A New Song To Sing

Tattoos And The Law

2012-02-08T15:49:00.001-06:00

One of my children was recently told by a well-meaning Christian that having a lot of tattoos is not pleasing to God. The person further explained that it was okay if a person had tattoos before becoming a Christian, but to get a tattoo after becoming a Christian is wrong, even if the tattoo were a cross.

When my daughter told me this, I stopped in my tracks and said, Excuse me? Are you serious?

I'm well aware of Leviticus 19:28, but we can't just pick out one law to follow. If that were the case, we'd have to follow them all. And I can assure you that no one is making a fuss over verse 27. And let's be clear: if we're into commandment keeping, we must realize that most of us worship on Sunday, not the Sabbath, which clearly breaks the 4th commandment of the most abused and misused ten.

Friends, Jesus fulfilled the Law. It's not our job to keep the Law. What was once unclean and unholy, God has made clean and holy through Jesus.

God places different convictions on His children. What He may allow for one child, He may not allow for another. Be careful not to place your God-given convictions on someone else for you might become a stumbling block, teaching others that what they do or don't do is more important than living in grace. So while God may convict you about tattoos, it's dangerous to make a blanket statement like the one told to my child.

In Luke 19:40, Jesus said, I tell you, if these become silent, the stones will cry out! Allow me to share an example of how a person can use a tattoo to bring praise and glory to God:

My nephew, a Christian, is a Marine. He courageously defends freedom, and is willing to sacrifice his own life if necessary. He knows what it is to face death. While fighting in war, his mother prayed Psalm 91 for him daily and included that passage in her correspondence with him. His paternal grandfather died last year, and in sorting through his belongings, the family found a photo of my nephew on his nightstand. On the back of that photo his grandfather had written Psalm 91. As you can imagine, my nephew knows what an important role the prayers of Psalm 91 played in his safety. He is well aware of the fact that if not for God's protection, he might not be alive today. He recently had his chest tattooed with a cross and Psalm 91. What a great opportunity he has when others ask him the significance of his tattoo! I don't believe God will be displeased when my nephew recounts his story of God's protection and of answered prayers.

I think the bigger issue would be if my nephew never acknowledged God's presence and protection in those dangerous days. Instead, he has a reminder every time he removes his shirt!

Christians, let's not pick and choose rules by which to live from a long list of laws that are dead. Let's instead live in freedom...standing firm...not subject again to a yoke of slavery. (Gal. 5:1)

Warning: Pity Party

2012-02-05T21:37:00.000-06:00

My oldest and I were driving home from gymnastics this evening, talking about what a big week we have ahead. She's trying out for cheerleader, and I'm running my first half marathon. We were talking about how far 13.1 miles is, and she asked if I was nervous. I replied with, No, I'm determined. {Truth is...I'm nervous.} She talked about how she's a little nervous about cheer tryouts, then she switched back to talking about my running. I told her how badly I want the medal I'll receive at the end of the course. Then she said something that totally threw me for a loop:

I hope you make it to the end. I want you to succeed at something. I mean, you succeed at cleaning house, but that's boring.

Talk about knocking the wind out of my sails! And here I thought I was succeeding at being a good mom, a role model for my girls, a pretty consistent blogger...

But apparently, in her opinion, I'm not whatever it takes to be successful. Of course, I've secretly thought this of myself plenty of times; but, I've always extinguished that idea with, I'm a good mom...and I'm doing everything possible to make sure! I'm not a great or popular blogger, but I'm pretty consistent and write what's on my heart.

Honestly, there are times when I wish more "success" for myself, but I always come back to this: I'm not up for the schmoozing, sweet talking, and networking it seems to take to become a worldly success. And even the grace God has worked into my heart and mind seems to offend my Christian brothers and sisters. Nope, I'm not a success. And I'd pretty much decided to be okay with that. Until tonight.

Now all those doubts about myself and my abilities as a mom {who am I kidding....as a person} are all stirred up again. Because I want my children to think I'm successful. What mom doesn't? And I'm thinking, What can I do so my girls will see me as successful? Maybe I need to get a job. I need some special skill or talent. And I'm racking my brain to think of something at which I can be successful...at which they will think I'm successful.

I don't have answers tonight. I know what I should be thinking: God has given me the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom...to be available 24 hours a day to love and teach my children. But tonight, that just doesn't seem to be enough. Tonight, I want my girls to think of me as successful...

A Convicted Murderer {And Grace}

2012-02-02T23:40:00.001-06:00

Once again the suburb in which I live has made the news for something other than city-related issues. I recently blogged about the news story of a former teacher being arrested. This time the news is reporting that one of the convicted murderers that Mississippi governor, Haley Barbour, pardoned last month has moved to Alabaster. In 1993 David Gatlin shot and killed his estranged wife. And according to news reports, he now lives just a few miles from me.

Yet, I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid that he's going to run out in the streets waving a gun, or walk into the school buildings firing shots, or walk up to a neighbor's house and murder someone, or participate in a drive-by shooting. I'm not worried about any of those things.

Why?

Because I know what it is to be given a second chance. I know that we all are capable of anything, even though most of think we'd never commit such a heinous crime. But given the wrong set of circumstances, unless we fully trust and rely on God {and let's face it...most of us give in to our flesh much more often than we like to admit}, we're capable of doing horrific things we never imagined. Yes, even committing murder.

I don't know why Barbour chose to pardon this man, but obviously, it was undeserved. After all, he was serving a life sentence. But what I do know is that undeserved second chances often have a way of humbling us. They make us keenly aware of our guilt, and humbly thankful for the grace bestowed upon us. It's when we take grace for granted, thinking we deserve it, that it becomes commonplace to us. I have no clue what Gatlin thinks about his second chance. I can merely filter his story through the lens of my own, and I imagine him being humbled every time his freedom crosses his mind.

I'd like to believe our community would at least give him a chance before condemning him. I'd like to believe that our community would like to see him succeed. I'd like to believe our community would encourage him to thrive in his newfound freedom.

Unfortunately, I don't believe that will be the case because fear prefers people to live in shackles rather than in freedom and love.

Note: I am in no way belittling the pain of the victim's family, or their desire to see justice in its completion.

