Salvation, Christianity, and Voting

Recently, a beloved Hollywood actor passed away and my oldest daugher asked, "Mom, was he a Christian?"  So I did what all modern moms do when they don't know the answer to a question: I Googled it.  I found an article by Christianity Today that sought to answer that question for us.  The evidence they offered on this man's life:

He was baptized at a young age.

He gave to the church and served in the church in the past.

He prayed he would land a particular role.

He referenced a Bible verse in a speech made at an award's ceremony.

The slant of the article, in my mind, used these things to indicate that he was, indeed, a Christian.  But I was troubled by the article.  There was no mention of Jesus, confession of sin, and salvation.  This man lived a "good life" and did "good things", even religious things, but is that what makes one a Christian?  I contrasted it with an interview I saw with Justin Bieber- that loved/hated pop singer- in which he spoke about his salvation. He confessed to being a sinner, being completely bad and not good at all. He spoke of Jesus saving him.  He admitted he was a complete mess and that Jesus met him in that mess.

When I compare what I see of these two lives, I admit I would very reluctantly admit that Justin Bieber lives as a Christian.  But when I heard him speak, there was no doubt that he "got it".  He knows he is a sinner in need of saving.  I'm not saying the other guy with the good life wasn't a Christian- I'm just saying that the evidence given wasn't what the Bible tells us makes a person "saved".

This is our tendency as Christians- to qualify what makes a person Christian or not.  It's a tale as old as time- we add to the simplicity of God's Word our own ideas of what it looks like to follow Him.  The Pharisees did it and we still do it today.  

Currently I see an endless stream of memes, articles, and social media posts that boil down to this: Do not call yourself a Christian if you vote for so-and-so.  Some of these things give lists of "Biblical values" like gun rights which cause me to scratch my head. Of course many refer to being pro-life (exclusively meaning anti-abortion), which I would agree is a Biblical standard.  However, these sentiments make me cringe and sadden my soul because they propagate the lie that our salvation lies in how we vote.  When we associate being Christian to a political candidate, we completely blaspheme the atoning work Jesus did on the cross.  Being a Christian means we admit we are sinners and receive the free gift of God's salvation, obtained by his death in our place.  From there, as Paul tells the Philippians, we work out our own salvation with fear and trembling.  (Philippians 2:12)

This is infinitely "harder" than following religious norms and rules. It is far more challenging to seek the guidance of scripture and allow the Holy Spirit to interpret it and speak to us personally than to follow the guidance of physical men and women with audible voices teaching us exactly how we should live.  I'm not saying godly men and women have no role in guiding us- I'm saying that ultimately, we should be seeking the Lord's personal guidance above all through reading His Word and prayer.  And applying the stamp of "Christian" and "Not Christian" is not part of the job description of Christ followers.  Especially if our criteria is anything but the blood of Jesus.

Please don't turn how others vote into a salvation issue.  Please don't equate Jesus with any particular candidate.  And don't allow anyone to bully you into voting a particular way because it is "Christian".  Do the harder work of laboring in prayer and pouring through God's Word with fear and trembling and vote according to his guidance.  Remember that we are all saved by grace, through faith, not by works, lest any man should boast. (Ephesians 2:8)

Finding Shelter

There is a sign in my entry way that reads "Let's Stay Home".   This sentiment is so "me: I am a true homebody, an introvert, someone who loves all the charms of home. Coziness, cooking, creating life in these four walls, that's my jam.  So when the order to shelter-in-place was given due to the Covid-19 outbreak, only a small part of me mourned.  In truth, much of our day-to-day lives hasn't changed all that much.  We are already well practiced in homeschooling, hanging as a family, eating at home, and finding fun here.  We are not "on the go" people. But... we do have friends.  We do participate in life outside of our house.  We enjoy trips to Target and the pool and coffee dates with friends.  A few weeks of quarantine didn't seem too difficult at the time.  But as it has stretched on ( it is the end of the seventh week at this writing) and as every day has brought some new restriction or guideline to follow, my "peace" with this arrangement has been tested. It's not fun anymore.

But like every hard thing, it has been a time of growth.  It's been a time of testing my mettle in a dozen little ways, and revealing what was already true about me.

As I said, sheltering in place has initially been a blessing. As the world has been told to slow down and stay home, I have relaxed and allowed myself a little less worry that we "aren't doing enough"- because all kids are at home now, no one is rushing around from place-to-place.  So I don't feel like we are the strange minority that lives a quiet life at home.

Comparison is a constant, even in quarantine.  As people's lives are turned upside down, I am prone to compare the struggles.  And I have felt considerable guilt that, for us, this hasn't changed life much. Josh is still working and getting his pay check direct deposited every two weeks.  Our kids are still plowing through their school work, despite the governor's forgiveness of the mandated 175 days of school.  Our pantry and freezer are stocked, we have a huge yard to play in, we have Netflix and Disney+.  But while I feel guilty that financially we are okay and others are not, I learn that this is a struggle for everyone, even me.  I have deep concerns for the welfare of children who are not in school and people who are out of work, for our crashing economy, for our freedom, for those who are quarantined alone- and I carry these as heavy burdens sometimes, with this terrible feeling that I have absolutely no control over it.  The veritable "weight of the world" on my shoulders that I am unable to bear.   While our personal circumstances are just fine at the moment, I feel deeply for those who cannot say the same.

In this feeling of helplessness, though, I am also learning daily that what we have been given is enough.  I continue to think of the little boy who offered his fishes and loaves to Jesus as a way to help feed the multitudes.  Only the faith of a child, the ignorance of what is realistic, would prompt this offering.  It could not possibly be enough. And yet, when offered to Jesus, it was. It was more than enough.  It was multiplied and there were leftovers.  So as I struggle with my feelings of helplessness to make any difference during this time, I am reminded that whatever I have is enough.  Just offer it.  The day before the official shelter-in-place order began, the kids and I made deliveries to our friends of homemade whoopie pies, jars of our own maple syrup and boxes of pancake mix, cards, letters, drawings, and other little random gifts of things we already had in the house. We called them our "Anne Frank gifts", as we did what Anne did when creating gifts to give at Hannukah while hiding in an attic from the Nazis- we just took what we had and made gifts out of it.  It seemed so paltry and yet all our friends were overjoyed.  I have loved the offerings of quarantine karaoke videos, the sharing of encouraging stories, verses, and poems, the live streamed church services, all the teachers teaching online.  Everyone feels helpless right now.  But God asks only for what we have, not what we don't. For me, that is baked goods and meals and offering encouraging Bible verses and praying for people. It is continuing to give to our church and praying for eyes to see needs we can help with. It doesn't have to feel like enough or look like enough for God to bless it.

Another revelation in this time is that my default mode continues to be self-reliance.  I have been married almost twenty years and would say that the hardest thing about marriage, for me, has been learning not to rely on myself anymore.  I went from only needing to worry about myself and take care of myself.  When I faced hard things, I could dig in and do the work to fix it without worrying about how anyone else felt.  I lived on my own strengths, fought my weaknesses with action, and did what I had to do to control my life.  There is no  place for that in marriage- two become one.  And as we have added four children over the years, I am less and less able to do the more simple work of digging just one person out of difficulty.  Now there are six of us and I just can't. But I still try! My natural reaction is to try to figure out how to fix and control things by doing something.  Being still and remembering I'm not alone in this- how is this still a struggle after twenty years?

  What I am really called to do is rest and take shelter in the shadow of the Lord's wings. Psalm 91 seems to be the chapter of the Bible most quoted during this strange season.

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust."

Surely he will save you from the fowlers snare and from the deadly pestilence. 

