail I received from his Dad. He wrote this while sitting by his son's hospital bed. I love this family, and this is why.

"Let me begin by saying I know most of you know what an outstanding young man Jerrod is. But I want to help enlighten you just a bit. When someone is hurting Jerrod has always been very moved by that. When someone is left out, Jerrod wanted to include them. When someone is sad, Jerrod wants to encourage. When I have ever said I was going to do something to help someone it was Jerrod who always encouraged me to do more. Here's a big one... once in a while I would learn that someone had done something to hurt Jerrod's feelings, or was mean to him in some way. Or bullied him. I would ask, Jerrod who did that? His response was always the same... Daddy I don't want to tell you, because I don't want you to think less of them. You may think I am kidding, but it is the absolute truth. He always defended those who hurt him. He never wanted me to be angry at anyone for those things. He always said, "it's okay daddy, I can handle it."

I don't write that because I want anyone to feel badly, I write that because I want you to know what I am learning. I love Jerrod just because he is my son - and that's enough. But I love him with an intensity I can't describe because of who he is. (stay with me on this) I have always wanted to love Jesus more. I have a hard time with the images that have been portrayed in even the best Hollywood attempts. He is either portrayed as a man of no apparent emotion or a guy who just walks around with a silly grin on his face. Here's what I know now. Jesus was perfect so I know he was the one who included the one who was left out. He is the one who said, "Hey, man - come down from that tree. I want to go home with you and spend some time with you today." He was the one who took care of those who are sick. He is the one who defends those who hurt Him. He is the one who tells His Father, "Abba, Daddy, I don't want you to know it was jerry who hurt me, because I don't want you to think any less of him. I can handle it." You know, I have always kind of wondered how the gospel works. Yes, Jesus died for my sin. I know that. Yes, if I believe and love Jesus I have a home in Heaven. I believe that. But I always wondered why it works that way. Why isn't it some spiritual act I can do to get my card punched and get in. Why can't I just get a to do list from God and complete that for my entrance. Or how come it's not based on how many scriptures I can memorize or why isn't it that I have to learn algebra to be accepted. (Thank God that's not the case) So, what is it about this simple thing about loving Jesus? What's really up with that? Have you ever wondered that too? I am not exactly a rocket scientist so I'm won't be surprised if I'm the only one.

But I truly believe that is why we are so tempted to accept a works theology. Okay, I love analogies, so stay with me on this. I am in no way trying to place my self in any way on the same plane with God. But consider this. I have realized that I have an incredible feeling of love for each of you who are praying for Jerrod. If you love Jerrod and are praying for him... I love you. Case closed - that's it, that's all you have to do is love my son and pray for him and I love you. (see where I am on this) I don't care what you have done in the past. I don't care if you have hurt me, I don't care if you have hurt Jerrod in the past. I don't care if you have made many mistakes in your life... if you love my son and are praying for him, I love you. If you love my son, you have a place to stay in my home any time. If you love my son, I will defend you. If you love my son and pray for him you are my family. Do you see the beauty in that? Now I totally understand. Now I know why God wants us to come live with him if we will only believe in and love His son. Wow. And I can now see that Jesus is the kind of man I can easily love. He is the one who would have stood between me and the bullies who beat me up in 9th grade every day. He is the one who would have told people, "don't say that about him, I love him." He is the one who would have gently helped me when I struggled in school. He is the one who would sit with me and cry when I hurt. He is the one! He really is my best friend. I have said that all my life. We have so many "churchy" things to say about Jesus. We say these things until our language becomes a jargon the world laughs and doesn't understand. But now I know. Now I know what people need to know about the God we all love. "

Heavy

My heart is heavy. I just haven't felt like blogging, mainly because my heart is so heavy. So many yucky things happening and I just can't be chatty and fun-loving.

I'd like to ask you to pray for some of my friends:

• A very special teen, Jerrod, who in the last week has gone from experiencing double vision to being diagnosed with having a tumor deep in his brain, to needing complicated brain surgery.
• A father and husband who desperately needs a liver transplant.
• A mother, wife, and grandmother who is living her final days with cancer
• A marriage that is ending
• Another marriage that is ending

To be honest, whatever incident I was going to write about in an attempt to be witty and entertaining just seems petty.

