closing doors openings doors

we've closed a door or two to get here

maybe it's the front door, or the car door, the mall door or the garage door

it could have been the office door, the coffee shop door, or even the bathroom door

and now we are at the place of opening a new door

leave behind the doors your walked through,

step away from all they represent,

lay aside the pressures, the lists, the worries, the requirements of

the roles you play in your life, your family, your community

my prayer is that you will walk through this new door,

opening before you

to gather as a church,

to learn, to listen, to wonder, to dream, to know, and to experience God.

Come! Let's Worship!

the battle in gray

at first, it was gray, dancing around the edges.....

intriguing, mysterious, non-threatening

in the contrast, stark and bold of life choices,

gray was enticing and restful.

a respite.

a retreat.

it was innocent and relieving.

the shadow of gray; a place where explanation of oneself was not needed, a place where expectation and performance fell away, a place of being....

and like a small cloud rolling in the gray become blacker and blacker, but the eyes were attuned to the cloudiness, the steps into a darker and darker place was easy, was subtle, was natural.

and then the darkness seemed safe.

it seemed appropriate.

it was home.

and the brilliant colored contrasts of everyday choices,

everyday living,

everyday decisions

no longer competed,

no longer warred,

no longer claimed victims,

no longer crucified losses....

a constant state of restfulness...a blackness to sink into.

and the being no longer was living,

and the darkness overtook the being,

and the light died out.

blissful gray whispering sleep....

a promise of blackness calling out rest.

it seemed easy and necessary at first,

a justifiable place to recharge,

to step away,

to stop living,

and the cost of grayness became

loss and hopelessness and desolation.

there was a story once, ancient in it's origins, that spoke this way, " ⁴ In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:4-5)

the darkness cannot defeat if the light source is from another place, beyond each one of us, guiding us, walking us through. The relief we seek in the gray will take us over, but the peace we find in the light with sustain us into eternity.

One Starry Night

A couple of months ago a program came into my inbox that looked interesting.

A one-night-family-vbs of sorts.

A change would occur from our current family event of roller skating at the local indoor rink.

My first thought: "whew...that would be a lot of work..."

But something in my spirit stirred.

A spark flickered and a thought passed through my mind about

bringing ministry departments together,

bringing families together,

having fun together.

I sensed God was in this one.

And, I was intrigued.

So, I did what any cautious leader would do. I conducted a straw poll.

I surveyed my leadership team, asked the drama director, inquired of the Staff Leadership Team, asked random people in the halls, spoke to the leader of the family skate event.

And, to a single person, the answer was, "yes!"

unequivocally.

undeniably.

brilliantly.

yes.

I scheduled meetings with key leaders, gained insights, got buy in, proposed a budget and the plan was formed.

December 11, from 6-8 p.m. One Starry Night, a family Christmas experience.

Free tickets were made and the first available weekend in

November 100 were taken. 100 taken with zero promotion.

By the end of November, our count swelled to over 400.

We added venues, sought out decorations, dreamed a little bit bigger. The menu was developed. Plans mapped out. A petting zone was booked and an anonymous donor volunteered to cover the cost of the animals. An artist began to construct the 8 ' high stable.

Then, closing weekend of pre-registration, 639 tickets were taken and 100 additional tickets unaccounted for. That meant that over 700 individuals and families intended to come.

We were in awe. What began so small had grown bigger; beyond our biggest dreams. The acting cast grew to over 40 players, more supplies were ordered, food counts increased. Costumes collected, 5 panels of the hills around Bethlehem constructed, balls of yarn formed, bottles draped in cloth covered. Two churches shared resources and countless families donated supplies. The props covered the CLC stage. Consultants were contacted to manage traffic flow, to invite guests to come at 1/2 hour intervals, and logistics set up. Safety and Security teamed up and parking lot supervisors brought in.

New dreams of a story paneled hallway and a modern house came to life. A pathway was constructed, a star added to the roof, and shepherds placed outside by a bonfire welcomed guests in.

And the building transformed into a visual feast for the eyes.

From 12:30 to 5:30, teams toiled to make 1st Century Bethlehem come to life.

It was magical.

The two hours raced by and in the end, over 1,000 guests and workers made Five Oaks their landing zone on a Sunday night.

Community happened, ministries worked together, and God made the impossible, possible.

And then, at 8:10, a Roman Legionnaire spoke out that the "curfew was now in place and guests of Bethlehem were to go to the places for the night." And by 10:00, a small team assembled in the worship center to pray. The building was wiped clean. Bethlehem disappeared.

December began with Luke 1:37, "With God, all things are possible." "Nothing is impossible with God." God's word, His promises, His dreams and His vision do not fail.

We give a tiny, obedient, "yes" and he met us, he answered us, and he provided for us in ways we could not imagine.

begin again

"in this time of our deep need, begin again to help us,

as you did in years gone by." Habakkuk 3:2

begin again to heal our land

begin again to raise up leaders who

speak with truth and live by integrity

begin again to make peace where there is strife

begin again to restore what is broken

begin again to build up

relationships in the family, in the community, in the church,

in the school, in the marketplace, in the world where

hope is believed and faith is lived and love is spoken

begin again to heal hurt between fathers and daughters,

mothers and sons, grandparents and grandchildren

begin again to rule and to bring justice

to lead and to show compassion

on the orphan and the slave,

the widow and the wounded,

the lost and the rejected,

the prisoner and the addict

begin again to conquer darkness

and defeat illness

and destroy death

begin again, in me

begin again in my marriage, my parenting,

my leading, and my praying,

my teaching and my ministering,

begin again, in me

the angel's song

"Can you hear the sound, the sound of angel's singing, the sound of angel's songs?

Let us join the sound, let us join the singing, let us join the song."