He will cover you with his feathers

and under his wings you will find refuge;

His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

Psalms 91:1,2

I am being called- maybe even forced- into a new level of trust. I am being beckoned to find my real shelter and safe place under the Lord's care, not in my own abilities to cope and make things better. Not in a government that offers me a stimulus check or unemployement if my husband is out of work.    Of course I have opinions on how this Covid-19 virus is being dealt with.  I have contacted our governor and my state representative.  I do not stick my head in the sand and frankly I REALLY REALLY REALLY WANT TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS- something  that feels better than just sending a letter that I know won't be read, something that gives proof of its effectiveness.  But what I am being asked to do is... shelter. Chill. Find refuge, find rest, trust in the Almighty.  I do not have to see that He is at work to know He is. And whatever He is working, his Word says it is exceedingly, abundantly above all I can ask or think. So I face the fact that probably what I think is best... isn't as good as what He has planned.

 And I can shelter in that.

From day one, the year 2020 has thrown me for a loop, and frankly I won't mind saying goodbye to it (is it really only May 1st?). But in the midst of this, the Lord is asking me, "Will you trust me? Will you put your faith in my Word, not in what you can see? When it all seems to blow apart,  will you continue to believe me for miracles? Will you continue to hope? Will you get to know me even better, even after all these years?"

 And my heart responds, "Yes, Lord. I will."

It. Is. Hard.  There are numerous times a day that I feel like I'm dragging myself under those sheltering wings, and then once I'm there, I still start to poke my head out.  I heard another voice!  Who is it?  Maybe they know something I can do! (Doing is what I do!)  But when I fall under His wings with abandon, when I cease striving and just rest, the relief is immense.  I don't have to do anything.

Just find shelter in the shadow of the Almighty.  He looms over me with his protection, provision, and compassion.

Just take shelter.

The Candles

Tonight we lit the third candle of Advent, the candle of Joy.  It glows tall and with golden flame next to the two we have already lit, the candles of Hope and Preparation.  We wait til next Sunday to light the candle of Love.

Each night, as the shadows creep in, we light them.  It is a new tradition for us, but one that I know will stick because the kids so eagerly anticipate it. We sit around them eating our dinner. We try to keep the littlest from blowing them out.  Usually the house is quiet and still when I finally do blow them out.  I often pause after I light them or stop to admire them when I come down the stairs.  I breath a prayer when I put them out.

They are just candles, but it seems an act of faith to light them when their names are Hope, Preparation, Joy, and Love.  Just before Advent began, a sweet little girl we know was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  We know a family that needs a new home.  Financial woes abound in everyone we know.  Relationships are broken.  The headlines are never good.

But it's Christmas.  And the simple truth is that because it is, and because of Who it is all about, we can light the candle of Hope, knowing it is not in vain.  We light the candle of Preparation and are reminded to do the one needful thing this time of year- sit alongside the shepherds and animals and worship the long-since-born King.  We can light the candle of Joy and relish the reality of that joy in the very person of Jesus Christ.  And when it comes time to light the candle of Love, we can bask in the glory that Love came down to Earth for us.

It is becoming a litany of love to consider what each candle represents as I light it each night.

Lord, infuse our friends with hope during this season of difficulty, fear, and the unknown. You are the hope of all the earth.

Lord, prepare our hearts for your second Advent; help us prepare you room.

Lord, give the oil of gladness and peace for despair.  May all our joy be found in you.

Lord, Jesus, help us to love like you. May we know the heights, the depths, the lengths of your love for us.

Even so, come Lord Jesus.

On Charlottesville

My heart has been heavy this week over Charlottesville- that white supremacist rally that escalated and ended in the death of a young woman.  It's the hatred, the polarization, the politicizing. It grieves me so deeply.

But most of all, I am saddened by the division among believers, members of the body of Christ, when it comes to this outward display of racism.  In my mind's eye, our only response should be outright, unequivocal condemnation of this event (which is really an ideology).  Our words should say, "We are sorry. We weep with you.  We love you.  Lord, forgive us for such an atrocity against your dearest creation."

Instead, we caved to the media hype, and the words that came out were defensive, argumentative, and much like the President's.  "Hey, this is a shame, but...."  Excuses.  Defending memorials, political positions, our own ideologies.  Not standing in love and support for the hurting, but minimizing it.  Not being like Jesus.

I am heart broken over this.  The only record we have of Jesus's life is in the only book we call Holy, the Bible, and I never once saw Jesus defend a political stance or party. I never once saw him make excuses for hatred.  I never once read that he told us to defend ourselves. In fact, he set the highest example for us by not answering back his accusers as they were convicting him of dubious "crimes" before crucifying him.  He never once declared himself "not guilty" though it was true.  We cannot say the same, even when it comes to racism.  But instead of owning the sin's of our nation, instead of taking the hits from the media, we fight back.

I expect to be divided from those who scorn the gospel, but I don't expect it among those of us who claim Jesus as our Savior.  As a body, we are more and more polarized, and though it may be futile, I strive to figure out why. I pray, I seek the Lord, I seek His Holy Word.  Yes, of course we have differences of preference and some differences of interpretation- these should be minor things.  Drinking, dress, order of worship. But is there any leeway in how we view people, created in God's image?  Each and every one of us, regardless of gender, race, religion, nationality?  Shouldn't we be quick to defend life, no matter what?  Instead, we defend our politics.

I want to own my anger and frustration at some of my fellow Christians because of the things they have said and done and written for all the world to see, and those who have backed them.  I am angry.  Actually, I am heart-broken, and that leads to anger.  And yet, I want to humble myself and recognize that most of these people love Jesus dearly.  I want to see them as He does, I want to give them grace, and not harbor resentment in my heart.  I'm struggling with this.  I don't want to think I have it all figured out, and everyone else is wrong.  But I think we are so far from the gospel sometimes.  And we are losing a battle, not for America, but for eternity.

Friends, I know we have many fears for our nation.  I have more fears for the body of Christ.  We belong to Jesus and I think it is long past time to act like it.  If we are led as lambs to the slaughter, so be it.  We are in good company.


"He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth."  Isaiah 53:7

I Give It a Year

Last July, we were having dinner at a really fantastic restaurant with our dearest friends who were visiting from Florida. It was a beautiful summer evening, the food was incredible, the company was the best. But I was trying so hard not to cry.

Not that the whole meal was like that, but when the conversation got around to how we were doing and how life was going, it got real.  These were the people we could be totally honest with, and the truth was still so painful. We were just so lonely, so discouraged, so empty feeling, still, even though it had been five years since we had moved.  I could barely speak because I just didn't want to cry.

I think it was that evening that made my husband say something the next day that I took really seriously.

"I give it one more year."

I wrote his words on that day in July on the 2017 calendar. "Josh gave it one more year."

I was holding him to it.  If July 2017 rolled around and things hadn't gotten better, we were moving on.  Leaving the state, selling everything, gone. (No drama intended)

But what "things" am I talking about?  What really needed to get better?  Josh finally had a stable job in a great paper mill. In fact, he had never worked at a mill so long before it shut its doors.  We had another baby after that move, a child we never would have expected, but that brought us so much joy.  Financially, we were debt free (minus the mortgage).  In so many ways, things looked just right.

But there was the loneliness, the lack of deep relationships with people in our new hometown, feeling like we had no "home team".  It seemed like everywhere I turned, I was hearing messages about how you need to make time for friendship, you need to have an inner circle of friends, you need people in your life, and I thought "If I hear this message one more time, I will really, truly lose my mind!" Because the truth is, you can't just make that happen. You can try and try and try, but you can't build meaningful relationships on your own.  We did try, and try, and try, but it just didn't seem to fall into place.

There was the disillusionment with ministry.  We were serving and serving and serving, but in several ways we just weren't called to or gifted to.  Because we wanted to help so much, we were doing things that were wearing us down instead of building us up.

All around me, it seemed like the modern-day MO of Christian women was to do way too much, get completely burnt out, give up everything, get "better", and then write a book or blog series or create a webinar series on how you could get better, too.  Over and over again I saw this, and I began to wonder if that was what I was headed for.  Complete burn out, to the point of not even being able to do the things I knew for sure I was called to do (like homeschool my children).