Thanks for your prayers.

My dad had surgery yesterday. It was a simple day surgery to remove his gall bladder. I am sure he would resent me calling it a "simple" surgery, since he is still in pain and is pretty bruised and swollen today. But nevertheless, his words the night before the surgery were, "Honey, it's no big deal."

So I sent the girls to pre-school yesterday and asked my director to pretty please make a way for someone else to accompany my 4 year old class to the apple orchard all morning so that I could have the day off to be with my parents at the hospital. In all honesty, I was probably a little too excited about the prospect of a "day off " given the pretense of the day. The night before, I took my tote/purse down from the top of the closet and transferred all of my purse necessities into it. I also added a couple of magazines, a book, and some apples that I needed to cut out for my school scrapbooks. On my way to drop off the girls at school, I picked up some Starbucks and headed for the hospital. I also dressed up because I love dressing up, but never do because it just isn't practical when dealing with 4 year olds, mine or otherwise.

If you'd seen me walking through the parking lot you'd have thought that I was headed for a vacation, except it was the hospital parking lot and not the airport parking lot. Mom and Dad were already there and they actually got Dad into surgery early! After they took him back, Mom and I were ushered into the family waiting room. We were supposed to wait for the doctor to finish surgery and then he would come out and talk to us. This was great in theory except that there were no chairs. So we signed in, left our cell phone number, and headed to the cafeteria. After a while we decided to try the waiting room again. The crowd had thinned a bit and we found two seats together. I settled in and commenced my favorite activity while waiting. . .people watching. And let me tell you, there were some people to watch!

It occurred to me that a hospital waiting room is one of life's great levelers. Every one's in the same boat. Young, old . . . rich, poor . . . natural hair, purple hair . . . ear rings, nose rings, there's not a lot separating our circumstances. We are all concerned about our loved one. We are all there filling the role as caregiver, we will all be dispensing pain medication in a matter of hours. We are all at the mercy of the hospital staff. Everyone has to wait, everyone has to give up control. Everyone has put something else on hold so they could be present.

And then I witnessed a difference in one family over all the others. We watched a family wait to find out if their wife, sister, daughter would reject her new kidney or not, a simple day surgery turned into life and death. We watch their chruch family gather around and offer strength and support as they waited. We watched as a doctor friend went back and forth with updates from the unexpectedly long surgery. We listened as they repeated like a mantra, "God will take care of her." The difference for them was that they were allowing God to carry them through the current crisis. I don't know the hearts of the rest of the people in the waiting room, but that family was very obviously different from the rest of us. As Christians, we aren't promised a get out of life free pass. We will still face tragedy, sadness and grief in our life. But we are promised the arms, legs, shoulders, strength, endurance, grace, and peace to make it through the darkest nightmares. And it is in those dark moments that our faith shines the brightest and makes us look supernaturally different from the rest of the world. And it's the only difference that matters.

Here's the best part

I will be the first one to admit that when you are living through a tough time, you want desperately for someone to come along beside you and assure you that you're not alone. Misery loves company, right? Satan is so good at convincing you that you're the only one that has ever felt this way, and if you choose to share your burdens, no one will understand. Your situation is so shocking and hurtful that no one could possibly offer you the comfort you need.

I remember sitting at traffic lights and looking at the people in the cars around me. I wondered if there was anyone else stopped at the light going through the same loss as I was. I would look at families at the mall or the movies and wonder if there was anyone in the room who had experienced the same thing I was. I felt so alone, and I imagined clinging to the first person that walked up to me and offered to share his/her story about the time they'd been through the same crisis. I needed to see someone that had walked through it and survived, and maybe even come out on the other side stronger.

And since I knew no one else that had similiar experiences, the comfort that was offered to me seemed petty. I thought, "Well, that's easy for you to say. Your situation is nothing compared to mine." If there was a way to rank pain, I knew mine was deeper than yours.

Months after the crisis and my restoration to God, I remember comforting a friend that wanted a baby, but just couldn't have one. It finally! dawned on me! (I'm nothing if not slow) She is in so much pain, and is numbing herself in self defense. I know what that's like! I've been there! I may not know the emptiness of yearning for a child, but I definitely know the pain of pouring my heart out in faithful prayer and being told no. I can definitely relate to not understanding why God would allow something so horrible to happen. I've walked through this and survived and even come out on the other side stronger.