Old Vs. New

2012-01-31T09:48:00.003-06:00

This is worth 6 minutes and 51 seconds of your time:

Life Markers In The Waiting Room

2012-01-30T14:01:00.000-06:00

This morning I went for my annual {although it'd been three years for me} gynecological exam. {TMI...I know...} Upon entering the waiting room, I updated my paperwork, then proceeded to do what you do in a waiting room: wait. I piddled around on my phone, flipped through a magazine, then started people watching. Several pregnant ladies were sitting uncomfortably in their seats, looking as miserable as I remember feeling in those last weeks. One couple was entertaining their toddler. Another couple was staring at ultrasound photos. I remembered what it was like to be pregnant in that waiting room, as well as pregnant and entertaining toddlers. I remember thinking I'd never see the day when I would sit in that room without a child in my stomach or at my feet. In fact, I remember feeling a bit sorry for all the "older" women who sat in that room. Today, I sat there thinking that I had become one of those older women.

When I was about to wrap up my trip down memory lane, I was called to the nurse's station for the dreaded weigh-in, urine sample {I know, I know...TMI}, and finger prick. First, however, the nurse asked me my age. Ummmm...... 36. I think? Literally, I stood there trying to remember how old I'd turned on my last birthday. But, alas, I remembered that yes, I am 36...all thanks to my dear friend, Ashley, who told me on my birthday that I now would have to check the "over 35" box on forms!

Upon seeing the doctor, who thought it necessary to remind me that I hadn't been in for a visit in three years, I officially no longer felt like the young, vibrant mom I used to be. Dear-old-doc {who, by the way, had aged a bit in three years} said he was sending me down the hall for a cholesterol check and to schedule my first-ever mammogram {by now you should know that there's just TMI in this post!}. The scheduling assistant welcomed me to "the club." Really? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was standing there scheduling my first baby's ultrasound?? No, as a matter of fact, it was not...that was almost 13 years ago!

Life passes by so much more quickly than we realize. Sometimes days and weeks seem to drag on forever until one day we look back, and thirteen years have flown by. My friend, Jamie, recently wrote about seizing the day. Like her, I'm realizing that every day is the chance to take hold of whatever opportunity God presents us with, and live! Tomorrow may never come, so it's wise to make the most of today. Unfortunately, I've spent the first 30ish years of my life waiting for and worrying about tomorrows. It's only been recently that I've begun to learn what it is to live in the present, learning to savor today as if it might be my last. And when I forget, I give myself grace to remember again.

Has life recently reminded you how quickly it passes before your eyes? Did you look back with a sense of accomplishment in having seized the day, or did you look back with regret over what might have been?

Living Life Well And With Purpose

2012-01-29T18:52:00.001-06:00

My counselor asked me in my last session if I could think of someone who had lived life well and with purpose. I can't remember exactly why she asked me that, but I'm pretty sure we'd been talking about my focus word for 2012: healthy. My first response to her question was, No, not really. Now, of course, I know many people who have lived life well and with purpose, but at that moment, no one came to mind. She started talking again, and I interrupted her: Oh, wait a minute! I do know someone. His name was Aubrey Edwards. She asked me what it was about him that made me think of him. I responded that even when he was sick and in constant pain, he never complained. I never once heard him gossip. And he always, always had something kind to say about his lovely bride, Phyllis. He loved Jesus and people...and loved them well.

When I am old {although my children would say I'm old now}, I want to look back over my life from this point and say that I lived life well and with purpose. To me, that means loving Jesus and loving others. It means living in a state of grace...for others and for myself...understanding that God is continually refining and perfecting us. It means living in the wholeness of who God says I am. It means seeking and finding contentment {and dare I say...joy} in every circumstance.

When my session ended that day, my counselor asked me if she could speak blessings over me. I said yes, even though I was a little freaked at first. No one had ever asked to speak anything over me. It turned out that her speaking over me was really praying. She laid her hand upon my knee and prayed that I would live life well and with purpose. I can't tell you how many times over the last few weeks that prayer has come to mind...because for maybe the first time in my life, I'm experiencing what it's like to live life well and with purpose.

Goodness and Intimacy

2012-01-20T11:26:00.000-06:00

I've said it many times, and I'll say it again: God is intimate with us.

This morning I set out for a 9-mile run. I needed to make it through all nine miles considering the half marathon is in just a few weeks. I've had shin and sciatic pains over the last couple of weeks and haven't run nearly as often or as long as I should, but I was determined this morning to run through any pain. I washed down a couple of pain relievers and stretched before I left home.

The first few miles went fine, but at mile five, the pain started to kick in. I kept going, hoping it would eventually subside. But at mile eight, something happened in my back. I felt as though I were having childbirth contractions. The pain wrapped around from by back to my stomach, and I got scared. That's never happened before. I seriously thought I might have to call my husband and get him to stay on the phone with me to make sure I made it home since I was still a mile from the house. Instead, I started to pray. God, give me strength to make it home. Make the pain go away.

As soon I finished praying, Lincoln Brewster started singing in my ears via the TobyMac station on Pandora Radio. As I listened to the words, I knew not only would I make it home, but that I'd be okay. Turns out that whatever happened in my back must've helped the sciatic pain as it's better than it's been in two weeks.

God is intimate, answering our prayers, and sometimes sending a little sign along the way. This morning, He gave me a song to reassure me. I want to share it with you as a proclamation of His goodness and intimacy with us:

Be Still

2012-01-18T07:22:00.000-06:00

God has been speaking the same two words to me over the past several months: Be still.

Be still {cease striving} and know that I am God... Psalm 46:10a

And Moses said to the people, "Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today..." Exodus 14:13a

Just be still.

Yet, sometimes I take a trip back to the past. I wallow there for a while, in the muck and mire playing the blame game. God reminds me that He is well-acquainted with my past, and is the One who brought me out of it. When I travel back down that road, I rob myself of peace.

And sometimes I run ahead, comtemplating the future. Will circumstances change? If so, how and why? My mind rushes through all kinds of possibilities, sometimes eliciting fear and dread. Again, He reminds me that He knows my future...it's in His hands. I don't have to worry about what might or might not happen tomorrow or ten years from now.

That leaves me with today. Right now. This minute. Present tense.

Even in the right here, right now, I get impatient. I can't see Him working, so I take matters into my own hands instead of being still...instead of trusting Him. This is the time He reminds me that He knows best, not me...because I usually make a mess of things, and being still is really the wiser choice.

Still, He continues to speak to me...

Be still. I'm God. Know me. Trust me. Don't be afraid. Don't do anything because I am working for you...even right now. One day, you'll understand why I wanted you still during this time.

I'm still. I'm trusting {right now}.

Has God been speaking to you recently? What's He saying?