Making peace with what the Lord was calling us to for a long time was hard.  Not because it didn't promise freedom, but because it meant going against the grain, giving up ministries, leaving a church, disappointing people and still not having the entire plan mapped out for us.  In fact, I think that is something the Lord is wanting me to surrender daily: the need to know what is next.  To just live this day fully and faithfully and trust that tomorrow will move us forward, even if we can't see it.

We began to step out in faith in a few areas where the Lord was calling us. We started a home Bible study in September, something we had always wanted to to.  I admit, I was not hopeful at all that anyone would come. I was supportive, but not encouraging.  I invited the only people I knew in the area, the families that attend our homeschool co op.  Lo and behold, people came! The Lord is building an amazing little family of believers through this home Bible study.  On a recent evening we were talking with kids about what a blessing it was to have friends over, and Brown-Eyed Girl said in a serious and quakey voice, "I don't feel lonely anymore."

We stepped out very painfully and made a change in churches.  We had resisted for a long time, but it was so freeing when we relinquished our leadership roles and chose to follow the Lord into a season of rest.  For now, we just go to church on Sunday and sit in the service and feed on the Word of God.  Our two oldest children are beside us.  We can just soak it in. It sounds so selfish because we are so used to serving, but what an incredible blessing it has been.  And so needed.  In faith, we believe this season of rest is another part of preparation for what is coming.

We finally, finally feel like we have a home team!  When we got to the park, we're not alone anymore. I have girlfriends to chat over coffee with while the kids are being goofballs together.  Every single one of us is kind of in awe that we finally, finally have a group of friends to "do life with".  Our house is bustling with friends more and more often and the food is being dished up and the coffee is pouring and I LOVE IT! This is what I am made for.  This is what we are called to do right now.

There were a lot of ugly tears over the past five and half years.  There was depression. I will honestly say it felt so dark sometimes. But here is the blessing: There was always light. Always. There was always a peace that we were right in the center of the Lord's will, that he was teaching us, preparing us, blessing us for trying to be faithful. As hard as it was, I wouldn't trade it in for five and half blissful years. Because we would never have learned what we did, we wouldn't have depended on the Lord as we had to.  I have no regrets or bitterness because this was all in the Lord's hands.  There is no blame. We had to go through this.

We have grown and matured in ways we never would have without it, we have more compassion, more understanding for other lonely people who are on the fringes.  We have learned so much about grace and conflict resolution and freedom in Christ.  We have learned that those desires of our heart that seem so unfulfilled are worth clinging to because they are from the Lord.  And he can fulfill them as no one else can.

The other night, Josh and I were on a date and a song that means a lot to me came across the speakers. This song was a promise the Lord made me in January of 2013.  If you have followed my blog, maybe you will remember my post about it.  I remember that day so well, my absolute brokeness, but God speaking to me through the words of a song:

Just know you're not alone,

I'm gonna make this place your home.

Guess what? Our year is up (the one I was going to hold Josh to!) and this promise is fulfilled.  This place is finally that home we were hoping for.  And because of some other promises God has made us, I'm pretty sure the best is yet to come.


I am sharing all of this not because it's easy, but because it is real.  And it testifies to God's goodness.  I actually wrote this post more than a month ago, but didn't share it, because it's vulnerable and not intended to hurt anyone.  But this morning I got a message from a friend.  She had texted me some pictures of an event we went to last night with a big group of friends, pictures of the kids having the time of their lives. And she said, "These pictures make me think of your One More Year story."  And it choked me up because the Lord has been so faithful.

And I just had to share that.

From Death to Life- My Easter Story

This is my favorite week of the year.  Liturgically,  it is known as Holy Week.  It all begins with Palm Sunday and ends with Resurrection Sunday, what we all call Easter.  Even as a girl, Easter was the biggest holy-day of the calendar year. New dress and shoes and tights.  Egg hunts.  Church breakfast after sunrise service. And while most Sundays I was just distracting myself with coloring or my imagination during the sermon, Easter was the one week that I paid attention. It was the week the pastor brought the message of Jesus in a big way.  I would tingle with excitement over his words.

I grew up and I rejected God, though.  I still believed in him,  I probably even went to Easter service and felt some stirrings inside, but I was not a follower of Jesus. In February of 1999, though, my brother started bugging me to go to church with him.  "This place is different," he said.  He bothered me enough that I finally agreed to get out of bed one Sunday morning and go.

Walking into that church, which didn't look like a church, I immediately knew something was different.  It wasn't just the informality of dress, or the lack of pews.  I sensed that people wanted to be there. When the worship music began, to a full band, it was easy to join in and sing- and sing, they did. They raised their hands in worship.  It seemed to me an alternate universe compared to the churches I had grown up in- and yet, it was also familiar. I remembered how to find books in my Bible. I had heard some of these songs here and there. I had heard the Bible passage many times. The strangest thing was this:

A young man I had grown up going to church with was passing by and my brother stopped him. This kid, he and his brothers had gone wild and crazy in high school. They had gotten into drugs and had a punk band. I had heard the rumors.  All three of these guys were in church.  My brother asked this youngest one, "Have you decided if you're joining the army or not?" And his reply? " I don't know, man. Whatever the Lord wants. Whatever the Lord wants."

This blew me away.  Left me speechless.  I had never heard anyone talk this way, let alone an eighteen year old.  Whatever the Lord wants?  What is that?! What about what you want?

The teaching from the Bible was different, too.  The pastor taught with power and excitement. I could tell he knew his stuff and I liked that.  What he said was interesting. And I was compelled to come back to this alternate church universe. I went again that night. And from then on, I kept going Sunday morning and Sunday night. I sometimes went by myself.  Each time, I was getting more and more convinced in my heart that I needed Jesus. And I really, really wanted him, too.  There was this incredible balance of conviction of my sin, but also the depth of God's love for me. That Easter Sunday, April 4th, 1999, I left the service having made my final decision. I was following Jesus. No turning back.

Perhaps that's why, still, this time of year means so much to me.  I look back over my life and see the Lord's fingerprints in so many ways. He was drawing me to himself, luring me, wooing me, stirring in my empty heart and making me long for him.  I tried to fulfill that longing in so many other ways, but when I found the real Lover of my Soul, I was all in.  Not that I didn't fail and mess up and still look back over my shoulder now and then, but he always gave me the power to turn back around and follow him.  My life today is what it is because of Jesus. Plain and simple.

This time of year, especially in Maine, we start to see the dead things around us come alive. Spring is so glorious and so appreciated after the long, cold winter.  I love that Easter happens at this time of year.  Because that is what Easter is all about- the dead being raised to life!  First, Jesus was crucified and died.  But then on the third day, he rose from the grave.  And because of that, he can bring us who are spiritually dead to life!  I have experienced this first-hand and when I go back to those months when I was falling in love with Jesus and to that Easter Sunday when I decided to wholeheartedly follow him, I truly can weep.  Not out of lingering shame or sadness, but out of incredible, awe-filled joy.  He loved me as I was.  He was wooing me my whole life. He never gave up on me even when I rejected him. And when I finally responded, his arms were wide open.  That is love like I had never known.


I turned eighteen this year.  So spiritually speaking, I'm an adult now?  Laughable.  I have not forgotten what it was like to be "reborn".  This is a song I love, one that takes me back and reminds me of how I came alive eighteen years ago as a twenty-year-old.

What was I waiting for?

I came alive when I let go.

All I had was a broken heart,

then he held me in his arms.

Called to Obscurity

I creep out of bed early each morning, so as not to wake the little munchkin lying beside me in bed.  I crave some solitude the first few moments of each day, some time to read my Bible and sip my coffee leisurely with just the crackle of the wood fire going.  As I tiptoed down the stairs this morning just after six o'clock, I whispered a prayer. "Just a half an hour Lord, please!"  As I rounded the corner, the sliding glass doors came in to view, along with the most breathtaking bright pink sunrise in a thick stripe behind the tree line.  It stopped me in my tracks and I blessed the Lord for it, the words of an old song in my mind, "And I think to myself, what a wonderful world."