I learned that the details don't matter so much. Your hurt, my hurt, her hurt . . . they all hurt. We all have them, and we all need encouragement and comfort to make it through them alive. And if there were some sort of way to measure pain, I'm sure that yours would hurt just as deeply as mine. I've been talking about Larissa so much because she has chosen to share her journey with the world wide web. But there are others whose lives inspire me just as much, I just don't want to talk about them because their's is not my story to tell. I love reading Larissa's story so much because I see someone that is conquering the pain through the power of Jesus! It inspires me to handle my situations in the same manner. And I'm not filing the story away to pull out in case I ever go through a divorce. I am storing it in my heart and using it every day. Because the power is not in what caused the pain, but how you deal with the pain.

Trusting God

That last post? Just a little rant...didn't really have anything to do with Larissa's post, but still a part of my journey. I'm not really a rebel. I'm what you might call "all bark and no bite".

However, Larissa did mention having some trust issues. I can totally relate to that. A few months ago I was reflecting on some of the darkest days in my life and I wrote these words:

For the longest time, I had this idea that God was sitting up
in heaven waiting for me to trust him completely and make myself vulnerable to
His will. I thought that as soon as I confessed this kind of "all-out" faith in
Him, he would throw some kind of test at me to see how strong my faith really
was. I was scared to death to think of what that "test" might be, and so I kept
myself from selling out to God. I always kept a small part of myself from
trusting. I was spending my energy waiting for the next bomb to drop. I had a
false view of my Father.

I wrote this following a time in my life when my darkest nightmares had come true. I was hurt and blamed God for "allowing" it all to happen. I didn't totally abandon God, because, you know, I was the wife of a youth minister, and stuff. I had to put on a good face, but inside I was an empty, bitter void.

God spoke to me every time I opened myself up to "put on a good face", slowly chipping away at the wall I'd built between him and myself, and gently made me realize that he'd been there the entire time. He hurt with me and held me when I cried. He may not have stopped the nightmare, but he carried me through every step, and never once left me to fend for myself.

I learned that God could be trusted. Even in the nightmares. Trusting God doesn't mean that horrible things won't ever happen, it doesn't mean that we will get our way, it doesn't mean that the pain will be any less hurtful, or the life storm will be any less scary. It just means that no matter how ugly the situation, God is right beside you, carrying you, hurting with you, taking care of you, whether you can feel him or not.

And, Girls, I learned it good! Because, praise God!, this time around? Last September when we were cleaning out Honey's office? When we held our children and cried together? When we left our comfort zone and became a visitor? I never once doubted God. I never once blamed Him. And deep down, under whatever other emotion that was showing on the surface, I knew He was in control of the storm.

I love Jesus, but I hate church

I want you to know that from here on out, I am expressing my views and opinions. I don't want to presume that I can speak for Honey on these matters and I don't want him to feel like I've assumed that he agrees with me on every point. Also, for the sake of this post, I want to make clear that I am using the term "church" very loosely to describe in very general terms church in America 2007. I do not intend this to be an attack on our former church in any way. So that said . . .

I love Jesus, but I hate "church". I hate what "church" has become. I'm tired of being a part of an organization that encourages people to prove how close they are to God by staying busy teaching Bible class and volunteering to bring food to the newly bereaved. I'm tired of having my relationship with God measured by the number of baby showers I attend. I'm tired of showing up at the next appointed time only to sit on the pew and struggle with knowing that there are people "out there" who won't come "in here" because they think we're perfect and they aren't. I think busyness is numbing. I think it's Satan's way of keeping us so in tune with what is next on the schedule that we forget to form relationships. Meaningful relationships. Relationships that form disciples of Jesus. Relationships that, by the grace of God, multiply the kingdom.

I lay awake at night and dream of a church that isn't motivated by fear. Afraid of where the next complaint will come from. Afraid of when the next lawsuit will be filed. Afraid of what the old people might think . . . afraid of what the young people might think. Afraid to step out and follow the Holy Spirit because there just isn't any security in that.