Desperation Band, Angel Song.

The song is in the battle, where nation's rage and bodies lay,

it's in the moment when a baby cries it's first breath,

the song whisper's in the desperate moment of reconciliation,

it shouts in the moment of loss, when the door closes and she walks away

The song sings when voices, lifted up, lay aside their differences, their agenda, their ignorance, and come together for worship; holy and pure

The song plays over the threats of the bully, over the cries of the broken, over the moment of collision when pain is felt and curses are spoken and anguish bleeds out,

The song lingers in the bar rooms and back rooms, in the cruelty of humanity,

the results of hatred, and effects of choice

The song rises up.

Holy, holy, holy

Hallelujah, God Almighty

The One who was and is and is to come,

Holy is His Name

The song sings sweetly in the prayer of tongues,

offering worship and praise

The song dances brightly in the worship of a child,

unfettered, abandoned, bringing glory and purity

The song proclaims in the streets of the city and the

back country roads, the streams in the valley,

and the coasts of the sea

it rises above economic status or social station,

ethic creed, color or nation

Listen to the song, can you hear it singing?

the tail of the turquoise nails

My friend is leaving for a long trip and she's going to reach others for Christ and share her story and I want to remember to pray for her and I'm sincere about this, (breath), BUT, I'm distracted and busy and easily prone to forgetting little details and big events until they are right in front of me so I began to wonder. And ponder. Consider and calculate a way to remember her.

Two things came to mind; toes and turquoise nail polish.

My friend suffers from a painful foot injury and I know it can make her completely miserable and so wanting to give a gift, but not having a lot of cash and wanting to remember to pray for her foot, I thought about her and I painting our toe nails turquoise as a symbol of unity and a promise of prayer.

So my friend looks touched and crinkles up her face as I shyly and hesitantly began to explain my plan.

I start with, "I want to pray for you while you are gone, but I so easily forget. I want to ask God for complete healing for your foot, but if not complete, then I'm asking for release from the pain as you travel (and this is wear I really start to talk fast) so I'm painting my toes nails turquoise to remember you and to daily pray for healing and do you want to too?"

"What?" She says.

"Um....paint your toe nails so we can match and that way you'll know I am remembering you and asking for healing."

"Wow" She says.

Nervously, I wait. (Because no matter how well I know someone, there is a risk in being vulnerable and as one who is so prone to expect rejection, it takes guts to speak up.)

And then she smiles and gives me a hug and my eyes tear up because she says the next coolest thing, "I'm meeting tonight with a friend's family and her son has the gift of healing and he's going to pray for my feet too, so all day today, I have been anticipating this event and you come along to pray, too, and it encourages and confirms what God's doing."

"Wow" I say. "Wow"

So, for the next ten days, I'll shower(because everyone should shower at least once a day) and look at my toes and remember my friend and pray expectantly that her pain will be released if not erased and that's pretty cool.

Can't Do Fast List

The Ten Things I Can't Do Fast List:

1). Drink a steaming cup of Chai tea

2). Drive through the town of Hudson, Wisconsin

3). Color a picture

4). Bake Oatmeal-Chocolate-M & M- monster cookies

5). Train for a race

6). Read and reflect on God's word

7). Save money

8). Take a walk with Charlie

9). Heal. Rest. Take Sabbath.

10). Rush the process

What are you doing today to slow down?

all this pretense

maybe it's nothing short of comedic

maybe it's so horror filled that I can't comprehend it

maybe it's bazaar, too lazy to conclude

whatever it is, it just is.

with a space filled with so much pretense; it's hard to breathe

and that's probably why the logic isn't sound and the reasoning it's right,

there is not enough oxygenated-filled air.

The first in our trio is explanating and expounderating,

the second is moaning and miserating,

and I sit speechless, sipping my tea.

First voice has a reason for everything,

an explanation and a solution,

"if only they'd do it my way.......don't they understand?.....I've lived, I know, it's their fault they don't see my advice, their loss they haven't followed my teaching. I've got all the answers."

Second voice, quieter, but not any sweeter, travails upon "the hopelessness of it all, the inadequacies and the injustices that brought her to this place. It's the circumstances, the lack of others, the darn bad luck, that's what it is."

I sit speechless, sipping my tea.

First voice agrees with Second voice, truly, agrees. "Yes, yes, it's them, it's others, it's challenging, let me sit alongside you, let me do your work for you, I know a better way."

Second voice, subtly delighted with assistance, though wanting it her way, demurs to First Voice, raising an objection until First voice agrees with Second and sound logic, having already fled the room gives way to the ridiculous and a chaotic solution is formed.

I don't know what to say, so I don't, and I sip my tea.

Leaving the silliness, I wonder how I got here. Age and life experience, schooling and religion didn't follow the normal lines in this case. First and Second are elders to me, but reason seems to have left. Conjecture has replaced logic and I no longer run on the same path as they.

My tea turns cold. All this pretense has suffocated me. 32:00 have passed and I can't take it any longer. As gracious as time is, the minutes have departed and with them, so to my guests.

Tea is over. And cups placed in the sink, shoes fitted, and coats fastened send the two voices away. I'm no longer a part of the trio.

I don't mind being a solo act. I'll find new community; and try to write and build and practice and sing a new song. Hopefully this one will be sweet sounding and soul refreshing. I can't take another dirge.

Did you know?

on a bright morning,

in a crowded commons,

with voices rising above,

on a fall day in October,

with the world turing around us,

with time slipping slowly,

I turn.

I look into your eyes.

I remember.

Do you?

Did you know we met before?

Years ago, in the midst of

a busy, ministry season,

You came.

You asked.

You volunteered.

It was preschoolers that you liked best,

maybe it was because your own children were

that age.

We chatted and we agreed.