Truthfully, the world isn't always wonderful.  The past few weeks have been particularly dark for some people we know and love dearly.  We've had our own challenges, too.  A bright pink sunrise painted across the sky is obviously beautiful. Death and heart sorrow and disease, not so much.

Today, in my Bible reading (and I got more than that requested half hour!), Psalm 50 said several times that God desires our thanks. 

 "What I want instead (of your sacrifices) is your true thanks to God." vs 14. 

 "But giving thanks is a sacrifice that truly honors me." vs 23

Over in Mark 13, another chapter I read, several times Jesus reminds us he is coming soon.

"You can be sure that his return is very near, right at the door."

"And since you don't know when they will happen, stay alert and keep watch."

"So keep a sharp lookout! For you do not know when the homeowner will return... Don't let him find you sleeping when he arrives without warning... Watch for his return !" vs 35-37

I often wonder, how should we live in these dark days?  I see the signs all around me that our world is falling apart, that Jesus really could return at any moment.  And I tend to feel  so helpless and useless when I consider this.  Who am I saving?  Who am I pulling from the fires of hell?  The world out there is lost and dying, and I spend most of my days never even leaving my home.  Often, my only engagement with the real world is via Facebook (and, boy, that can bring you down and remind you of the total depravity of man).  I do feel insignificant most days and long to be a light to the world.

Recently, another passage from Mark ministered to me.  In Mark 9, vs 30 and 31, it says "Jesus tried to avoid all publicity in order to spend more time with his disciples and teach them."  For 30 years, Jesus lived an obscure life in a little village of unknown people. He was a carpenter.  He cared for his widowed mother, went to weddings and funerals, celebrated the holy days, all of it as a regular guy, no fanfare, no miracles, no glowing head signifying his Deity.  And even after he began his earthly ministry, even with only three years to teach and perform miracles and healings and tell the good news of the Kingdom, he still tried to avoid his paparazzi.  It was important to him to get away and be alone with his disciples, the twelve guys that would carry the message of the gospel long after he ascended to heaven.  He wasn't about the Jesus Show, all the outward manifestations of his power and glory.  He was about people.  Teaching.  Discipling. Being faithful to train up the ones he was given.

This blesses me.  I've got my own little brood of disciples and more and more I realize how little time I have left with my oldest one.   Five and a half years at home, and then he may be gone.  The others will trickle out of the house, too, and this is good.  But it sobers me.  As I think of watching and waiting for Jesus and the possibility of his return at any hour, and wonder what on earth I am doing for his kingdom as I live in obscurity within my own four walls, I am heartened as I look at the life of my Savior.  I realize that my life is following a similar pattern.  The needs outside my walls are pressing, but this is the work I have been called to do right now: get away with my little disciples and teach them.

We have recently been laying all our commitments out on the table and taking each one to the chopping block, so to speak.  This is hard, as we do many good things.  There are many things we are not sure of, but there are a few callings we are positive of.  And one of them is to disciple our children.  The Lord has called us away from some of the good things we have been doing in order to minister to our family better.  It is what he has called us to do for now, as we watch and wait for his return.  Even to us, it seems a little counter intuitive to leave some ministries behind, but he continues to confirm it to us.

And back to Psalm 50, and giving thanks.  As I watch and wait, maybe the simple, but perfect, answer on how to live is to be continually thankful.   Even that can be a sacrifice and offering for it does not always come easily.  How do we thank him for broken relationships and death and illness? For war and prejudice and evil?   These things, like no other, certainly make me thankful that he is returning soon.  But how do I thank him for the banana thrown on the floor (again) and the bickering among my children?  I'm not always sure in the moment, but as I look back on my years as a mom, I see that even in these frustrations, something beautiful has grown.  I have learned to loose my hold on "perfection" because it is not here yet.  It belongs to another time and place.

For now, I am called to a holy life of little but great things, and to a life of thanksgiving through it all. No great blog following or teaching ministry or book deal.  But when I finally hear those little feet hit the floor and come thumping downstairs, and that little voice calling my name, whether I got my half hour or not, I know the sweetness of obscurity.  And I do give thanks for it.

Photo note: These photographs were sent to me recently, on Baby B's second birthday, by my girl Sara, taken back in October.

Today's Soundtrack: Crazy Normal (or Crazy and Normal)

Christmas is over.  It was very nice, a little more calm with fewer gifts.  I was able to enjoy it more and savor the faces of my little ones.  Josh did a stellar job as usual choosing my gifts, though he did not stick to the one gift rule we (I) imposed this year. He says my standards are too strict. How can I fault him for spoiling me?

It's a strange thing to wake up the day after Christmas to a mess of boxes and shreds of paper still scattered on the floor.  To still need to make breakfast and dinner.  Life returns to normal rather quickly, though the bonus of this week is that my husband is on vacation.   I got up early, he slept in.  I savored my morning quiet with my giant cup of coffee and then started working on the Christmas gift leftovers.  Kiddos were sleeping in and then lounging about on their new devices.  We didn't even plug in the tree.  We are fading back into normalcy.

But there is something really wonderful about that.  I like schedules, routine, normalcy. Being able to count on my kind of coffee in the morning and the water pressure in my shower.  I like making menus and lists of things we need at the grocery store.  I like our hum-drum, routine days as much as I like our holidays.

In all the Christmas gift wrapping, I noticed we had a severe shortage of gift bags.  We had some giant ones, but very few in the small to medium range.  And planner that I am, one of my burning desires the day after Christmas was to hit up the 50% off sales somewhere and stock up on bags for next year. Yes. I am one of those people.

As timing would have it, in life in general and the day in particular, we have a responsible 13 year-old son and a little guy who was just going down for his nap.  So it was the perfect opportunity to turn this holiday clearance shopping spree into a date.  We even stopped at Starbucks for a coffee, which made the date official.

Josh is one of those rare guys that enjoys shopping. In fact, he once told me that his favorite thing to do with me is go shopping because we always find silly or crazy things to laugh at. We just have a good time together, no matter what we do. I love that our conversations don't get interrupted on these dates.   We are goofballs and take silly selfies that nobody ever sees (except our best friends in Florida who get these via text). We just love spending time together, even if that time is spent at a department store buying toilet paper and gift bags for next year.

I say this often, but it's true.  When we said "I do",  I didn't realize I was marrying my best friend.  Sure, I love the romantic moments, but I just love spending our everyday days together, too.

Currently on our life's soundtrack is this totally relatable song.  If you've never heard Ben Rector, you are missing out.  All of his songs are a treat.  This is a favorite, one for those of us who live crazy, normal lives.

God (Still) With Us

At night these days I fall into bed and think of Aleppo.  I am safe and warm in my home.  My children are nestled snug in their beds.  I have had too much to eat, the sweets abound, and my coffee stash never runs dry.  I think of the faces I see online of regular, ordinary people like me who used to fall asleep to the same things I do, but now they run for their lives. They leave all their comforts behind.  It's funny the images that can impact you the most.  For me, it's a photo of a man, presumably a daddy, cradling his child in his arms, a child of about two perhaps.  I can't see the child's face, just her chubby little baby fat legs, brown skinned, dusty.  Such sweet little legs of a child being comforted by her father.

I pray for Aleppo at night.  I sing a song at night for Aleppo in my mind, an old one by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, written against the backdrop of war between the North and the South.

And in despair I bowed my head,

"There is no peace on earth, " I said,

"For hate is strong, and mocks the song

of peace on earth, goodwill to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, goodwill to men."