I dream of a church that encourages it's members to go the extra mile to help someone in a real way. Several months ago I read something, somewhere . . . again, I wish I could find it . . . and it went something like this: A newly single mom was visiting with her Christian co-worker about her pending divorce. She was scattered, stressed and almost at her breaking point as she described how money was tight, her landlord wanted her out of her apartment, and she couldn't get a thing done because her youngest was ill. The co-worker, obviously feeling sorry for her knew she needed to help the woman. After hugging her and telling her that everything will turn out OK because God has a plan for your life, the co-worker couldn't understand why the single mom didn't feel any better. So, she took a deep breath and went out on a limb, "Why don't you come to church with me on Sunday morning?"

Although I admire the woman's courage, extending an invitation to church isn't always easy, the single mom wasn't in any shape to accept such an invitation. What she needed was someone to buy her some groceries, to come help her pack, to load the moving truck, to babysit the kids while she cleaned out her apartment. What she needed was a friend. Someone to share her burdens, someone to go along beside her and assure her that she isn't alone. Sometimes an invitation to church just doesn't make it better.

This is the reason I want to simplify my life. I want to slow down enough to really see people. To form relationships with them. To be trusted by them. To be allowed to share their burdens. To be allowed to open my life and share my struggles. What could be a better testimony to the love of God than to watch a Christian struggle, handle the crisis in a Godly way, and come out on the other side more deeply in love with the Father? My passion is to be the kind of person who can love others so completely that I can find ways to serve them and meet their real needs. I want my hands and feet to deliver the love our Father has for everyone. When I am being this kind of friend, she'll get to know Jesus. She'll come to church with me, and the kingdom will grow. It's only natural. When you find true love and acceptance, you run to it!

Over the last several months I've come to realize what my purpose in life is. I've also come to realize that I'll never find my dream church. We are all imperfect humans, and since we are the church, it will never be perfect. What I have done is come to a compromise. I want my kids to be a part of a church family. I want them to attend Bible class, VBS, and potluck fellowships. I want to be a member of a church body. I want to pitch in and help where I'm needed. I want to form relationships with other Christians there, I want to belong to the church. I know that part of that is hosting showers, and teaching Bible classes, and I'm OK with that. But I don't ever want to blur the lines again. I want to keep my focus on knowing that I am to be about loving God and loving others. And I never want to be so busy that I can't reach out to someone who is hurting.

Yeah, me too!

I realize that many of you reading this attend and love our former church. Really, in most ways, I love our former church. Many of you, we love and miss very much. We are thankful for the friendships that have lasted through this transition time, and we know that those friendships are stronger than the lines drawn because we attend a different congregation.

Like Larissa, I've tried to keep many of the details of our situation off the blog. I'm not interested in causing dissension. I'm not trying to rally my troops or ask people to join my side. Because I love the people that work for and attend our former church so much, I really don't want to share anything negative about it. I don't want my negative feelings to effect how you feel about your church home. I don't want my rantings to spread ugliness about our former church to strangers. I don't want my struggles to effect the witness this congregation could have on the community. Or worse, I don't want an unbeliever to stumble upon this post and think that all churches are bad. I just need to share my journey, my feelings, God's victory in my life. In fact, I really want you to try to forget where this happened and just listen to how God has worked in our lives since then. And truly, if that isn't possible for you, please don't read this post, or maybe the next several . . . I'm not sure how long this will take.

Last September Honey and I spent a few hours one night cleaning out his office at the church, and as we drove away with what was left of his entire youth ministry career packed in the back of the suburban, I felt . . . completely unable to put into words the feelings that were in my heart. Until recently. I read somewhere, someone said, "I love Jesus, but I hate church." I wish I could remember, because they aren't my words, just my feelings. I want to thank whoever wrote that for putting my thoughts on paper so I would know where to start in processing all of this.

When I read Larissa's post I realized that we'd been through a divorce, of sorts. The emotional numbness, betrayal, anger, hurt, grief, abandonment, all of that was there. We'd put our hearts and souls into the ministry, kids, families, and activities. The people of the congregation were our life. We didn't know anything else. Our own children didn't know anything else. And one day, without warning or explanation, it was gone. Our life changed in a matter of moments and there was nothing we could do about it.