Betrayal In the Suburbs

2012-01-11T07:37:00.000-06:00

I can't remember if I was a junior or senior in high school when I signed up for an elective class with a popular, well-liked teacher. Everyone talked about how easy his class was, even fun. I was confident the first few days that I'd made a good choice. But it only took a couple of weeks for me to feel uncomfortable enough to ask my counselor to switch me to another class. The popular, well-liked teacher made several inappropriate comments that left me wanting to walk around with my arms crossed over my chest.

After the counselor talked with the teacher and enrolled me in another class, he apologized for making me feel uncomfortable. I've thought about him several times over the years and wondered if he'd made anyone else feel uncomfortable by his comments. As far as I know, I was the only one who ever requested to be removed from his class.

But for so many children, their similar stories aren't tied up as neatly as mine.

Last week the suburb where I currently live made national news. A retired, long-time, well-liked teacher was arrested for child molestation. He confessed to molesting at least 20 children during his time as a teacher. Since his retirement in 2009, he's worked as a substitute bus driver, driving my children's bus at least once. I didn't personally know him, but two of my children recognized him immediately.

As a parent, my protective instincts kicked in when I heard the news. I was and still am outraged and angry. There's just something about abusing the innocence of a child that seems worse than any other wrong in the world. I am thankful that the man is behind bars.

On the flip side, I've had time to think about that man. I wonder if he hated himself a little more every time he betrayed a child's trust. I wonder if he was relieved when the police arrested him, and he confessed. I wonder if for the first time in years he can trust himself because his access to fulfilling his sick desires is denied.

You see, while one part of me has a list of consequences I'd like this man to pay, another part of me identifies with the betrayal. While he betrayed children, which on every level is infintely worse than anything I can imagine, I am guilty of betraying the innocent. Most of us are. Sometimes it's in acceptable forms like white lies and gossip. Sometimes it's bigger and seems a little more unforgivable...

like stealing from someone to pay for a drug addiction,
or committing adultery,
or embezzling on a grand level, suddenly leaving employees without jobs or insurance or retirement.

But child molestation. That one is unforgivable and unredeemable. Right?

While I can't speak as one who's ever experienced it, or as a parent whose child has ever experienced it, I can speak from the perspective of one who has betrayed others. And if I were that man sitting in a prison cell, I'd be praying that someone would toss me a grain of hope. A spark of redemption. An ounce of forgiveness. A seedling of grace for stunned family members. Is it possible?

More than anything, I've wondered about the children. Will they ever fully recover? Will they find the healing process? Or will they live out the rest of their days in fear and shame? Will they ever recover their self worth? Will they hide, or will they have the courage to speak out and bring awareness to this epidemic?

My heart hurts for our small city, for everyone involved. There are so many whose lives are affected. There are so many who have decisions to make in the coming days. And while I don't have any answers, there's one word that keeps coming to my mind...whether I'm thinking of the betrayer or the betrayed. I hope our city seeks and finds healing.

Falling Apart

2012-01-10T19:54:00.000-06:00

I have a need for authenticity and transparency, and a desire to see others experience it. I think I'm so passionate about it because I finally started finding freedom several years ago when I started spilling my secrets...when I finally admitted that reality wasn't as pretty as the mask I wore. The fear of truth I'd clutched for so long finally began to fade when I started becoming transparent. I realized that those who truly loved me would love me no matter what. And those that couldn't handle my truth, for whatever reason, probably needed to admit their own truths. I realized that true healing comes when we come out of hiding...when heartbreak leads us to Jesus. Falling apart was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Secrets of Betrayal

2012-01-06T08:18:00.000-06:00

Secrets of betrayal are heavy. Literally. They make the heart feel heavy, twist knots in the stomach, and weary the body. It's as if a thick, dark fog settles in, and the longer the secret is kept, the area the fog reaches enlarges. The fog blinds the secret-keeping betrayer from the truth of freedom. They believe that the consequences of telling the truth will be worse than the constant anxiety with which they currently live. Fear paralyzes them.

A word to the betrayer...

The truth is that freedom and healing begin with sharing the secret {with someone trustworthy who will encourage the healing process}. You may have to pay severe consequences for your actions, but the lifted weight from your heart will be worth it. In addition, acknowledging your wrong before God and trusting in His grace will provide the peace which has so long eluded you. Read what David had to say in Psalm 32: When I kept silent about my sin, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night Thy hand was heavy upon me; my vitality was drained away as with the fever heat of summer. I acknowledged my sin to Thee, and my iniquity I did not hide; I said, "I will confess my transgressions to the Lord"; and Thou didst forgive the guilt of my sin...Thou dost surround me with songs of deliverance.

A word to the betrayed...

There are never good excuses for someone to betray the innocent. And you may not be able to scrape together an ounce of grace in your deepest parts for your betrayer. However, at some point, it may help to realize this one thing: hurt and wounded people hurt and wound others. It's not an excuse. It's not a good reason. It's not an out or an escape. But that one realization may help you in your healing process...because now you have been hurt and wounded. You must find healing in order for the cycle to end.

My One Word

2012-01-03T09:28:00.000-06:00

I first read about the one-word challenge on a blog last year. And I've already seen it a couple of times this year. There's even a new blog dedicated to it. The idea is that instead of making resolutions for the new year, you're supposed to select one word on which you'll focus for the entire year. Since I rarely even make it to put my resolutions on paper, much less keep them, I'm giving the one-word challenge a whirl.

My one word for 2012 is...HEALTHY.

I'm already on the path to physical health...running and eating healthier foods. But I need much more than that. I need mental, financial, and spiritual health. Most of all, I need emotional health.

I'll go ahead and admit that 2011 was a crappy year. Of course, there were great moments, and I wouldn't trade those for anything. But, overall, it's a year I am more than happy to leave to in the past. Looking back through the year's blog posts reminds me of the heartache 2011 held. I think it was so heartbreaking for me because I wasn't emotionally healthy enough to deal with all the events that unfolded.

I've been seeing a counselor over the past few months, and I've been learning what being healthy looks like. Part of it is realizing that the past cannot be changed, and I no longer have to function from it. It also means realizing that the future may not hold what I hope for. Being healthy begins with being present in the present and realizing that God has plans for me {which may not include the plans I have for myself}.

This year, as I continue to put on foot in front of the other, pounding the pavement....
as I continue to find healthier food choices...
as I continue to work through the past, leaving it behind...
as I continue to learn to trust God {not people} for my present and future...
I will focus on the one word I want to live out, the one word that I hope is part of the legacy I leave to my children:

HEALTHY.

100 Joys: 10-18

2011-12-12T21:16:00.000-06:00

10 - Spent a couple of hours catching up with my best friend last Thursday while we treated ourselves to manis and pedis.