I often sing the first of these stanzas, for the hatred in this world can be so overpowering. It can leave you hopeless, it can bring despair that just can't be overcome.  Until I sing the next stanza and I remember that it is true.  God is not dead, nor does He sleep. He sees every person in Aleppo.  He cares for each one.  Somehow, even in all this evil, He is at work.  The wrong will eventually be dealt with.  His righteousness will prevail.  He sees them.

And he sees me.  In the shadows of all this violence and evil, here I am in my warm home, well-fed, wealthy compared to the greatest percentage of the world.  It makes me feel so small, so insignificant to affect change when I think of those chubby legs, so like my own little guy's.  I am prone to feel guilty for this life immediately surrounding me, and to feel that all the Christmas preparations are so trivial, the gifts so ridiculous, the food so lavish- all so wrong- when half a world away, the world is falling apart.  I tend to think our celebration is a mockery of the very real crisis going on.

But I think it is no accident that this happens right now,  this time of year.  As Christians, and even those who do no claim to follow Christ, turn their hearts toward this idea of a baby being born a few thousand years ago, a baby who was God, and as we celebrate this miracle, it is not surprising that evil seems to overcome it and steal our joy in this:

That God is with us.  He did leave his throne and come as a baby.  He was born in poverty.  He was born during the reign of a cruel government.  His parents had to flee for their lives from a demonic king who wanted all little boys to die.  He did live a very normal and hard life and he died the worst death imaginable. But came back to life, by his own power raising himself from the dead. And he returned to his Father in heaven, sending us his Spirit to be God With Us.  Even today.

Christmas does still matter.  Because the story of Christmas is the most real, magical story there is.  And it lives on today as God shows us he is still with us.  Stories are coming out of Aleppo that God is there.  More close to home, our friends had their Christmas deliveries stolen this week - but they are being replaced by the company.  God is with them.  Last night we had Taco Tuesday with all our Bible study families.  We sang a few Christmas carols and worship songs.  We got in the Word of God. The kids were kind of wild and crazy.  As we turned out the lights and fell into bed, we just marveled at all the Lord has done in the four short months since we began the study and how our five lonely years here are suddenly changing.  God is with us.

Christmas is creeping up on us so quickly, and I do still struggle with how frivolous some of this seems in light of Aleppo, but as I wrap the gifts and curl the ribbon, I think of how the hate and the wrong will not prevail in this house.  We will celebrate the birth of our Savior and find him everywhere we go and in everything we do.  We will not let hate make a mockery of the peace we have with God and his goodwill toward all of us.  We will not let it keep us from loving those within our power to love.

We will continue to pray and give and seek to see that God is even in Aleppo.

We will remember, in the words of another beautiful carol, that "in all our trials, He was born to be our friend". (O Holy Night)

We wish you a Christmas that is refreshed by the presence of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  May you know His peace, experience his goodwill, and enjoy his sweet friendship.

Please pray for Aleppo, and if you feel led to help, there are many wonderful ministries helping the refugees.  The one closest to the front lines seems to be The Preemptive Love Coalition.  Above all, please pray.

Why I Do What I Do

I have swept the flour I-don't-know-how-many-times today.  And there are still crumbs, and probably some stray pinto beans Little Guy threw from his high chair during dinner.  Someone will step on them and squash them later.

The sofa was covered with laundry today. I did manage to get it folded and I did take a basket full upstairs. But there it remains.

I discovered the playroom was a disaster area.  As were all three kids' bedrooms.

I'm grouchy and weary from chatter, one child's constant stream of ideas bombarding me every moment I try to focus on something else.  I just want some quiet tonight, time to recharge my depleted mind.

It's all so cliche. The messes. The dishes. The laundry. The chaos of kids.  It just seems so... over-stated.  Every one of us moms talk about these things.  It's just the way it is, with kids.  There is nothing special about my situation, my frustrations, my exhaustion at the end of the day.  So it feels foolish to even write about it. It's all been said before. By me and countless others.

I am so tempted to think that what I do doesn't really matter.  Because most of it will have to be done again today or tomorrow.  It's regular work, that's for sure.

But I take pride in it.  Being here at home with my children, day in, day out, being a homemaker, a home educator.  I do really believe that this matters.  I could be doing anything, but I chose this.

I do what I do for good reasons.

We started a new book today. The Green Ember by SD Smith.  I kept hearing about it and it was free for Kindle one day.  It's not the type of book I typically enjoy reading aloud (fantasy) and would rather get the audiobook. But, again, it was free for Kindle.  So I read five chapters aloud today.  I utilized the highlight feature a few times.  I'm thinking this will be a good book. But I'm not all-in yet.

Until Brown-Eyed Girl asked me tonight, as I wiped down the stove top; "Is the author of The Green Ember a Christian?"  "You know, I think he is." I said (and it may be that SD Smith is a woman, ha!).  "What made you think he might be?" I asked her.  "The part about the king." She answered, and walked off.  King Jupiter, the best king there ever was... reminding her of The  Best King There Ever Was... Jesus.

This is why I do what I do.

All four kids are squashed on the couch watching something on Netflix together, one blanket covering all of them.

This is why.

My little one clinging to my legs.  Or his tight grip around me as I carry him. His legs clenching around me because he doesn't want to be put down.

This is it.

Sipping caramel tea out of yard sale tea cups and dipping graham crackers in it as we sit around the table together with a good book.

Yes.

All those questions they ask that I get to answer.  About sex, why people do what they do, about beauty, truth, good and evil.

It's the best.

Watching them fill their bellies with good, healthy food, mostly, and hearing the occasional "thank you" for it.

I do what I do for them.

I know, know, know that it matters more than I could ever really know.

That may be cliche.  Along with all the messes and chaos and crumbs.  But it is still very, very true.

Doors

Sometimes, love just walks through your door. It's true.  Most of the time, the very best things that happen to you just... enter in.  Without fanfare. Without you even knowing that this moment will be life changing.

 

For a little while, before I officially met him, I watched the man that would become my husband. He wore t-shirts from triathalons he was in and Umbro shorts and regular department store jeans.  I didn't know who he was. But one Wednesday night, I saw him walk through the door, pushing a wheelchair for a young man who had never been able to use his legs.  And I thought, that's the kind of guy I want.  Someone kind, a servant.

 

I didn't know I would marry him less than a year later.

 

One Thursday night, I opened my front door with a baby on my hip.  It was the third week of the Bible study we had begun in our home and a bunch of people had come out of nowhere!  They were singing in my living room, and I heard the doorbell ring.  I carried Mister, just three months old, down the stairs with me to answer the door, and in walked Sara.  Eight months pregnant.  The most talkative total stranger I had ever met.

 

I didn't know that we would be the best of friends thirteen years later.

We would add more babies to our bunch.

The babies

 

Our husbands would become best friends, too.

We would vacation together.

Have countless dinners and movie nights and shopping trips.

 

 

This isn't just a story of how I met my husband and my best friend.

It's a reminder.  Mostly, to myself.

 

To ask and keep asking.

To seek and keep seeking.

To knock and keep knocking.

 

Love really does just walk in sometimes.

You can't plan on it.

Or make it happen.

You pray.

And you open the door.

 

  

Thirteen years of friendship- what a gift!
  So glad Sara came to my door all those years ago.

 

 

 

"If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?"

Matthew 7:7

On Sixteen Years

Sixteen years ago, I married my best friend, and I didn't even know it.  We were babies.  Just twenty- one and twenty-four.  After a whirlwind courtship (three weeks!) and a speedy engagement (three months!) we committed to a lifetime spent together.  While normally I'd say this was a recipe for disaster, in our case, it was a match made in heaven.  There was no doubt then, and never have I doubted since, that it was the Lord God who brought us together.