With busy schedules, you gave what little you had,

you came to help with the kids.

For a time.

A brief season.

Not too long and then you left.

Now we meet again.

Did you know that it would be entirely different circumstances?

When your world would be falling a part?

And the loss cutting so deep?

Did you know Him that can hold you and carry you

and sustain you through the blackest of nights?

You've been busy, the kids have grown, and yet today we honor and remember and celebrate and grieve the loss of your son.

Had you known this is how we'd meet again, would it have made a difference?

I think about it.

I wonder about the now and the forever.

I am challenged to consider today's actions tie into a string of events that impact the new and the next insisting it all means something, believing we are all connected.

a process of obedience

it's a difficult time for a friend right now;

it's hard to see her grieve, to watch her experience pain, to observe her process deep, gut-wrenching emotion.

it's so hard that I'd like to take it from her. To remove the struggle, to make right the wrong, to heal the pain, but I can't.

it's a time when I am wrestling with my own sense of purpose, a time when I want to make the best next step, to make the perfect decision, to lead well.

it's a time of obedience. of seeking. of prayer.

so, I awaken with a thought in my mind; one singular step, a direction. and I know I can blow this or I can take the next step. so, I do. texting my friend, I offer to walk her dogs. (I've never walked two labs). I risk; putting myself out there in relationship and I wait for her response.

she thinks I'm crazy; drive forty minutes to walk two dogs, but she agrees to let me come. so I do.

I walk the dogs.

It's my step of obedience.

It's the process of obedience, the practice of Christ-following.

On the way home, I call another friend. We decide to hold each other accountable to making supper for our families: this isn't obvious or guaranteed and it isn't expected. That's the era I live in, working mom where suppers around the table every night are the exception and not the rule.

That's the next step of obedience, show love and care, service and kindness to my family.

God is ordering my day without me knowing it and the daily anxiety and overwhelmingness of being a wife and mother, director and leader fall away. The second guessing, the guilt-inducing, the temptation-seducing leaves. I'm too busy for those head games today. I'm taking one step after another to follow God. And the thing is, I don't mind it a bit. In fact, I kind of like it. The responsibility is on God's shoulders, not mine. The weight of living right, of performing perfectly, of measuring up to everyone else's expectation isn't clogging me up or weighing me down. I am simply living. As a daughter of the king, I am following orders and I feel free.

Don't be troubled

"Don't be troubled. You trust God, now trust in me. There are many rooms in my Father's home, and I am going to prepare a place for you. If this were not so, I would tell you plainly. When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. And you know where I am going and how to get there." John 14:1-4.

"Don't be troubled." A command. Don't do it. Even when you feel like being troubled. Even when everything around you is crumbling down. Even when evidence tells you to panic. Even when having faith is the most difficult thing, don't be troubled.

"Don't be troubled." An encouragement. Yeah, it's tough and difficult and devastating and pain-filled, but don't be troubled. You have the faith in God to make it through. You have the resources of my Word and prayer and community. You can do this, too.

"Don't be troubled." An acknowledgement. I understand your wanting to panic, to scream, to cry. I see your pain, I feel your fear, I know your weakness, but don't be troubled. I'm here. I've been right where you are and not only can I identify and acknowledge, I have insight. It won't always be like this.

Don't be troubled. Don't be troubled. Don't be troubled. Don't be troubled.

Ask.

Ask.

Ask.

2 acts

An act of condemnation:

a simple story weaves through, like a ribbon of water cutting through the landscape. the players are few: a man, a woman, and God. The man and woman, roles defined, enjoyed beauty and abundance, love and purpose. And then temptation too strong to resist enters the picture; a snake offers the one fruit forbidden. The man and woman eat. shame begins.

what did that shame feel like? Was it deep and burning; embarrassing and uncomfortable. Indeed, it must have been because the whole human demeanor changed. They covered themselves to mask their shame. They ran away, they hid.

Did Adam realize the weight of that act of betrayal? That act of disobedience? Do any of us really comprehend the potential and the poisonous around us? And yet, this one act changed eternity.

An act of righteousness

another simple story, another act. One man, alone, this time, but no mere man-the God man who came. Jesus. And through his act of righteousness, he made all people right in God's sight, giving them life. No shame. No hiding.

Why do we act as though we are still condemned? Why do we hid? Why are we ashamed?

more questions than answers

"Therefore, since we have been made right in God's sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of highest privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God's glory. We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they are food for us-they help us learn to endure. And endurance develops strength of character in us, and character strengthens our confident expectation of salvation." Romans 5:1-4.

How does this translate? What does this mean? take verse one: we have peace-this peace- does it apply to that moment of salvation, to that ideal of redemption with Christ. Will that peace carry me through the agonizing and gut-wrenching decision making of the mundane? Is it accurate to say, "yeah, I have peace in God through the Lord Jesus Christ, but the everyday agony-that's not peace filled. I'll celebrate that once-peace-at-conversion-moment and I'll long for that eternity-bliss-filled-peace, but here, now, I hold on to the thought of peace?"

And how does confidant, joy-filled-forward-looking-contrast to the struggle and reality of all the assaults. Is it an act? A role I play-just pretending it's splendid and magnificent when at it's core; it's fallen and wild and difficult and uncontrollable.

And endurance, this endurance, this posture of joy, this choice of peace, it's an expectation I must own even with the greatest difficulty? Isn't this too much? To not only account for challenge, but to acknowledge a manufactured joy through it? How do you live like that......faith bringing joy? This laughs in the face of the state of the world around me.

faith, being sure of what I hope for,

faith being certain of what I do not see

and this-what I hope for, and what I do not see-conjures up a facade/reality of peace?

how do I live like that?