Like Larissa mentioned, we were also dealing with a death. It was the death of our way of life. It was the death of what we thought "shepherds" were supposed to be. It was the death of the dreams we had for the youth group, and the dreams we had for the individual kids that we were blessed to spend as much time with as our own children, that we loved like our own children. Not only was Honey's job gone, but our purpose was gone. We lived to be youth ministers. We loved calling teens to be followers of Jesus. We were called by God to minister to teens and their families, and we embraced it fully.

During those first few weeks, we were completely lost. I remember taking many walks with Honey, hoping the crisp fall air would clear our minds and let God lead our next move. We didn't have a back-up plan. We never seriously thought about what Honey would do after youth ministry. We joked about it. Some crazy situation would come up with the ministry, and I would say, "Honey, after youth ministry you could lead "hide and seek" expeditions." Or after planning an entire week of summer camp, I'd say, "After youth ministry, you could design challenges for reality TV. You're great at this."

The only hope we found was knowing that we'd been praying for guidance as we juggled the lives of our own young children with the demands of a growing youth ministry, and that in some twisted, beautiful, supernatural way, this was an answered prayer.

Our friends and mentors were a source of great support and encouragement through those first few weeks. We felt loved and cherished by the members at the church and we thought that because we loved them so much we could get through the awkwardness of it all and continue to attend there. Our own kids loved it there, and since their little lives had already changed so much, we didn't have the heart to change that, too. Honey and I felt we could find a new place to fit in. Instead of starting completely over.

And I guess this is where our situation begins to differ with Larissa's. Aside from the fact that, you know, her betrayal came from her husband, not her job. I can't even begin to imagine how the pain is magnified coming from your spouse, knowing the pain we felt. But, eventually, we were able to escape the situation, distance ourselves from the awkwardness. When we decided to leave the congregation and find a new church home, our family could do it together. "We're in this together" never meant so much. We were able to visit new places and forge new relationships, together. Honey and I have been able to work together to walk our kids through this life change. We've been able to help each other work through the hurt. We've been able to lean on each other as our financial situation has been in flux.

Now, 10 months later, I can look back on the journey this far and say, I'm glad we're out of youth ministry. As much as we love and miss the kids and their families, we do not miss all the other stuff. We have loved every minute of the time Honey has been home this summer. I know that there are many husbands that travel for work, but 8 years of home a week, gone a week summer travel, and busy, 70 + hour work weeks during the school year was enough for us. Now that we see life from a slowed down pace, we love it. We've discovered that one of our God given purposes is ministry to our own kids. And we love the freedom to serve Christ boldy and as the Holy Spirit moves us, instead of the timidness that comes with wondering what the elders will think or how it will effect the way people view the church we work for or the ministry we're involved in. The only one we have to answer to is God. And although that's how we should have felt this whole time, we are really living it now.

Wow

Last night I read this post over at One Day at a Time. My reaction to this post can only be described as overwhelming. I loved reading about the current chapter in Larissa's story, and the thoughts floating around in my head are a little chaotic right now.

You know when you've just been through a very difficult, life changing season and you feel the need to journal about the lessons you are learning? Well, this is the closest thing to a journal I've kept in a while, so I am going to attempt to sort out all the stuff in my head and journal about it here.

As much as I want to keep up with the lives of my homegirls in blog land, I'm going to take a blog reading break. I will catch up soon, but right now, I need to use my computer time to unpack all of these thoughts and get them out of my head.

I won't, however, be taking a break from writing. I'm just not sure how long it will take me to get a post (or posts) ready. So, I'm taking the pressure off myself by telling you that I'm not sure when the next post will be up. I don't know how long it will take me to organize and express. And when I do finally post, it probably won't be funny or cute or chatty. So, there's your fair warning.

And just because I love you, I'm going to leave you with a few links from my archives that will help tide you over. Just in case this picture isn't cute enough to get you through the kid-story-hiatus.

Here we have a perfect picture of the twins personalities. This was their reaction to the news that they would be wearing the cold, wet life jackets and going for a trip in a boat on fun day at swimming lessons.

If you are missing cute kid stories:

try this one, and this one, and even this one.

And if you are missing pictures of my cute kids:

try this, and this not so archival one.

And if you're in the mood for a more serious read:

try this, this, and this.

And yes, I just got finished drying my hair.

And so, the journey begins

This morning as I was getting ready, I remembered a quote I'd heard a while back from Dr. Phil. (Yes...I'm quoting Dr. Phil, feel free to stop reading now...)