I was musing today about what I would do differently if we had to plan our wedding again.  I would pick the same dress, handmade by my mom, and wear a veil, but no tiara this time.  And my hair might be a little closer to something  natural (smile).  I wouldn't change a thing about the service- the church, our wedding party (my brother stood up with me and Josh's sister with him), the music, not even the thunder storm that messed up the sound equipment.  We got married in the era before digital photography (we are ancient) so our portraits would be more touched up and with much less formal posing.  Oh, and I'd smile real big cause I've had braces since then! We would still have an evening reception, but catered to make life easier for our families, and we would most definitely have dancing if we did it again.   To all the songs that have since become the soundtrack of our sixteen years together.

But even if it was just two people standing at an undecorated altar, him covered in wood pulp and paper stock from a messy day at work and her in an everyday pony tail and a quick coat of lipstick, I would make the same choice, say the same vows I said back then.

I'm still learning a lot about marriage and us.

Namely, we are so different.  Sometimes we want totally different things, things bigger than steak vs. chicken (but we'd both pick steak given the choice).  Sometimes the things we want are the things people part ways over.  But because we're not so different on the important stuff, the other stuff is just an opportunity to grow, broaden our horizons, learn something, or sometimes it's just an opportunity to die to ourselves.

What we've got is something others wish they had.  Maybe they don't want our four kids, or to be a one-income family, or drive a rusting Suburban, but when we look at each other and our fingers intertwine and we laugh together over some inside joke and then our lips meet... yeah, they want that.  The stripped away part of who we are is really good stuff.

At some point, even in a really great marriage, it's going to be something you have to fight for.  And the battle isn't against each other, the battle is with ourselves.  Very early on I learned that even if I was "right" in a situation, there was still some selfishness there if I demanded being "right". And selfishness is the battle for me.  It's wanting things my way.

You also have to fight for time together, for meaningful communication, for laughter when life just stinks. You have to fight for intimacy when you are both exhausted from long days on the job.  You have to fight to keep your marriage relationship number one, somehow, when the needs of your children really do take over and when other responsabilities must take up your time.  Marriage is real life, not a perpetual honeymoon.

But I've learned the power of second honeymoons. Third honeymoons, Fourth, fifth, and on and on.  What a powerful thing to get away together, even if it's just for a night (but a few nights is better!).  It's another thing you somehow have to make happen.  It's not spending, it's investing.

And on that note, monogamy rocks.  Enough said.  Blush if you must.

As Josh's wife, I have this incredible power, that could lead to absolute destruction if wielded wrong.  He cherishes and respects my thoughts, feelings, opinions (and I am FAR more opinionated than him), and because of this, I could be the one in control of this marriage.  But I have learned that while I have freedom to bare my heart, soul, and strong mind to this man, I also have the great blessing of leaving it with him to do what is right and good.  I know he would never do anything to hurt me or our family.

I have the power to make or break his career, ministry, reputation, and all sorts of things and that is a fearsome thing. I long to do him good and not evil all the days of my life, but there have been times I have failed at this.  I have always loved the quote from My Big Fat Greek Wedding "The man is the head, but the woman is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants." There is a lot of truth in this, and I want to be careful to turn his head in the right direction.  Josh has always been my biggest fan. He's been on my side, even when I was wrong. He's been patient, kind, faithful.  In so many ways, he as been the making of ME.  Wow, love this man so much.

We aren't the babes we once were and I'm so grateful for that.  I love how we have grown together the more we have grown toward Jesus.  I love the laugh lines on his face, the graying hair around his temples. I love that I have not yet found a gray hair on my head.  And that if he has, he has not pointed it out to me.  Yes, I love him.

Marriage is such a sweet gift.  Sixteen years a gift to me.  And I still have so much to learn. But if it means spending a lifetime together, I'm up for it.

A Goodnight Story

For us, it's late.  We are not night owls by nature.  Josh gets up at four in the morning for work.  I get up in the night with a nursing baby. So sleep is all we want come nine o'clock.  And yet we seem to have a few children born to stay up late.

They seem to have a lot to say when all I want to say is "Goodnight, I love you" and turn the light off.

They have stories to tell, ideas to share, questions to ask.  Requests for water or the blanket left downstairs.  Sometimes I feel so bone-weary I just want to cry.  Sometimes I just want a few precious moments to myself and I don't think I can take any more talking, any more needing me.

There are nights like tonight when I get the baby to sleep, nursing as I watch an episode of Reading Rainbow with the older kids.  The oldest goes to bed with a request to turn his light off.  Brown-Eyed Girl goes to bed surprisingly easy.  But Petite has tears in her eyes. She's wants to color, to draw, to do  anything but turn the lights off and go to sleep.  And I'm so tired, I'm so in need of a few moments to myself.  But she snuggles up to me and I know that she needs me.  My little one who seems to get left behind so often.

So I lay the baby in his crib.  I choose a few stories to read.  And we snuggle up together and share the familiar stories.  I see her grin and hear her laugh as I read Kitten's First Full Moon.  After Mama, Do You Love Me? she asks "Is that how much you love me?"  She asks for more.  One more, I say.

Two more?  she counters.

Just one.

She brings back two, saying she can't choose between Goodnight Gorilla and Merry Christmas, Stinky Face.  I give in and read both.

I think of how this is the second copy of Goodnight Gorilla we have had. It's always been one of her favorites.  I can't remember now if one copy was lost or destroyed, but I remember finding a replacement at Goodwill at just the right time.  And she still loves it.  She still grins.  She still loves to see the animals following the zookeeper to his house and up to his room to go to bed.

I am tired.  But so thankful God gave me the grace, the nudge, the last bits of energy to grab a few books off the shelf and spend these moments with my little girl.  I think that these are moments she will remember, maybe not specifically, but generally, someday, remembering how mama always read to her.  How she might be in Goodwill herself someday and come across a copy of Goodnight Gorilla and grin as she thumbs through it, remembering all the times we read it, knowing it by heart.

And I think that I made a lot of mistakes today as a mom.  But that this wasn't one of them.

Goodnight, sweet girl.

Goodnight.

Dear Homeschool Mom:Your Kids DON'T Hate You

Dear Homeschool Mom,

I know it seems like it to you (it sure does feel like it to me), but your kids don't hate you.  They roll their eyes, yes.  They moan and groan, yes, yes.  They don't even try to hide the fact that they hate this school thing you do.

But they don't hate you.

They just don't get it.  They are young, immature, and primarily concerned with having fun, so they don't get how important all this school work is.  They have no idea how useful it will be to know how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide some day.  They have no clue the great treasure  there is in knowing the story of this world or what makes things work in this world.  Even if they secretly enjoying learning history and science, ask them to write a sentence about it, and the sighs and complaining begin.

You may try to deal with this through discipline. Be like me and withhold use of electronic devices.  Or settle it in your mind that this is the way it is.

And don't take it personally.  They don't hate you.

They hate what you are making them do.  They resent the work they have to do, cause, hey, it's hard.  It interferes with all the free Lego play and conquering the next level of whatever the latest video game is.  It mean less time on Mindcraft.  It interrupts the reading of the book they can't put down for the book they loathe.  In short,  you are trying to teach them to deny themselves. To prioritize responsibilities.  To learn early on the value of hard work.

And they haven't learned any of this yet.

But they love you. They love that you make them dinner  and drag them into the living room to hear another chapter of a great story.  They love that you are there to drag their butts out of bed in the morning.  They love you even when you get cranky and frustrated and want to quit.  They love you when you have to remind them again to do their chores.

They just don't like what they have to do.

It's so very hard feeling like they hate you. It's so very hard to be the "bad guy".  I know you dream of just having fun with your kids and you might even think that would make your home the happiest place on earth.  No chores, no school work, no responsibilities.  Just letting everyone do what they want to do.  Maybe it seems to work for some of your homeschool friends.  Maybe it seems like other families are happier. And other kids don't hate their parents.

But they all have their moments.

You need to remember your moments.  The precious ones.  When the kids beg for another chapter.