Six thousand, nine hundred, thirty-five

Six thousand, nine hundred, thirty-five days have come and gone.

Six thousand, nine hundred, thirty-five mornings have dawned;

Some stormy and gray, others clear and bright.

Some snow-filled, others dew-laden, and still others hot and hazy.

Days of joy and of sorrow, of hope and of pain,

Days of trial and testing, of new strength,

Days of marriage.

The day it began was the hot-and-hazy kind of day. Filled with the flurry of anticipation, preparation; detail and detail falling into place. The dress, satiny white, the veil, the locket; all in place. The photographs, the hushed whispers, the anxiety of family meeting family meeting family. Two systems colliding to spin off an entirely new one, orbiting alone, yet strangely still connected.

And then, it passed.

Quicker and quicker the days have come,

faster and faster the years have gone;

until today.

We mark today at the nineteenth year.

And love has grown deep and strong,

the chord of three strands ever present,

the depth of knowledge even greater,

the awareness of sacrifice and delight,

ever brighter.

Happy six thousand nine hundred and thirty-fifth day.

Happy nineteenth year.

Happy Anniversary, darling!

by design

through the beauty and the fragility of the community, He designed

through the decision of a human, of humanity,

one by one, they must come on their own,

heeding the call, obeying the voice, surrendering the old and anticipating the new,

the potential of what could be must draw them forward.

It's His way.

And by design, she will rise up and be beautiful.

She will shine; brighter than we could imagine,

radiance gleaming, unearthly beauty surrounding,

She will shine.

The tarnish will fade,

the blemishes will heal,

the brokenness will be restored,

and She will shine.

by design, He called her to love.

by design, He requires her to forgive.

by design, He leads her to show them a better way.

by design, He asks that she be a peacemaker in a hostile land, a restorer in a place a distress, a healer in a time of illness and injury and depravation and death.

by design, He writes her name on His palm,

by design, He sings over her,

by design, He hopes and blesses and loves.....

And this begins in one heart,

with one voice,

rising up to call another voice to join in,

and another, and another

and the community rises up and

the bride of Christ is alive.

the house elf

when i was a little girl, i'd play this game with God. i was the house elf and only He could see what i was up to. i liked to clean, create a new space out of disorderly one, create a warm and welcoming environment out of a chaotic one. and so the game i played was to tidy up a room, a shelf, and place when no one was looking and see if others could figure it out. it was never about the reward of words of appreciation directed toward me. it was never about acknowledgement from a parent. it wasn't about brown nosing to get what i wanted. it wasn't manipulative driven. it wasn't for payment. it was a heart felt connection with God of pure joy; a private joy that others couldn't measure or comment on, that existed between God and me.

and so, quietly, in the sleeping times when others were snoring away, or out of the house; i'd tackle a corner, an entry way, a shelf that rarely made the chore list, that suffered neglect, that needed attention and i'd begin to work. singing to myself, imaging fairy dust being sprinkled about, cleaning until it glistened, polishing until it shined, i'd transform a space.

and then, as stealthily as i could, i'd slip back into the ranks of child number four, praying that i'd not be noticed or caught, because that took all the fun out of the game i was playing with God. a house elf that magically came to make my family's home a better place.

you see, i grew up in a family economy where chore lists were expected to be completed, and family responsibilities were instilled. going beyond the list, doing what i saw needed to be done without being asked, made the family system, in my mind, more exciting, more rewarding, more meaningful.

i served my family out of a purity of heart, eager to please, not needing reward, because that's how i could work out my child-like faith. and the high i experienced was one that couldn't be bought; it wasn't something i could eat or drink or own or smoke or get intoxicated by. it was a natural high of seeing a need, and being designed and gifted to fill that need without be asked. it was a game i played and i was joy filled in the role i occupied.

God's ways are not my ways

We were told today to dig ditches. That's God's way. Play some music and dig some ditches.

Ditch digging is smelly, hot, difficult, sweaty work.

It's the ditch digger that doesn't get acknowledgement.

It's the ditch digger whose muscles are sore.

It's the ditch digger who labors in the elements: the heat, the sun, the rain, the bugs, the thirst.

It's the ditch digger that works hard.

It's also God's way. And His ways are not my ways.

When the kings were thirsty, when their soldiers were parched, when their animal's health was threatened, they went to Elisha and he said:

"Oh, now you want God?" Really. I imagine a bit of sarcasm.

Then, Elisha wants music to be played. No kidding, I am not making this up.

Next, when weary and parched, Elisha prophesies that God is calling them to dig ditches.

Um. They are tired and thirsty. They could get sick digging ditches. They are defeated. This isn't the kind of motivational encouragement I imagine they were hoping for.

But wisely, dig ditches they did and by morning the valley was filled with life giving water.

2 Kings 3:9- 20.

Whoa. I'm weary. I feel unappreciated, devalued, ignored. I want to walk away. Give up.

And God is telling me to dig ditches. In the weariness, in the pain, in the rejection, in the overwhelming state of my union, God is calling me, inviting me, to dig ditches. Harder. Deeper. Stronger. Bigger. Relentlessly, earnestly, completely, obediently, dig.

hmmm....dig.

not the solution,

not the path,

not the way I was going to go, but ok.

I will. I do. Let me grab a shovel and I'll join you in that valley, Lord.

reflections...in the water on a summer morn

out early to catch the fish,

in search of the big one,

a fish tale that will be told

night after night

when winter stretches out.....

in the stillness of the world not yet waking the creation stirs. praises. awakens. celebrates. revives. calls us.

Don't miss God's hand at work.

Stop. Listen. Watch. Pray. Pay attention.

God is Here. He is among us.

The Kingdom is now.

Do you want to see God?

Look at His creation; the brushstroked brilliance of the morning sunrise...on the wings of the dawn He is there.