11 - Date night with my hubby. Yummy dinner at one of our favorite restaurants and some power shopping for Christmas gifts. As a bonus, we didn't have to pay a babysitter since all three girls were at a friend's birthday sleepover!

12 - Finally managed to get the house clean. That's no small feat when you have three messy children!

13 - Mark decided to stay home instead of going hunting!!...so we took the kids on our annual Christmas trip to the Bass Pro Santa Shop. The girls wrote letters to Santa {so sweet}. My youngest asked Santa for "snow outside." {Wonder if he'll deliver on that one?!} After the BPS, we ate dinner at Cracker Barrel...one of the girls' favorite places to eat...then visited my great niece for her birthday. While we were at my niece's house, we watched a little bit of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation {the greatest Christmas movie ever...in my opinion}.

14 - We found three strands of clear lights that we'd been searching for all over town! {Read more about it here.}

15 - I sat in the audience of my church choir's Christmas program this year instead of singing. It was great to be reminded of what the audience experiences when the hope of Jesus is shared through song.

16 - We hosted our Sunday School class Christmas party. {Read more about it here.}

17 - Listening to my girls sing Christmas songs along with the radio. During our afternoon running around, I had to stop and enjoy the season {and the Christmas carols} instead of rushing through it. Sometimes I want to rush through the busyness so I can enjoy times of rest. This afternoon I took time to enjoy the busyness of the season.

18 - Seeing my baby's smile with yet another missing tooth. She's missing three! I told her we might have to start feeding her applesauce if she lost more teeth.

God's In the Details Of A Party

2011-12-11T21:25:00.001-06:00

Back before our lives changed so much, Mark and I used to host a lot of social activities and parties in our home. One of my favorite times was to host our core group of friends at Christmas. It was an annual gathering of our friends and kids.

But we haven't hosted other couples in our home in six years. We've had friends over occasionally, and I've had several girlfriends over at one time; but, we've not hosted a gathering of couples. Until tonight.

In November we volunteered to host our Sunday School's Christmas party. We're a small group, and honestly, Mark and I don't know our classmates all that well outside of one hour on Sunday mornings. So we decided we'd have the party in our home.

We've spent the last week cleaning our house like mad people. In fact, Mark said to me, I like having people over. It gets the house clean. {me smiling} But last night we were trying to find three boxes of clear lights as two strands had burned out on two of our trees, and we needed a third strand for our outside tree. We'd already looked at several different stores, and they were all sold out of clear lights.

We stopped at one last store for a last-ditch effort. Just before I jumped out of the car, I said to Mark, Say a little prayer that they have some lights. I found the seasonal section and looked all around. There were a lot of boxes of multi-colored lights, but I wasn't seeing any clear ones. I'd about given up and decided that we'd just have branches without lights on our trees for the party when I shoved aside a box of multi-colored, and there sat three boxes of clear lights. I grabbed all three and made a beeline for the checkout. I told the cashier that they must've been the only store in town that still had clear lights. The bagger overheard me and said that they hadn't had any clear lights, but those three boxes had just been a return. There were no more clear lights.

I was excited, and when we got home, grabbed a strand to put on the outside tree first. Without really even paying attention to the strand, I put it on the tree, called it a success, and headed inside to replace the two strands on the other two trees. As I picked up the box off the table, I realized the strand I'd just put on the outside tree had a white wire. I panicked as I realized that white wires would stick out like a sore thumb on the indoor trees. I grabbed the other two boxes and was relieved to see that they both had green wires. They'd match perfectly!

In that second, I thought how much God cares about our lives...the details. I forget sometimes. He had not only provided three strands of clear lights, but also the exact color wires I needed and the order in which I put them on. Had I put on a strand with a green wire on the outside tree first, I would've had to take them off and redo them once I opened the package with a white wire.

I know it was just a small party, and in the grand scheme of life, was no huge deal; but, it was important to me to have everything look nice since I was already nervous about hosting the first party we'd had in six years. God knew that and provided peace of mind. The party was a success, and we're starting to feel like we could do this again. The fear of the first time is over, and maybe we'll open our home a little more often now.

Don't Be Afraid

2011-12-07T22:15:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I live in and act out of fear. Like when I walk in my daughters' rooms to check on them at night after they've gone to sleep, and a thought hits me...

What if they wake up sick? What if they don't wake up at all? What if???

Or when my husband leaves for work in the mornings:

I hope he's okay today. What if he has a wreck? What if he has an accident with one of his tools?

Or when I'm faced with heights:

What if I fall off the cliff? What if the pier beneath me buckles? What if the railing breaks and I fall of the balcony?

Irrational.

And, especially, lately...the fear that probably tops all fears: the fear of lost people seeing me as just another religious, self-righteous, super-spiritual "Christian." I tell you, it's enough to make me shut my mouth.

I see and hear of so many Christians living out the extremes of man-made rules and traditions. I'm not sure they're concerned with what the Bible actually says. I wonder if they even think of how Jesus lived. I'm guessing they do, but maybe they only select the parts that fit their agenda.

They're the people who want us to fear missing a day of Bible study, to fear befriending the lost, to fear missing a church service. They want people to live under the Law, which they disguise as being an obedient Christian.

It seems to me that when these Christians work so hard to separate themselves from the world, they're not even in the world. So then, how do they reach the lost? Because if I understand Scripture correctly, Jesus walked in the world, attended celebrations, visited with the worst of sinners. And man-made rules and traditions angered Him. He came to earth to do the will of His Father alone...not to impress other religious people with His appearance or isolate Himself from the wicked. He didn't live in a cocoon for 33 years.

I think of these things, yet I fear being the one that might cause a non-Christian to say, If she's what a Christian looks like, I don't want to be one.

Where to go from here?

Do not fear.

Don't be afraid of the what-ifs. Don't be afraid to share the redemptive love of Jesus. Don't be afraid to live life. Don't be afraid to love. Don't be afraid of the people who would put you in shackles if they could. Don't be afraid.

100 Joys: 6-9

2011-12-07T21:13:00.001-06:00

6 - The last week or so has been jam-packed, getting up early and going to bed late. I took advantage of a couple of spare hours today and cozied up on the couch with my fuzzy blanket and slept. I love naps!

7 - I love everything about summer: hot weather, swimming, flip-flops, tans, watermelon. But at Christmastime, I love cold, gray days. That's exactly what today was in Alabama. It felt like Christmas today {if Christmas weather has a feeling..}.