 

When the big kiddo helps the little kiddo. When your girls get along and your son rocks the baby to sleep for you.   When they say "thank you" for taking them to McDonalds. When they come up and put their arms around you for no reason.  When they plant a kiss on your cheek and say "I love you mom".  All the times they don't put up a fight.  There are lots of precious moments.  Don't let the Jonah days get you down, Mom.

They love you.  Someday they might even thank you for making them do all this hard work.  Until then, love them dearly.  Be the one to apologize. Be the one to give the hug that bridges the gap. Be the one to remind them you think the world of them.  Let them have hot cocoa right before dinner.  Talk to them about something other than what they should be doing. Don't forget they are your children and not your students.  

Agape love is doing what is best for the person who is being loved, even if it doesn't seem best to them. All this work seems miserable to your kids, but don't let that deter you.  It is an expression of your love to teach them.  

Remember that they need you to be tender and tough.

And remember that they love you.

Now go give them a hug.

Love, 

Steph

The Small Days

I have just a few minutes as I sit on the deck with my coffee.  School is done.  I am tired. We are all grateful for a break.  I escape outside, to this fall-ish day, already cool with a hint of crispness.  The leaves are still green but soon it will be a colorful wonderland back here.

I am thankful.

Thankful for these few small minutes.

I pray the baby doesn't wake up. He doesn't like to sleep much during the day, but oh when he does... it's just a little bit of heaven.  We adore him, of course, but we all appreciate a little nap.

The introvert in me needs these small moments.  As I sit out here, I pray. I thank God for this day, because if I don't, it all seems like a crazy mess.  But when I do, it all seems just as it should be.  I pray for my best friend. For Pastor Saeed and his family.  For my baby. For my Petite who I feel is getting lost in the busyness of our days.  I pray for our upcoming trip. The flying, oh how I hate it. And I'm leaving my three oldest babies behind.

I tear up when I think of it.

I see a wispy little cloud float by.

And I think of how these are the days of small things.  Small moments like this when I get a chance to think, to breath, to savor a moment with my Savior.  Small moments of remembering that this is life and it is good.  Small moments in the midst of small things.

Nursing a baby.  Wiping the counters.  Reading lessons.  Making dinner, again.  Dust flying. Fingerprints on my mirror.  Half-eaten cookies on the table.  Floors that need to be swept and that rarely get mopped.

These are just little things I do, day in and day out.

I remember the days of big things.  Like planning our wedding.  And starting a Bible study in our home.  Of selling our house and settling into our new one.  Of special vacations.  I remember the days of our babies coming into the world and God's fingerprints over every single moment.  And the day I met my best friend who was brought to me by Him.

Those days and seasons when the Lord showed up in a big way.

But I find most days are like this.  Just little moments that require me to look harder to see that He is here.

That's why I need my coffee on the deck.  And that blessed hour after everyone has gone to bed.  And as many minutes as I can grab first thing in the morning with  my Bible and my journal.

To thank God for these small things.  And to be reminded that small doesn't equal unimportant.  These days matter, just as our youngest family member matters.  These days of throwing in wood, changing diapers, flushing toilets for those who forget, matching up socks,turning off the lights that always get left on, and reading books aloud, are no less significant than the wedding days, the birthdays, the holy days.

"Do not despise these small beginnings, because the LORD rejoices to see the work begin..."

Zechariah 4:10

The Planned and the Unplanned

I am staring at the sweetest little thing I know.  My darling baby boy, who will be five months old tomorrow.  These are precious days.  I am thankful for all the milestones he hits, like rolling over and laughing, but it is bittersweet because it means he is growing up oh so quickly.

Perhaps it is this little guy, his life, that is waking me up to the issues going on right now with Planned Parenthood.  See, I have always been pro-life.  I was raised that way.  I never doubted it was wrong to kill a baby in the womb.  I never doubted that, even as a "blob of tissue", it was alive.  And that it was created by God.  I have not always been a devout follower of God. Far from it.  But I always believed in letting life live.

I remember in my younger years, wrestling with so-called Christian views of what it means to be a woman.  It seemed so gross, so derogatory, things like submission and women not allowed to lead in the Church.  And it seemed like the world was so hostile to women, with its wage inequality, and images of beauty which produced vicious results in young girls and women.  Young and immature, not really knowing the extent of the term, I considered myself a feminist.  My freshman year of high school, in English class, this issue of abortion came up and I stood up for life.  A female classmate was appalled.  "Stephanie, I thought your were a feminist!" (oh, doesn't that sound silly now, between fourteen-year-old girls?).  My response," I am.  But abortion is murder."  I wasn't afraid to speak the truth back then.

And I'm a little ashamed that I haven't been speaking the truth, out loud, for anyone to hear, as an adult.

Yes, of course, I am still pro-life.  But I have let fear of man hold me back. I've let this become a complicated issue, when essentially, it isn't.  And I have silenced myself.  While many issues swirl around abortion, things like reproductive health and access to birth control and life of the mother, etc, the bottom line is that abortion is murder. It is destroying life that is made in the image of God.

I watch my young son smile at us. He follows us with his eyes. He thrives on our affection and attention. He laughs at us.  He longs to be held.  He knows instinctively how to suck to get nourishment, even fresh from the womb.  He has an emerging personality (extrovert, we think).  He is just so very precious to us and it is breaking my heart to think of the millions, yes millions, of children that have not been given the chance to live.

And let me be honest.  I have had an unexpected, and even unwanted, pregnancy.  The summer we were preparing to move, I was surprised by feelings of morning sickness and the smell of everything curdling my stomach.  A very familiar feeling.  I bought a Dollar Tree pregnancy test which confirmed my worst fear- yes, fear.  I had been married for 11 years, had three children, thought our family was complete, and was devastated to see two pink lines appear on that test stick.

I did not want any more children.

I didn't know how on earth I was going to handle having a new baby without the support of my friends and family in Lincoln.  We were moving to a new town, Josh was starting a new job, we hadn't sold our house yet.  This was terrible,  horrible timing.  I cried my eyes out when I told Josh I was pregnant. I felt numb when he prayed for our unborn baby that night.  I had absolutely no happy, joyful feelings about having another child.

So I understand, maybe just a little, about how it feels to be confronted with an unexpected pregnancy.  I understand how it feels to wish it wasn't so, to feel stuck with a circumstance I couldn't change.

Only, there is that option, that choice to change the circumstance of an unwanted pregnancy.  It is all too easy to find a local Planned Parenthood, or another women's clinic, and take care of this problem.

To be sure, having a baby is HUGE.  Pregnancy is not always glorious.  Infants are not always calm and easy going.  Neither are toddlers, tweens, or teenagers.  Children are not cheap to raise.  They change our plans, interrupt our nights, they  require massive change on the part of the mother (and involved father).  It is no light thing to carry life and then raise it.  And it's not just irresponsible women who find themselves pregnant without planning it.

But what I knew, is that my child was alive. I couldn't feel him or her yet. I hadn't seen an ultrasound picture. But I knew it was life.  And that while this life was interrupting my life, I would, eventually, love this child.

I realize not every woman who finds herself pregnant unexpectedly seems "qualified" to raise a child.  We have an overflowing foster care system because so many men and women are not able or unselfish enough to raise a child in a healthy, safe way.  I realize the teenage pregnancy rates are high and that high school and even college will be interrupted if they have a baby, even if they don't keep it.  I am not ignorant to how difficult it is to carry a life and raise it!  But none of that means it is okay to destroy a life.

Today, I reject what is commonly referred to as the feminist movement, because, honestly, it has served women so ill.  I reject the idea that  Christianity has a subservient view of women.  Perhaps religion does, but Jesus Christ does not.  Over and over again in the gospels, I read how Jesus set women free.  Women who were being used by men.  Women who were prostitutes, illegitimate, in poverty and medical distress.  He set them free!  He memorialized some of them! And this is where modern day feminism has it so wrong.