He was talking about greiving the death of a loved one and he said, "The amount of time that you spend grieving doesn't equal the amount of love that you had for this person." (I probably shouldn't have put that in quotes because it probably isn't exactly, word-for-word what he said, but you get the picture.) The woman he was talking to thought that if she started feeling joy and happiness too soon, everyone around her would assume that she didn't love her husband very much, or that his death didn't affect her very deeply.

This morning, those words became real to me, but for a very different reason. Here's how the quote translated to me: "The amount of time it takes you to forgive does not equal the depth of your hurt."

For months (and I do mean months) I have harbored this hurt. I have nursed it and fed it and held on to it for dear life. For months I have been hoping that someone will notice the agony I am in and say, "Wow, someone must have done her WRONG!", and feel really sorry for me. And, I'm sorry to admit, I even hoped in some small way that noticing this agony would prompt them to hold a grudge right along with me.

I have struggled with the passage in Matthew 5:43-48 on almost a daily basis for literally months. It is just beyond my comprehension that it is as easy as "loving your enemies" and "praying for those who persecute you". I have been telling myself that as long as I'm "working on it" I can take years to get to the point of praying for my enemies because my hurt is just THAT DEEP. I certainly didn't want God's healing, because I believed if the hurt went away, people would assume I was OK with what happened. I wanted to hold on to my hurt and show the world that I WAS NOT OK with what happened more than I wanted to be happy...more than I wanted to be free from the bitterness...more than I wanted to please God.

Thank God that I have such wonderfully way-more-mature-than-that friends. Never once have I been encouraged to hang on to my hurt or continue feeding it one more day. Instead, they have loved on me, and prayed for me, and given me grace as I wind my way down this road.

Thank you Father for speaking to me today. By your grace, I will not harbor that hurt another day. It has happened and nothing can change it. It is in the past and I will leave it there. With your strength, I will not let Satan continue to rob me of joy by reminding me that I am suppposed to feel hurt. I will allow your mercy to heal my hurt and welcome the freedom that comes with forgiveness.

OK! Back up off my grill!

I know, don't nag, I admit, I'm supposed to be packing...(you didn't really believe me when I said that I wouldn't have much computer time did you?)

I had a conversation with my hairdryer this morning. (If that last statement threw you, read this.) Actually, the Holy Spirit talked, and I listened.

I spent most of yesterday afternoon alone. Honey was working, and the kids were spending quality time with Gran and Grampy "helping" them install shelves in my mom's closet. So, it was just me and the pile of boxes waiting to be filled with all of our worldly possessions.

While in the quiet house, I began to think...and worry...and question...and, eventually, pray. Last week marked 5 months since Honey left youth ministry. We have spent much time resting, playing with the kids, and enjoying life. We have recharged, re-evaluated, reprioritized, recommitted, and reconnected. Five months ago we were certain that God had a plan for us. We believed with all our hearts that the decision for us to leave our church was an answer to prayer. (not really the answer we were looking for, nor the way we would have chosen to handle it, nonetheless, an answer) Amid the feelings of anger, hurt, and resentment, we were optimistic and excited. We knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God would take care of our family, and we took comfort in waiting for the next open door to replace the closed one.

Praise God! He has been faithful to us! He meets our needs every day and usually provides a little left over. He knows what our family needs to meet our obligations and He provides, every. day. He's blessed our decision to sell our house by working out all the details to make this a smooth transition. By His mercy we feel His peace that passes understanding every day.

But, I gotta' tell ya', I'm starting to loose that optimism and excitement. It's been 5 months and no sign of that open door. Maybe it's the fact that I'm a girl, or a type-A personality, or the firstborn, or a control freak, or whatever you want to call it...human, maybe, but, I am feeling the need for some security. I need to know where the money is coming from this month, and next month, and the month after that. I want to plan, to save for vacation, or a new entertainment center, or to enroll the girls in some sort of activity that will give me some veg time for an hour a week and let them blow off some steam! I am really weary of being on "financial hold". I need a guarantee.