8 - On Wednesday nights I teach 2nd grade children's choir. They're a large group of sweet, rowdy children. Tonight we rehearsed the two songs they'll be singing at the Candlelight service, then we had a mini-Christmas party complete with lots of sugar and prizes. I love how excited they get over cookies, popcorn, juice and a few treats.

9 - My best friend sent me an email with a link to a website that made me laugh til I nearly...well, I laughed really, really hard...til my stomach hurt. And so did my hubby. And since Wednesday nights seem to be the most stressful night of the week when putting kids to bed, the laughter was much needed.

100 Joys - December 2011

2011-12-06T22:04:00.001-06:00

I looked back tonight at the 100 Joys I participated in last December via Sarah Markley. In reading through them I remembered how fun it was to write those joys. And what a great way it was to remember the wonderful details of an otherwise busy and stressful time of year! And since this entire year has been somewhat difficult, I could stand to focus on some joy. So without wasting another day, here's the first of 100 Joys, December 2011.

1 - My man helped me fold about four loads of laundry today. {And since I hate doing laundry, that was a huge joy!}

2 - Spontaneous dinner with a good friend, her mom and kids.

3 - The family attended my 6th grader's Christmas choir concert. They sang Infant Holy and I Saw Three Ships. They did an outstanding job on both songs! In addition, we heard the 7th and 8th grade choirs {also fabulous} and the high school Madrigal singers...wow! I think what amazed me the most was hearing the Gospel shared through Christmas songs in a public school setting. Joy!

4 - I spent an hour talking with my counselor. She always makes a point to incorporate God's grace into our conversations. In learning so much about grace this year, I'm still amazed at how much more there is to learn and experience.

5 - Running barefoot in my pjs in the rain to the bus to give my daughter her water bottle that she dropped. If that doesn't make me {and you} smile, I don't know what will!

I Am...

2011-12-06T16:26:00.001-06:00

My counselor asked me today if I was finding myself.

{silence}

Maybe a little.

When I think about who I am, I think about what I do, what I like, how I react in certain situations. And I think about Whose I am. But it's a challenge for me to define who I am.

I have little sense of self because for so long, like a chameleon, I've changed to blend in with my surroundings. I'm finding it difficult to sit amidst a situation and just be...and be okay.

But I'm also finding that I'm stronger than I thought. I'm a survivor. And for today, that's enough.

Celebrating Life

2011-12-02T07:07:00.001-06:00

I read an article in a popular devotional magazine several months ago that I think about every so often. The author shared how she was on a plane one day and as the stewardess was going through the instructions, she announced to the passengers that the pilot's girlfriend had just found out she was pregnant with twins. The passengers clapped and shouted their congratulations to the pilot. The author wrote that she clapped, but she also said she couldn't believe she and the others were clapping for the pregnancy of an unwed mother. She said she felt that they were condoning a sin that's become commonplace.

Every time I think about that article, I am unsettled. It didn't settle with me when I first read it, and it still doesn't. I guess it bothers me because that's exactly the attitude I had up until several years ago. Until I was the one needing grace. Since reading that article, this post has been in the recesses of my brain.

I'd like to offer up a different perspective:

I'd like to think the passengers, with the exception of the author, were celebrating new lives. No matter the circumstances surrounding a pregnancy, the truth is that babies are God's creation. He knew before the foundation of the world that those twins would be conceived. He knew the plans He had for those babies. He planned the miracle of their lives. And while the passengers may or may not have considered those thoughts at all, that's the essence of what they were celebrating. New life. New creation. I hope that the author was the only person on that plane who was judging the pilot and his girlfriend behind her plastered smile and clanging cymbals.

So often we Christians miss out on so much of life because we fear we may appear to be condoning sin. We miss so many opportunities to share Jesus because we're too busy condemning someone else's actions. We miss chances to celebrate because we don't want to be caught participating in what is essentially...life. We don't enjoy a wedding reception because we're too busy condemning the alcohol and dancing, yet do we remember Jesus' first miracle? We don't befriend people with a "reputation," yet who were the people Jesus hung out with most? I dare say that Christians often don't represent Jesus as well as we'd like to think we do. It's time for us to really celebrate life!

This Might Be Common Sense To You

2011-11-29T11:45:00.001-06:00

I've been learning something recently. It may be common sense to most of you, but it's been a revelation for me:

It's important to establish boundaries for myself. It's important to maintain those boundaries and not allow other people to trample them out of control, manipulation, or for their own personal gain.

You see, I've always thought I had to bend over backwards for others, often putting myself in situations I didn't want to be in. I've always caved to make others happy, depriving myself of value. I thought it was unChristian to say "no," or to value myself. I thought that doing things to appease others, even though my heart wasn't in it, was the Christian thing to do. Not so.

I've realized that God values me. He values the way He created me to be. He expects me to fulfill the purpose for which He created me, and sometimes that means saying "no" to what seems right to everyone else or to what makes others happy with me.

The hard part of it all is finding the voice to make those boundaries clear to others. I've been so accustomed to muting my own feelings, desires and needs that it's hard to vocalize them now. In fact, what I've spent most of my life vocalizing has been self-degrading. I'm understanding that God values me, and expects me to value who I am in Him. And in understanding that, I have to vocalize it to others so they understand and respect my boundaries.

I guess a whisper is a good starting place.

For more on this topic I recommend reading Boundaries by Henry Cloud and John Townsend.

Back To Writing

2011-11-23T08:17:00.001-06:00

Your gifts and abilities are part of God's purpose for your life. Not using them can lead to frustration, disappointment and fatigue.

I can't remember where I read that quote, but it's been hanging on my refrigerator for six or seven years. I've ignored that little handwritten sheet of paper for the past couple of weeks. I didn't want to think about not writing.

A third of the way through Thirty Days of Thanksgiving, I quit posting. I continued writing for a few days, but couldn't bring myself to publish what I'd written. Then I just stopped writing althogether. I won't go into the detailed reasons why, but it was due to my insecurity, not because God led me to. In fact, I knew He'd placed the Thirty Days series in my mind back in October with lots of ideas about what to write. So the last ten days without writing has seemed like an eternity. I can say with certainty that the quote above is true for me.

Even though the posts may be shorter and the days combined, I plan to finish out the Thirty Days series. After that, I have no plans. I'll see where God leads the writing, but I have no doubt that it will continue along the original purpose of this blog: my experiences and how God uses them to teach me. My insecurity will have to take a back seat, or better yet, be kicked to the curb.