Abortion doesn't set a woman free.  It sounds so good, the ability to get rid of an unexpected pregnancy and all the complications it will bring. But it's a lie.  It's a sorrow women carry, sometimes their whole lives, because they know, yes they know, that this is life.

I have always been so confused about this.  If a woman wants her baby, it is fully alive from the very start. If she doesn't, it is merely tissue, a blob that can be disposed of.  Surely, if Planned Parenthood is selling body parts, doesn't that imply that there is a body, and if a body, a person?  And as a woman who believes we are created beings, not objects of random chance, I also believe that our bodies have souls.  And to kill a body is to kill a soul.

I know there are gazillions of arguments surrounding abortion.  I know it doesn't seem as easy as making it illegal, and I would agree with that.  Making abortion illegal would not end the practice.  It wouldn't change the hearts and minds or the behavior of anyone.  It wouldn't keep a woman from an unexpected and unwanted pregnancy.  It wouldn't solve all her problems.

But I also know that abortion only causes greater problems and does absolutely nothing to truly set a woman at liberty.  Abortion, itself, is a grave injustice toward women.  That there is nothing better to offer a woman who is pregnant and doesn't want to be than an abortion is a disgrace.

The truth is, there are other options.

Back to my story.

It didn't end well.

I carried my unexpected baby for twelve weeks and then had a miscarriage.  I had a miscarriage many years before that, yet very early on, but this one was so much worse.  Even though I had not fully embraced the idea of having another baby, even though I wasn't emotionally attached to that baby, losing it was a devastating process. It may sound crude, but it felt like I was delivering my baby in a toilet.  It was so, so wrong.  And yet, it was "spontaneous", as the doctors describe miscarriage.

I can only imagine how much more wrong it is to deliver your child at twelve weeks on purpose.  Planned.  Sold a lie that it will lead to freedom.

If we want to talk women's liberation, then abortion as the first prescription for pregnancy needs to end.  The alternatives may not be easy, but they will protect babies AND women far better. I don't have all the answers.

Yes, crisis pregnancy centers.

Yes, birth control.

Yes, caring for women in marginalized areas.

Yes, sex education.

Yes, it's going to take money.  Tax money, private money.

Yes, Church, wake up and reach out and dig in your pockets and adopt and foster and love like crazy.

Yes, support life after birth as well (education, food programs, child care, etc.).

My story of babies and pregnancy doesn't end with that miscarriage four years ago.  As I said, today I have a five-month-old baby boy who is an absolute delight to our family.  He has taken over our life.  He wants to be held at inconvenient moments, he wants to nurse all the live long day.  But he just loves to smile at us, and be loved by us. He brightens our home in the most incredible ways.  My children are experiencing the gift of life through this child.  They felt him moving in my womb. They saw his pictures while he was still in the secret place.  Their young hearts and minds knew this thing inside of me was fully alive. And they were fascinated.

How heart breaking to me that the fascination of bringing life into the world, one of the very things that  make us as women so very feminine, is so long gone in our culture. While surely women are made for more than bearing children, we were never, ever made for abortion.

Ducks Out of Row, Trying to Go With the Flow

This morning I made a list of twenty things I wanted to get done today.  Yes, twenty things.

Blogging wasn't one of them, but here I am.

Vacation is over. Well, our week away full of late nights and fun to the max is over.  And my hubs is back to work (thanks for that, Babe!).  And that means I have a very, very messy house. How is that possible when you've been away for a week?  I don't know, but it is.  And hence, my list of twenty things, which could easily be fifty.

But I'm devouring a salad and trying to type at the same time.

Truth is, I'm a little overwhelmed by my kitchen and the inability to get it cleaned up.  The same is true of the living room and the dining room (which still has blue painter's tape on the walls).  Goodness, I'll just admit I'm overwhelmed by  this whole house.  I can't get a thing done, or when I do, it quickly gets undone.  My list of twenty things includes tiny, minuscule items like marinating the roast for tomorrow night.  Things like using up the leftover frosting from the Fourth of July cupcakes and reading aloud to the kids.  Little things to check off to make me feel like I got something done today.  Because I sense that even when the lights go out tonight, the kitchen will still be a wreck.

I know in the grand scheme, these things don't matter.  But I am Ducks-in-a-Row Mama.  I make my lists and I check them so much more than twice. I like order, predictability, and clean countertops.

Why then, four children?

Why then, do I homeschool?

Because I've come to this place- wait, I'm still on a journey to this place- called Surrender.  My life isn't my own.  It's God's. And He has a plan for it that will stretch me and make me need Him like no one else.  Four kids is part of it. Homeschooling is part of it.  And apparently, all my ducks out of order is part of it, too.

And all the crumbs, lest we forget.

I think my lists are something the Lord smiles at. After all, He made me this way.  An ISTJ, according to Meyers-Briggs.  I think my lists are part of my way of bringing glory to Him, just like this unexpected blog post.

But I think He smiled a little bigger when I put everything aside and sat at the kitchen table with Petite today. I had to stack up the laundry that was covering it and move aside a pile of coloring papers.  I had to dig out some of my scrapbooking supplies.  And together we made a birthday countdown chart so that she will know exactly when her big day is.  We put Sleeping Beauty stickers on it and of course the paper was pink.  It wasn't on my list, but it was important.

I don't think I will ever be Go-With-the-Flow Mama.  But I hope that I learn more and more to take a time-out from my schedules and lists and let the frustration over the messy house go.... and just enjoy this very, very short season.

Of four kids.

And homeschool.

And everybody interrupting everybody at the dinner table.

It is all good, if not orderly.

There will be other days for order.

June 22, 2013

My sweet little promised one.

Two years ago, God whispered a promise in my ear as I read 2 Kings 4.

"About this time next year... you will hold a son in your arms." vs 16

This sounds sort of mystic, perhaps, or maybe you know just what I am talking about. When God speaks to you.

In this verse, the prophet Elisha is speaking to a woman from Shunam.  She and her husband had built a little apartment for him to stay in when he was travelling through and he wanted to do something kind for her in return. She asked for nothing, but Elisha's servant mentioned that she had no children.  And no doubt the Lord told Elisha, I'm going to give her a son.  Tell her.

A couple thousands of years later, God's Word spoke the same promise to me.  Like the Shunamite woman, who said "Don't mislead your servant, O man of God!", I wondered for over a year if the Lord really had promised me this.

I had decided to leave it in my husband's hands, for one. I prayed that if this was true, he would be the one to say, "Hey girl, let's have a baby."  I tentatively broached the subject maybe twice, but got very little feedback from him.  So I let it go. 

And I wondered if I was just being a little emotional about this whole promise.

Because just a month before the Lord even spoke these words to me, I really had no desire for another child.  We had lost a baby at 12 weeks in late summer of 2011.  That baby was a complete surprise, coming at an extremely difficult time for us as we were in limbo waiting for our house to sell so the whole family could move to be with Josh near his new job.  The loss was very difficult physically and emotionally, and I vowed I would never ever go through it again.  We both felt our family was complete.

But at a ladies retreat that year, the Lord began to stir things up in me.  At first, I just surrendered and said "Okay, Lord, if you want us to have another child, I will. But I don't want any more."  Within a week, everything I was reading, circumstances around me, so many things were softening my heart and making me say "Yes, Lord, I do want another child."

 I remember thinking "But we don't even  have the crib anymore!  All our baby stuff is gone!" And thinking we so didn't have a plan!  But also thinking, who cares?  

Last spring, I started running outside.  I would pray and dream for this baby. I would doubt that I really heard God right. But deep inside I knew I had.

So strong on my heart was this truth: that the only thing we could possibly carry into the next life with us is our children. Everything else would be left behind. And Josh agreed.  And then... we got pregnant.

I look at this little boy of ours, the son God promised me two years ago today, and I am just blown away that He speaks to us.  And that He puts desires in our heart and then fulfills them.  I am reminded how personal He is.  And this promise fulfilled gives me hope that the others not yet fulfilled... one day will be.