As I poured out my heart to Jesus yesterday, I have to admit, there were no great revelations, phone calls with an offer for "that perfect job", or anything else you might see at the end of a made for TV movie. But, I did have the strength to continue packing boxes, the patience to love on my kids when they returned home, and the blessing of a very tasty, fresh rotisserie chicken from our favoirte wholesale center to fill my stomach for supper...and peace, I was filled with yet another measure of supernatural peace that reassured me that the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases.

So, this morning, I was doin' my usual blog thang, and I stumbled on the blog of an aquaintence. Someone I don't know very well, but, we show up at the same gatherings ever so often. After spending 5 years with who she thought was the man of her dreams, and bearing 2 (going on 3) children, she is going through a divorce and all the pain and hurt that comes with becoming a single mom. (I bet she is in need of a little security, too!)

This friend was on my mind all morning, and while it began as prayer for her and her situation, it turned into a conversation with God on our (hers and mine) behalf. And I realized (while drying my hair) that people and things on this earth cannot give us any kind of guarantee, at least not ones that are real and true and can stand up to the attacks of Satan. There is no guarantee that you will always have your job, there is no guarantee that your husband will always be there, there is no guarantee that your loved ones will always be healthy. There is no guarantee. And if that's what I'm looking for, I won't find it.

But there is hope. There is a promise that will not be broken. There is One who is faithful, who keeps His promises, who is powerful enough to offer a guarantee. "For the word of the Lord is right and true; he is faithful in all he does." Ps. 33:4

Ok, I'm going to pack. Right. Now.

Rest

Yesterday, I taught my Pre-K kids God's purpose for winter. Or at least Karen Henley's (the writer of a curriculum I sometimes use) opinion of why God created winter. I told them that God made winter so people could rest from their work. I love that simple, common sense explanation. God knows we need rest and the idea that he created an entire season for us to get it is awesome to me.

When our world was a "grow your own food" kind of place many years ago, this was very real. People would work endlessly from the first signs of spring until they could squeeze no more out of fall. They worked the land, and livestock, and canned and cooked and preserved until they were exhausted. When winter came, they had to rest, at least a little. The days were shorter and the temperatures lower making it impossible to achieve more than the daily needs for survival like cooking and staying warm. They could afford to relax a little during this time, they'd prepared for the winter. They had stocked up on staples, canned vegetables and meat, they'd mended fences and barns.

I recently read in a magazine that one woman's favorite thing about January is that she gives herself permission to slow down and enjoy her family and home. I've decided that I love this concept and am trying to implement it in my family's life. We have all spring and summer for activities that force me and Honey to "divide and conquer" with him going one direction and me another. We worked hard in the fall to establish routines that will help us survive during the busy days of school. From now on, I'm going to devote January to taking a step back, saying "no" to a few extra activities, going to bed a little early, and managing our routines to conquer all the daily necessities. We are enjoying more time to relax, play a game, watch a movie together, and just be a family. It's our little way of hibernating, and we love it!

So. . .

So . . . What have I learned so far?

God loves me. He loves me more than I can imagine loving my own children.

Bubba hates shots. He worries and frets for days before if he knows they are comming. His anxiety is overwhelming by the time we enter the parking garage at the doctor's office. He tenses up and cries big crocodile tears as the moment approaches. His beautiful, big, brown, pleading eyes ask "How could you do this?" as we hold his hand while the nurse does the inevitable. Thankfully, he has never pushed me away as I try to comfort him. My arms ache to hold him as soon as I can. But, I love him too much to give in to his pleadings of no more shots. I still call several months ahead and make the appointments. (This somehow makes it worse, like it is pre-meditated or something.) Even though I hate the fact that he has to experience pain, (so much that I usually make Honey do all of the shot appointments) I know that my way is better than his. And even though I was the one who ultimately allowed the pain, Bubba still loves me, snuggles with me, seeks to hold my hand (don't tell him I told you that), and trusts me with the things most important to him.

For the longest time, I had this idea that God was sitting up in heaven waiting for me to trust him completely and make myself vulnerable to His will. I thought that as soon as I confessed this kind of "all-out" faith in Him, he would throw some kind of test at me to see how strong my faith really was. I was scared to death to think of what that "test" might be, and so I kept myself from selling out to God. I always kept a small part of myself from trusting. I was spending my energy waiting for the next bomb to drop. I had a false view of my Father.