I want to start back by sharing with you a gripping video I watched last week that someone recommended to me. It was the reminder I needed of how God loves and sees me, and how I should see myself. It was the kick in the pants I needed to remind me that He has given me the gift of writing, and I am to use it...with security in Him.

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: 9

2011-11-09T08:42:00.000-06:00

My writing spot

I started blogging a little over a year ago. At the time, I had no idea how many bloggers are out there. I knew a couple of friends who had blogs and enjoyed reading what they had to say. And since I love to write, I thought blogging might be fun. I had no idea how God would use the blogosphere to influence my life.

I started searching for blogs on topics that were relevant to me, and I was surprised to find so many. What was even more surprising was how transparent the bloggers' writings were. I was shocked to see people writing with authenticity. I'd been writing in that style for a while, but hadn't dared share a lot of what I'd written. My thoughts on paper were mine alone. I feared judgment. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that people were actually embracing transparency and authenticity on their blogs. I didn't know anybody in real life that did. So when I started blogging, openly sharing what I'd been too afraid to share before, I started meeting real-life people who'd been in the same boat. What I've found is that many people want to be transparent, but are too fearful. By being vulnerable, I've found friends who also desperately wanted to take off the masks, but were afraid.

Today I'm thankful for my blog as well as others, and the way God has used them to teach me. He's taught me so much through other people's stories, as well as through my own writings.

Here are a few blogs I love to read:

My friend, Jamie...one of the first blogs I ever read
My all-time favorite blogger, who keeps it real every, single time
The first blog that ever shocked me with transparency
A blogger I can identify with almost every time I read
The blog that I share most often
One who makes me think a little deeper with almost every post
A blog that says the things most people are scared to talk about
A local couple whose ministry inspires me
The blogger who makes me cry just about every time

Enjoy!

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: 8

2011-11-08T09:17:00.000-06:00

Photos below: my views during today's morning run

I never liked running. I avoided it in p.e. every chance I could. I hated being sweaty and out of breath. But in 2008, my friend Ashley taught me how to run. She showed me how to start off slowly, running in 30-second spurts, resting in-between, until I built up my endurance. It wasn't long before I was hooked.

Since then, running has become a hobby and a stress reliever. I enjoy the time to think, to listen to music, to see the beauty of creation. Until this past Saturday, the most I'd ever run at one time was a 5k. But I've decided to run the Mercedes half-marathon in February, so I am now training to gain endurance. On Saturday, I ran 4 miles. To other runners, that's a breeze, but for me...it was huge! I set a goal and accomplished it. You see, running is mostly mental, and I am in the process of training my body and my mind. And on mornings like today, when I'm tired and my legs feel like lead, it's my mind that keeps my body going.

I've mentioned often in my posts how much God has changed me in the past year. One thing He's showed me is that finishing well is important. Although I didn't start off well due to choices I made, I want to finish life well. I want to accomplish things I set out to do. I want to train my mind to endure when life is hard. I want to push a little harder when I'm ready to give up. And I want God to get the glory for it all.

So today I'm thankful for running...not just the ability to run, but for what God has taught me through it. While I won't have the best time, and just might come in dead last in the half, I will finish with a smile on my face. Because giving up is not an option.

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: Days 6 & 7

2011-11-07T20:58:00.000-06:00

Home.

It's wherever you are with the people you love.

It's the place where you belong.

It's where laughter and tears collide.

It's snuggling up cozy and hugs and kisses.

It's where frowns turn upside-down because someone else wants the best for you.

It's the one place you always want to go back to.

Yesterday and today I'm thankful for home.

On The Subject of Spanking

2011-11-06T20:30:00.000-06:00

Today I am deviating from the Thanksgiving posts, and will pick back up tomorrow.

A few days ago I saw on the news a video clip of a father spanking (more like beating) his teenage daughter. The anchor commented on how disturbing the video was, so I watched it in its entirety on YouTube. Disturbing was one of many adjectives I could use to describe the video. As I watched, my stomach did several flips, my mind screamed, This is wrong!, and my anger at the parents boiled.

Over the past year, as I've learned about grace, God has changed much about my life. As I've begun to understand verses in context, and understand the difference between the Old Covenant and the New, God has brought about changes in the deepest parts of me. I'd already been questioning the practice of spanking when I watched the video a few days ago...questions like: Why do we spank our children, then tell them not to hit others? Why do we spank our children, but adults don't hit each other when we do something wrong? Does spanking really correct behavior, or just make children fear {rather than respect} authority? At that point, I had more questions than ever, the most predominant being: Is the practice of spanking really Biblical?

I began to pray for clarification with the prayer I've often prayed during the past year: God, show me. I need to know what You say about this. I started looking up verses, and looking up original definitions of words in Scripture in Hebrew and Greek. Something wasn't right. I couldn't make spanking reconcile with what I was reading in Scripture. In my Internet search of the original Hebrew definition of rod, I came across a couple of articles which God used to confirm my inability to reconcile spanking with Scripture {specifically grace}. You can read the articles here and here.

My husband and I have been discussing the issue over the last couple of days, and more than likely, we will be abandoning the use of spankings in our home, and begin to practice grace-based parenting...the way in which our Father corrects us when we've done wrong. We hope to correct and guide with discipline. We have a lot to learn!

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: Day 5

2011-11-05T08:12:00.000-05:00

Lately our weekends have been busy-busy. But this weekend, Mark and I are without kids and are catching up on some of the movies we've been wanting to see. I'm thankful for weekends that provide rest and relaxation {and a date with my man}.

Friday night date

By the way, if you go see Courageous, don't carry a few tissues...carry a BOX of them!

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: Day 4

2011-11-04T06:00:00.000-05:00

I've always loved music. All kinds. Everything from children's songs to jazz to country to Christian to pop to rock to {sometimes...yes, I admit it} rap. I've always been one to sing along with the radio. But it wasn't until my early twenties that I began to sing in front of people. It was then that I found that people connect with lyrics to songs. And I was {and still am} thankful to be a tool that God often uses to share words that cause people to respond to Him.

Singing is a gift I don't take for granted. There was a time a few years ago when I thought I might never sing again. Not because of any physical problem, but because I thought God no longer wanted me. When He spoke the words to my heart, God often uses broken people to accomplish great things, I knew He was calling me back. You see, He wanted me all along, but I was the one who had walked away in a broken state.

I'm beyond thankful for every opportunity to sing, whether it's alone in my home or in a packed sanctuary...because when it comes down to it, there's really only One audience that matters.