Do you want to know Him?

Read His words. Understand His laws. Meditate on His commands.

Do you want to experience Him?

Observe His people. His Holy bride.

Go. Learn. Serve. Do.

And God's face will be reflected.

and even the reflection of His Glory will be more brilliant than we can handle.

the hating

at first, it's hard to hate, I think.

I want to love and be loved. To be liked and to like others. I want to get along with everyone. To be in harmony, live in unity, be a community among others.

But then the hating comes. At first, it's a difference of idea. Or it's an attitude of self importance. "He thinks he's better than me." "She always has to be right." The comparison begins and I find myself lacking. Inferior. I hate that. So I hate back.

And then, like second nature, hate begins to fill and seeks to destroy.

Eustace Clarence Scrubb was like that. He was miss understood, he was self important, he was self centered, he was selfish. He wanted only what he wanted. He didn't care about others; what they wanted or liked or cared about. And that hating lead to the transformation into a dragon. The tale is told in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader. It's pretty amazing. And only Aslan, the Jesus-Hero of the story can change him back.

When I go down the path of hate, only God can change my heart back. I was born a sinner. I will be a sinner. My only hope is in Jesus Christ saving me from myself.

more questions than answers

In Mark 9:29, Jesus teaches that some illness can only be healed by prayer. In prayer, I asked my Lord to bring healing to my daughter. She suffers from asthma, she's on a mission trip, in a hot-smog-filled-place and she is having a difficult time breathing.

"God, will you heal her?"

"By faith, through prayer, why won't you heal her?"

In response, within my spirit, I hear Proverbs 3:5-7. God asks me,

"will you trust me, daughter?",

"will you acknowledge my ways?",

"will you allow me to direct your path?

"At what cost, Lord?" I wonder. Your way seems much more difficult. Just carry her through this trip. Bring relief so she can be a part of your team, ministering to children who are lost, show your glory and increase the faith of the team. How's my solution, Lord? Pretty good, right?

My ways. My paths.

And so the teams pray: the team my daughter is surrounded by. The team in another country prays. Abi's name is lifted up.

And then the solution comes. $12 later, Abi's flight is rebooked. She will fly alone; two flights, a connection in another state, and then she will be home.

"Really, Lord?"

But the way is difficult. She is too young. Trust in my ways.

She is afraid, Lord. She gets lost easily. Lean not on your own understanding.

What if something happens to her? Acknowledge me and my power and my provision.

I release her into your care.

You ways are beyond mine.

Your paths not the ones I would build.

I acknowledge You.

Be glorified.

faith to believe and strength to obey

God calls us to believe. God calls us to obey.

Faith to believe that He can heal, He can deliver, He can restore, He can forgive.

Faith to believe He will heal, He will deliver, He will restore, He will forgive.

Faith that says I will follow, though I do not see.

Faith that says I will go, though I do not know where.

Faith that says I will do, even when I don't understand.

Strength to obey. Obey when the directions don't make sense, when the idea seems ludicrous, when the concept seems foreign, when the path is debris filled.

Strength to obey when it would be social suicide, leadership dangerous, risk-filled.

Strength to obey when it is darkest night, loudest chaos, and most painful.

Strength to obey when weakness abounds, and weariness prevails.

God calls us to believe and obey.

in a garden

all the good stuff happens in the garden; the most poignant, most dramatic, most beautiful moments happen in a garden. Love, betrayal, healing...

consider creation of humanity; it occurred in the garden of Eden. Man was created; chiseled and muscular, handsome features, full of life and strength, with mission and purpose, Adam began. And then woman; Eve, soft and supple, beautiful, with long flowing hair, sparkling eyes, and lips that begged to be kissed. Love was made in a garden.

consider Solomon's passion for love, his description of his lover likened to a garden. A place of delight, of joy...." my lover has gone down to his garden, to the beds of spices, to browse in the gardens and to gather lilies." Song of Songs 6:2.

consider Jesus' most human of moments, prostrate in prayer, anguishing that the bitter cup of crucification would be taken from him, was in the garden of Gethsemane, a place he knew well, a place of prayer. A garden, cool and still in the thick of night, shrouded in darkness, this was the place Jesus visited. And with a kiss, Jesus was betrayed in the garden, and led to death on the cross.

consider the new heaven and the new earth; a place where a "on each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding it's fruit each month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations." Rev. 22: 2

there was a moment when I sat at the door of my 18 month old son's bedroom, watching, protecting, policing him. He was transitioning from sleeping in a crib into a big boy bed and he didn't like it at all. A nightly battle of wills began, where I'd tuck him in, pray, and then turn out the light, only to hear his bare feet padding across the room. I'd trudge back into his room, urging him back into bed, scolding and reminding him of his new bed. This would repeat until I'd sit at the door, on the floor, in the hallway, staring him down. Night after night, until finally, he'd connect that his new bed truly was his big boy bed, connect that I was truly serious about his requirement to sleep in the new big boy bed.

I'm hear again, years later, pondering about that moment. Remembering my tough, strict stance, policing and protecting, training and instilling a value. Only it's not about a new bed. It's bigger, more lethal, and much more troubling.

How did I get here? What do I do? He's too big to stare down, too strong to force my way...and yet he's still a fragile child who needs to be shown the right path.

Hopes and dreams meld into day to day drudgery, aspirations collide with the mechanics of hard work. There are no guarantees, only the promise of what we hope for. How do I point him in that direction? How do I encourage the passion of the journey rather than the results, the poignancy of the process, and the not success?

dust off my faith

dust off my faith,

take it down from the shelf,

open the book,

and read.

shake of my worry,

loosen the restraints,

pour out the stagnant,

and breathe in new air.

hour by hour,

sunrise by sunset,

the One who calls,

is near.

breathe in new air,

watch closely,

observe and listen and wonder and dream and hope and believe.

yes, always believe.

the art of losing me

so I am sitting in a conference, worshipping the God that I love, when I listen, really listen to the words of the song I am singing.