God can't give bad gifts. It isn't in His nature. He seeks only to bless me and love me and lead me in the direction that is best for me. He would never hurt his beloved child. He will however always be there to hold me through the pain, and His arms ache to comfort me as soon as I will let him. And when I plead for no more shots, He will love me too much to deny me what will eventually make me healthier.

"God had the power to change it and he didn't."

How do you come to grips with that pure and simple fact?

I knew who God was. I had witnessed his incomprehensible power. I mean, I had spent thousands of hours in Bible class, Bible hour, Bible camps, devotionals, sermons, VBS, etc. I knew all of that in my brain, and this didn't compute.

My faith was shaken to say the least. The less extreme side of me started trying to "trust and obey" without the trust. When that didn't feel right, I began throwing the obey part out the window as well. I used what emotional strength I had to build walls to protect me from God and anything that he might be trying to do in my heart. I was an emotional wasteland.

But, there were still those seeds planted in the deepest parts of my soul that wouldn't let me close the door on God completely. I had been "trained up" in the right way and I couldn't part from it. It was a part of me whether I liked it or not. No matter what my brain told me, my heart knew that the darkest, scariest day with God was better than the most calm day without Him. And, after months of anger, pain, and depression, I began to allow God to "do his thang." God began his holy healing process in my heart. I had to learn some pretty basic things. Well, I had to way more than learn them, I had to store them in my heart, believe them, and allow those truths direct my life.

Have you ever been there?

Have you ever lived for weeks or months at the feet of your Father asking, begging, pleading for Him to intervene only to realize that what you are asking will not happen? Have you ever read the verse in James about how powerful and effective the prayer of a righteous man is and then question your own righteousness as you watch your darkest nightmares become reality? Have you ever felt so hurt by, and angry with, and abandoned by God that you spend all your emotional strength keeping Him out of your life instead of we;coming His healing touch?

I'm not talking about failing a class, or breaking up with a boyfriend, or even getting cut from the team. I'm talking about the big stuff. I'm talking about watching your parent die of cancer, standing by your family during serious legal problems, trying for years to have a baby, living through a devastating accident. . .I mean the list could go on. In fact, it doesn't really matter what it is that you've been through, don't we all end up asking the same questions? Don't we all have the same fears? I may not know how it feels to live without one of my parents, or yearn for a baby, but I do know what it is like to feel betrayed by God. I have heard all of the cliches about perseverance and joy and blah, blah, blah. I remember so well thinking "How would you know? You've never lived through this." or "I know it will get better, but tonight, right now, I hurt."

I am ashamed to say that I also know what it is like to spend months pushing God away, as if punishing Him for doing this to me. Months of "If this is what I get for living my life to please God, then forget it." Months of hardening my heart and isolating myself as a sort of self-protection. Months of asking why did this happen? What could I have done to change it? Why didn't you stop it? In my heart of hearts, I knew that God was all- powerful, and all-knowing, and all-deserving of my allegiance and devotion, but my heart was broken, my soul was in pain, and I needed someone to blame. The core of my feelings: I knew God had the power to change it and He didn't.

I've been there. Chances are, you have too. So has Jesus. Maybe we can't turn in the Bible and read about the time when he sat helplessly aside and watched his parents go through a divorce. The specifics don't matter. What matters is that Jesus, the human God, asked the same questions I do. He spent all night praying "Father, not my will, but yours be done." Why do you think he had to pray this all night? HE WAS HUMAN! He had to wrestle with accepting God's way or doing what he wanted. The difference in me and Jesus is that in his questioning, he didn't sin. He never once gave in and tried to advance his own agenda. He didn't seek to preserve self. He didn't push God away. He did quite the opposite. He drew closer to God. He stayed faithful to doing the work of his Father. He chose to abide in God and depend on him for his protection and strength.

My situation, your situation, it doesn't matter. What matters is how you handle the questions that are sure to come. There is only one specific that matters. In the situation that Jesus faced, he chose to die. He asked the questions, expressed the fears, and in the end, he chose to die.

Thank you Father for experiencing life on earth as a human so I could draw strength, and comfort, and guidance from your example. Thank you for being big enough to hear my questions and listen to my fears. Thank you for carrying me through my darkest nightmares even when I didn't want to have anything to do with you. Thank you for giving peace that passes understanding.