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: Day 3

2011-11-03T06:10:00.000-05:00

There are some women who have lots of women friends, and every one of them is a best friend. That's not me. I have several good friends and lots of friends I can count on, but there are only three I trust with everything about me.

Meet the three women who I am so thankful God placed in my life:

Natalie and I became fast friends about nine years ago when we were singing in an ensemble together. She was the first female I ever really trusted as an adult. When our ensemble faced a difficult circumstance, I watched her handle it with honor and grace. My family spent many Sunday nights in her home, sharing yummy meals {she's a great cook...one of those people who doesn't have to follow a recipe}. She loved my babies before she ever had babies. And at a time when I turned my back on almost every friend I had, and they, in return, did the same to me, she remained. She offered grace to me when it would've been easier to abandon me. I'm thankful for all the memories we share {like the time she dropped a lizard in my house, sending me to the top of the couch, screaming}, but I'm even more thankful that we're still making memories.

I've written about Ashley before. We've only been friends for a little over four years, but it seems like a lifetime. It really is hard to imagine my life before she was in it. God placed us together at a time when we needed each other. We've often been mistaken for sisters, and once, a nursery worker tried to give me her son! She introduced me to coffee {thanks for the addiction, Ashley!} and to running {which she promptly gave up after I fell in love with it}. She's the friend who puts life into perspective, yet lightens up somber situations with her witty one-liners. She never fails to put a smile on my face and laughter in my heart. I'm thankful that she's the friend I can call day or night for anything.

Last, but certainly not least, is a newer friend. I've known Jennifer from afar for about three years, but only in the last year have we become good friends. Our friendship began and has developed through our search for a deeper understanding of grace. And through those talks, we found that we share the same sense of humor and the same desire for genuine relationships. She's the friend who makes me dig in Scripture for truth. She's the friend who told me there was no right or wrong about homeschool vs. public school {girl, thank you for those words...I'm so glad to have my days back!!}. When it comes to spiritual matters, our minds tend to run along the same wavelength, and we find ourselves in conversations that sound more like they belong in a seminary class. She's the friend my soul loves {even if I am jealous of her extensive collection of fabulous shoes and accessories!}.

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: Day 2

2011-11-02T08:20:00.000-05:00

When I was young I would daydream about my life as an adult. I wanted to live downtown {somewhere} amongst bright lights in a big city. I wanted a career as an attorney. My daydreams rarely included a husband, and certainly didn't involve children.

How differently my life turned out to be! A husband and three kids later, I wouldn't trade a second of my crazy life for those daydreams.

I'm thankful for three little girls who have brought me immeasurable joy and taught me so much about life and love {and patience}.

My oldest daughter, Grace, is analytical, competitive and strong-willed. She loves music of all kinds, and has the gift of singing. She's often quiet and sits back to observe new situations {much like me}. Because she's the oldest, I have learned so much through her about parenting: opening up and facing the hard stuff...stuff I normally keep to myself, but for her sake, have learned to share. She questions everything, and as a parent, I sometimes want to toss out, Because I said so. But because she has a genuine need to know and understand, I've had to learn to take the time for explanations.

My middle child, Emma, is artsy, energetic and tender-hearted. She talks almost non-stop and is only still when she's asleep. She has a natural talent for dancing {I really don't know where those genes came from...her dad I have only left feet and no rhythm}. She's a funny child and loves to be the center of attention. She makes friends easily...I guess because she can't see other children without talking to them. She's taught me how to get out of my comfort zone and connect a little more easily with people I don't know. She's also brought sensitivity to my often-blunt personality.

My youngest, Hannah, is strong-willed and independent. She's quiet and shy around others, but is definitely the loudest child in our house. She knows what she wants {and doesn't}, and is quick to let the rest of us know. She often likes to play alone, stretching her imagination with every new barbie adventure. She's often so reserved that when she blurts out a one-liner, we all double over in laughter just because it's unexpected. She's taught me to pry a little deeper with people because you never know what you might find under the first layer of personality.

Fifteen years ago, I would've never guessed that children could teach me so much and bring me so much joy. But I'm so thankful God has filled my home and heart with three wonderful girls.

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving: Day 1

2011-11-01T21:09:00.002-05:00

Whew! I made it! I'm cutting it close, but the day's not quite over. I've been planning to do Thirty Days of Thanksgiving blog posts for the month of November, and I almost missed day 1!!

When I began mulling over the topics I would write about this month, I automatically knew the first thing I wanted to write about. I knew I had to write about a man who, in so many ways, saved my life.

I've written about my husband several times on here, but one moment in our history stands out to me as more important than all the rest. One moment in which my husband only spoke three words, yet spoke volumes to my soul. One moment in which I was amazed at the character of the man I married. One moment that will forever be etched in my mind.

I forgive you.

With those three words, my husband demonstrated God's love to me. With those three words, I understood that God is good, loving, and forgiving. For many, those characteristics of God are a given, but for me, it was brand new, and it took my husband to reveal Him to me.

With those three words, my husband showed me what it means to truly love unconditionally. In a time when he would've been completely justified in walking away, he stayed. Not only did he stay, he loved me {and I'm pretty sure I was...and maybe still am...particularly hard to love}.

I'm so thankful for my husband...for so many reasons...but mostly because God allows Mark to reveal His heart to me.

Welcome Signs and Doormats

2011-10-31T13:39:00.003-05:00

In my kitchen is a cute fall Welcome sign. I put it out on the counter every September and leave it there until I put it away as the Christmas decorations descend from the attic. It's orange and green with cream-colored trim. Everything about it screams fall decor. And that one little word, Welcome, makes me feel a little more lively, as I hope it does for anyone who enters my kitchen. I hope it says, You've been invited into my kitchen, and you are welcome here.

At the entrance to my front door is a decorative black mat...no words, just a design. I keep it there for people to wipe the grass, dust or mud off their shoes before entering my home. I often have to pick it up and sweep beneath it because the black rubber pieces that make up the design fall off. It's not in the good shape it was when I bought it, but it still serves its purpose.

Offering grace is like the welcome sign, not like the doormat.

Grace welcomes others in. Grace says I love you, no matter what. Grace wants what's best for others. However, grace does not mean we have to be like the doormat and allow ourselves to be trampled upon. When we allow ourselves to be trampled over, allowing others to rob us of our joy and peace, we may still serve our purpose, but we are no longer in good condition...just like my doormat.

In Matthew 21, when Jesus walked into the temple and saw the evil being done there, He overturned tables and seats. He called out those who robbed His "house." (v. 13) Just because He was {is} grace didn't mean he had to sit down, shut up and avoid a confrontation in order to appease the robbers.