The song called me to the process of losing me.

The song inspired being consumed from the insight out.

as I listened and sang and worshipped, I wondered. I've been indoctrinated into the mind set, the system of beliefs that I need to find myself, be on a journey of self discovery to fully succeed. That the moment of perfection will be when I see my role, grasp it, pursue it, and thrive in it.

and yet, if I start of journey of losing myself, really losing myself in the path of love, in the quest for Christ following, then I am told I will gain everything.

it's counter to all I know, all I fight for, and all my actions convey. if I were to really lose myself, allow myself to be consumed, I am no longer.

I am no longer in control.

I no longer know.

I do not have the coordinates.

I am not the leader, but the follower.

I release, relinquish, resolve to give all.

and that's terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.

what about today?

in the space that we live in, on the planet called earth, in the country that we reside, on the street that we call home, things happened today.

someone was born today.

someone learned how to speak, or to crawl, or to walk, or to run today.

someone mastered the concept of multiplication today.

someone shared their snack today.

someone was kidnapped today.

someone was killed today.

someone was buried today.

someone believed in Jesus for the first time today.

someone called out for help and found a friend today.

someone met their future spouse today.

may 19, 2011. everyday ordinary and all together extraordinary.

what about today impacted you?

dedication prayer

Lord God,

We come before you today, praising and thanking you for hand picking these girls to be a part of these families...we acknowledge that it is through you that life is given and as breath was breathed in, physical life began. We ask Lord for another day to come when spiritual life will be a part of each of these girl's lives as well. A day when they will accept the gift of salvation found in Jesus Christ alone by crossing the line of faith and believing in you.

Lord God, as they grow may they, as daughters of the King, seek you first.

whenever they are sad, may they find comfort in you.

whenever they are weak, may their strength be found in you,

when they are feeling hopeless, may your light shine brightly,

when they know joy, may they thank you,

when they delight in blessing, may they worship you,

and when they find relationship in others, may they honor you first.

Bless their siblings, their parents. Give insight and understanding in the task of parenting.

Draw these families together in love, in peace, and in the hope of the kingdom to come. Bless them with more than they can possibly think or imagine.

We pray this in the name of Jesus,

Amen.

a new ancient path

Reading God's word and prayer brought about this new ancient path...

"See, I am about to do a new thing, now it springs up!" Isaiah 43:19(paraphased)

years back, while doggedly pursuing God to discover my life's mission God spoke to me.

My mission is to communicate God in a visual way.

I haven't visited that mission lately.

I've been busy. I've been distracted. I've been absent.

So, with renewed passion, I began praying, with other voices raised up, we began praying...a new beginning, a new thing in my stalled-out-life and it's this. It sounded familiar, I am aquainted with it, I know it well:

A return to my mission, the ancient path of communicating God in a visual way.

And so, after years, I picked up the pencil today and made a mark. Mark after mark on sketch paper, line after line, visualizing what I really see and not what I think I see and a joy came back that I haven't felt for a long time. I am an artist, called by God to communicate Him in a visual way. That's my mission.

colby cheese

....walking in through the entry way and into the kitchen, I saw her. To my immediate right was a curious, little bathroom in light pinks. It smelled old and cool. The bathtub sat up higher than the floor and a small window was shaded by light curtains. Straight ahead was a table and a large woodstove. To my left, a counter that ran the length of the room, a sink placed in the middle of the expanse, cupboards above and below. The counter tops were filled with stuff, lots of it. Random and various things; newspapers and mail, kitchen items, and nick nack looking things. But the item I'd always zero in on was the old radio, quietly playing out old hymns.....KTIS in it's more traditional days. Across the room, a refrigerator reigned. And just beside, a door or entry way to a cellar. I didn't know what was beyond that door. It was always forbidden. Walking through the kitchen, we'd stumble across an upright piano, a tv that I don't think ever came on and various seating. The next room was a bedroom? It was odd, instead of a formal living area or parlor, it was converted into a bedroom of sorts. A double bed was pushed against the wall. Beyond this improvised room, a stair wall directed the visitor upwards. But I wasn't the right kind of visitor, because I was never invited up.

It was an oppressive, dismal place. Even with the hymns playing; perhaps they were pleading for hope, convening a message of hope...it didn't matter as it was always lost.

The central figure in with house was Grandma-on-the-farm. This name was to distinguish her from Grandma-in-town. Odd, now that I think of it. These names were informational only, not spoken about with love. No, never much affection was felt.

And so, Grandma-on-the-farm would hover over the sink, slowly pace toward the fridge, then return to the counter. She was petite and she was broad. Her face a study of hard living, depression living. Her eyes were a dark brown, almost like black, a dark black that would remind me of scary things like darkness and fear. Her hair, never styled, lay on her head in mop like appearance. She would reply, but never inquire. More of a scowl was accustomed to her expression than a smile. And when she would laugh, it was cackle-like, not melodic and welcoming. I'd nervously smile along.

I was young and fragile and overly sensitive as a child. My primary mission was to please others and this Grandma-on-the-farm I could not please. We must be quiet. We mustn't fidget. We were shown an occasional outdated and rusty toy to play with. We were invited into the living room, by the piano to play on the floor.

But always, when my siblings and I would visit, we were offered colby cheese.

abundance

I'm back to considering abundance. I consulted the dictionary. Extremely plentiful or over sufficient quantity or supply. Overflowing fullness. Affluence. Wealth. It sounds amazing. It sounds fun. And our pleasure center thrives, delights, and drowns in abundance.

I want God's abundance in my life, but having tasted human abundance, I wonder about capacity. Specifically, my capacity. In my extremist thinking, I want all of one thing. All of happiness. All of wealth. All of joy. I want all the easy, all of the fun, all of the blessing.

But the greatest stories are told with abundance and sacrifice. The greatest stories take the best and give it away. Sometimes recklessly, sometimes foolishly, sometimes painfully, but always willingly. And in the narrative of blessing and sacrifice, characters form integrity and quality.

My limited human capacity craves what it can't have. What God gives is balance. A little character building, sprinkles of adversity, a shower of blessing, a calm of peace, a dose of depravity. It's how I was built. How I was made. I can't have any one thing. No matter how good, that one good thing will spoil, corrupt, it will poison.

I am a child of the living King, I am a daughter, I am a princess. I serve someone far greater.

a·bun·dance

  [uh-buhn-duhns]

–noun

1.

an extremely plentiful or oversufficient quantity or supply:an abundance of grain.

2.

overflowing fullness: abundance of the heart.

3.

affluence; wealth: the enjoyment of abundance.

an itsy-bitsy-teeny-tiny-detail....

hmm....so I've been thinking lately about the beauty of one tiny detail. How a detail can bring more to the day, the event, the project, the task. Conversely, one detail can break the preverbal camel's back. Take the detail of writing thank you cards. It's boring, it requires time and effort, it needs an address and a stamp. If it's modeling this to a child, it takes arm wrestling to get the child to sit still, use their best handwriting, and to be thoughtful. A detail like writing thank you cards can stall me out, frustrate me, and even overwhelm me.

It's too much.

It's one more thing in a very long list of things to do.

So, my thinking has shifted.

What if I took the time to ENJOY the process?

What if I set time apart to thoughtfully respond to the kindness another has paid to me?

What if instead of a sense of dread, I feel delight?

Sometimes, often times, we forget...

Our worth.

Our power.

Our strength.

We say that this life is too much. Too much expectation, too much work, too many tasks. We say we can't control our choices, that our days are made up already, our schedules filled, our lives too full. This is a lie. We choose how we spend our time, we control our attitudes, we are more than we see.

So, enjoy one itsy-bitsy-teeny-tiny detail today.

Look at that task in a new way.

See it with fresh eyes.

Gain perspective.

You GET to do this.

You LIVE in FREEDOM.

You are in RELATIONSHIP.

You are LOVED.

the Choosing

the love story to me is so fascinating because there is a moment when the choosing takes place. maybe it happens in the first moment, or the twentieth moment, or the two thousandth moment. maybe it happens after months of agonizing, romanticizing, pursuing, and considering. maybe it happens after a brush with death, or with illness, or with loss. maybe it's a slowing dawning, a tender awakening, a silent warmth spreading within. regardless, the moment arrives, usually at the proposal.

the choosing is pivotal, it is historical.

the choosing is permanent, it is final.

the choosing is long-lasting and it is legacy creating.

the choosing is an indelible mark in time, a shift that cannot be reversed.

it's truly fascinating.

boy meets girl.

girl falls in love.

boy proposes.

boy and girl marry.

legacy begins.

consider these words,

"The Lord said to me,

I chose you before I gave you life,

and before you were born I selected you"

not by merit or by beauty, not by tragedy or brilliance, not be effort or humility, not by grace, or kindness, or hope, or faith, or strength, or talent, or skill, or tenacity.

You were chosen before you saw your self...sight unseen to your eye.

You were chosen before you accomplished and were awarded, before you sinned and before you failed.

You were chosen.

You were loved.

You are.

And that kind of choosing, though I struggle to fathom it's depth, is breathtaking.

consistent

Currently, I am consistently inconsistent.

It can be counted on that I will fly away from routine,

run from procedure,

buck any kind of stability,

ignore personal discipline,

and mock all who thrive in this state.

Consistency rains down on any parade,

it snuffs out any fire,

it doesn't take time to smell flowers,

drive a new way to work,

take the long way home.

Consistency expects sameness, hates changes,

demands a plan and expects perfect execution.

So, why is it that truly capable, successful, thriving leaders understand consistency?

And how do I get there without re-programming who I am?

the experience of pain

Teeth gritting,

Fist pumping pain;

Pain that is relentless, unimaginable, confusing, stunning, vivid.

This first experience of pain is like no other because there is no reference point, no reason and we are reasoning beings.

While we may not agree, with logic can come acceptance.

But pain for pain's sake is disturbing.

Laying on the couch, groaning, agitated, exhausted, my daughter struggles to sleep.

Willing and praying, hoping and begging the pain away, I can do no one thing to ease her burden.

If I could, I would take it from her. Remove her burden. Release her from the depths, the darkness of pain. But I can't. Helplessly, I watch.

And then, through tests and scans, doctor's assessment and diagnosis, a reason is found, but not solved; and the pain, while managed, will not disappear.

It's a first experience with pain.

Is it necessary? Needed? Required for full life-living?

a birthday blessing

first born; set a part, uniquely designed with a plan in mind

son, may you flourish in this year of growing and learning and exploring

you matter. you are significant. you have abundance of blessing; seek it out, pursue it, be guided by it and driven to it. trust in God, seek His voice, thrive in His love and be filled with His truth.

go beyond what you have already been, seek further than you have gone,

and know that love formed you, love carries you, and love fills you.

thirteen

Thirteen. Thirteen! Thirteen?

An official teenager; although in my mind you've been older than your age for years.

I pray great blessings on you as you venture into teenhood.

May your days be filled with marvelous mystery; learning and appreciating and celebrating the life you've been given.

May your nights be spent in restful slumber; dreaming of all that is to come, possibilities and potentialities....

May you know you are loved, may you grow in your faith, and may your hope burn brightly in the year ahead!

Happy Birthday to my daughter.

rant and rave

rant and rave

i've been on this rant for the last year and a half. ashamedly, it began with the tween sensation of the twilight saga books. let me explain. my then eleven-year-old daughter asked if I'd approve of her reading Twilight, New Moon, etc... I was skeptically cautious. It sounded scandalous. Christians don't read about werewolves and vampires. it was like the next step toward hell, the first step being harry potter. so i deliberated. i wondered. i don't think i prayed. and then, something really weird happened. I picked up the books and began to ready. voraciously. i couldn't put it down. I became bella. I didn't eat. literally. i lost about twenty pounds as i balanced work, home, and reading. i rediscovered the joy, the ectstacy of reading. (as a child, i'd stay up late, reading every word, every paragraph)

so I am consumed by this story, competing with my daughter for the books as we checked them out. we'd discuss the story line. relate it to realism. talk about the adventure, the thrill.

this marked a turning point. i discovered the love story. again. anew.

i read the classics, the jane austin stuff, the victorian age, the contemporary stuff. i learned about trash-literature, the fast food graphic porn-like stuff. i quickly discarded that. i learned about the christian writers-those romantic men and women who wrote about the struggle, the joy, and the passion of love. i was hooked.

book after book was toted from the library, i read hundreds of books. absorbing them, studying them, analyzing them. it was a rant like no other.

and so i would travel to the library, like i normally do, when i visited the used books that were for sale. and for fifty cents, i bought blue like jazz.

in 12 hours, i've read through much of it (between sleep, a state science fair exhibition, lunch with grandma and a sick child) and i am raving the candid thoughts, the gutsy monologue. donald miller has some stuff to say and i am listening.

where do i find dinner?

i'm lost.

i need a map.

where do i find dinner?

between the work schedule and the family schedule and the individualized-personalities of what each favors, amid the weekday and weeknight landmines of shifting schedules and the vector-beam pull of the direct tv line up and the modified diets due to surgery resulting in needing a peace-filled, tranquil landscape of soloism, where do i find the good-old-fashioned family of five eating together for dinner?

does it matter? for meal upon meal i didn't think so. BUT, i awoke with a startling thought at 3:40 a.m. this morning, horrified of the state of my family and it's degradation of the benefits of the family meal.

benefits, i say? benefits. and they are many.

health, planning and nutrition and balance and....to prepare a meal for another is an act of love and service and nutritional consideration.

social connections of the highs and lows of our days, the bond-unbreakable, the humor and effort of forming sentence after sentence in fluid and not so fluid conversation. the exchange of thought, the rhythm of words streaming together without the engine of electricity and keyboard and touchpad and text. Face-to-face, in real time at real speed and with real error and.....

the spiritual burst of praying and sharing and explaining and exploring faith.

where do i find dinner? i'm lost. i got lost along the way. it's a lonely crusade back to the top of this pile of spaghetti, but i aim to see it through.

tonight's pancakes.

one down. a million more meals to go.

musings

coiled around my stomach is a ball of anxiety and expectation...

expecting and anticipating amazing things to happen,

dreaming of things to come,

watching and wondering,

where is He?

will I see His work?

am I missing It?

and then the human-flesh-response of anxiousness...

emotion packed consumption,

question without answers,

blind faith and trust

i cannot have the holy without the human

i cannot have the joy without the sorrow

trust. obey.

watch. follow.

seek. find.

be.

unexpected gifts

still. dark. quiet.

hush....don't hear

I am coming for you

lights turn on, the room brightens.

gentle, whisper-calm, card laid down.

gift prepared, like a glimmering crown.

she sits up.

grin breaks into a smile,

sparkling eyes dripping with mischief and love

AND THEN

unexpected card, words, gift

tumbles out onto a

delighted-sleepy-eyed

bride.

ahhhh...

sigh.

joy-defined, this gift,

remembered, cherished,

evidence of a love

for all time.

the trio begins

it's psalm 90 day

it's a new day

it's a beginning of a journey

one was called through prayer, another through questions, and a third through stories...the trio joined to embark, to share, to listen, to watch, and to pray.

the vision clear; start among the three, then build.

"Watch me work" the Creator called, "Watch me bless. See my miracles, experience my Glory, delight in my ways, know blessing and conquer challenge. Gain perspective. Number your days. Join me in mission. Come."

confirmed and strengthened, renewed and filled up, the journey begins. We will heed the call and we will come.

the symphony

movement one

a quiet, whispered prayer weaves across the landscape,

an urgent plea from a soft voice moving gently, lightly into the holy temple.

It's fragrance sweet, it's desperation humble. Floating in, it lands in the bowl of incense, holy incense, wafting a hint into the presence of the King. One prayer, spoken in less than a minute, offered up and then forgotten.

movement two

in another region, far from the first, another plea, gaining in strength,yet singular in voice. Lifted up and then forgotten; days passing before another request is offered up. A hint here. A whisper there. Breaking through defenses, weakened, and pathetic. Prayers not voiced from repentance, not filled with faith, random cries. Does the king hear? Does he see? Will he respond?

movement three

stronger now, prayers are offered more urgently as the pain and suffering and evil and fear intensifies; the need for intervention greater than the sacrifice of prayer, loss of self being in control, loss of selfishness, loss of ambition and independence and greed. These things fall away as the greater conviction rises and the call for help increases. Repentance begins and faith shines a little brighter until.....

movement four

a full, united symphony of voices, coming together with conviction and with request, with repentance and righteousness mingles, intertwines, bonding into one cord, praying in one accord for the King's will to be done. And He hears, and He delights, and He forgives and He answers.