Grace does not mean contradicting our core beliefs and values just to please or appease another. It does not mean keeping the peace at any and all costs. Romans 12:18 says, If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peacably with all. (NRSV) And as much as we may want peace, as I recently read in a book titled Boundaries: We can't bring peace to someone who doesn't accept it!

Sometimes, living in grace means having enough grace on yourself to avoid the freight train that would run right through your front door and trample all over you. Sometimes living in grace means we must sit quietly and allow God to fight for us.

Of one thing I am certain: living in grace and offering grace does not mean we have to be a doormat for someone else's disregard and disdain. But, we must hang our welcome sign so they know they are loved.

Awareness

2011-10-28T07:13:00.000-05:00

The awareness of death, especially in tragic situations, is often a reminder to the living. This week has brought that awareness for me.

It's so unnatural for parents to outlive a child, yet today my friends will say a final earthly good-bye to their 19-year-old daughter. And as Mark, the girls and I, along with hundreds of other people, visited the family last night, her Dad said to me, Hold on to them while you can.

He reminded me to hold on to my precious children who I'm so quick to fuss at when they aren't doing things like I want. He reminded me to make memories of the little things, like sticking their heads out the car window and letting the wind whip through their hair. He reminded me to make videos of them singing, dancing, telling jokes...of being their silly, little selves. He reminded me to say I love you every time they walk out the door. He reminded me that no disagreement with them is worth a lifetime of regret. He reminded me that every moment I spend with them is a gift. He reminded me that I'm not promised to have them tomorrow.

Please pray today for the Ward family as they lay to rest their precious Rachel.

Season of Softball and Marriage

2011-10-27T07:34:00.000-05:00

My daughter played her last softball game of the fall season on Tuesday night. She's never played fall ball before, but thought playing this year would strengthen her skills before the spring season. Apparently fall ball is much more relaxed than spring ball, and quite a few other girls were playing for the same reason. In addition, there were a few girls who'd never played ball and thought fall ball would be a good way to get their feet wet.

They lost the last game by one point. They made a few errors, but all in all, they played hard and looked good. It was quite a different ballgame than the first game of the season. The first game they played looked almost like a t-ball game. One child made it to first base, but as she attempted to get to second base, was tagged out. I'm pretty sure she thought they were playing dodgeball instead of softball. She didn't understand that she was to run in a straight line to second base, and she curved so far behind the first and second base players that we thought she might run to the outfield. Then there were those who never really knew where to throw the ball once they caught it. It was quite a funny and frustrating scene for us parents to watch since we knew what was supposed to be happening on the field, but could do nothing to help.

After many evening practices and many game losses, they slowly improved. As the games rolled along, the parents would comment how much better they were doing. As I watched them play Tuesday night, I thought, They've come a long way since they first began this season.

When Mark and I married fourteen-and-a-half years ago, we didn't know what we were doing. We thought marriage would be fun and roses {I guess if anybody really knew how hard marriage is, they might not ever get married}. We started out not having a clue about what it takes to make a marriage work. And like the ball team, we've had lots of practice and many errors. And in the stands we've had people cheering us on, but who knew it was up to us to make it work. We've had moments of joy and moments of tears; we still have to practice, and we'll still have losses; but overall, I can say, We've come a long way since we first began.

Miracles and Praise

2011-10-26T07:45:00.000-05:00

Buildings collapsed in eastern Turkey during Sunday's 7.2 earthquake. The death toll is over 450 and rising. More than 1,300 were injured.

As I watched a news report describing the quake and the disaster it left behind, one anchor commented that there was "a miracle amidst the rubble." 14-day-old Azra, her mother and grandmother were found alive among the destruction of a collapsed apartment building. The image of a rescue worker holding the baby, walking toward safety is not one I'll soon forget. I wonder if when Azra is older she'll tell everyone she meets how her life was spared, how she was rescued, and how thankful she is for the one who pulled her to safety.

I've seen quite a few miracles amdist the rubble lately. I have friends who are enduring the worst kind of sickness, and friends who've been hit with the unexpected death of a loved one. In my opinion, they have every right to complain, to curl up in a heap and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. Yet, from their lips {and hearts} resounding praise is heard: Praise to God who heals, delivers and rescues. Praise to God who makes all things new. Praise to God for the surety of eternal life and heavenly reunions. Praise to God because their tragedies may bring just one person to Him. Praise to God who shelters them under His wings. Praise to God who makes miracles amidst rubble.

More On Counseling

2011-10-21T08:06:00.000-05:00

Since posting last night, I've received several emails and messages from people who are either considering counseling or are currently attending. I wonder how many of you have questions about counseling, but are afraid to ask. If there's one characteristic I try to maintain on my blog, it's that of being real. So I want to share what relieved me most in my counseling session yesterday in hopes that some of you can relate.

I think my greatest fear in seeking counseling was that I was making a bigger deal of my feelings than I should. After all, I've always thought I should be able to handle issues and circumstances, or at the very least, releasing them to God through prayer would be the solution. But after months of both, I still knew I needed help. It's kind of like when we're sick: we can eat chicken noodle soup, drink lots of water, push ourselves to the max, pray for healing...and sometimes, we're still sick and have to go to the doctor to get a shot or prescription meds.

When I unloaded on my counselor, I had a what-have-I-got-to-lose attitude. And I honestly expected her to respond that the issues I'm dealing with are normal...that it's no big deal. Instead, she started putting words to the behavior I described. She validated my feelings, and drew a chart for me to see the behavioral extremes that accompany anxiety. I just sat there, nodding my head in agreement because I finally began to understand that I'm not crazy! {Some of my friends might disagree. :-)} She shared with me how we're going to work step-by-step to get me to a place of middle ground...a place that is healthy, and dare I say...normal.

I share all of this because some of you are probably in the same position as me...knowing you need help, but fearing the worst of counseling. I encourage you to seek a counselor {and if you are a Christian, I encourage you to seek someone who will base their counsel upon God's grace}. More than likely, if you think you need help, you probably do. Walk out of the I-must-be-crazy-for-feeling-this-way trap, and allow someone to guide you to a new place of healthy and normal.

Seeking Help

2011-10-20T20:20:00.000-05:00

Today I walked through that door. The one I've known for a while I should push open. The one I've been scared to approach. The one I've been through before, but with my husband by my side. Today I opened the door and stepped across the threshold alone. This was something I needed to do by myself. I signed in {quite sure that my nervous stomach and watery eyes would tell on me}, then sat in a chair where I could see the entire waiting room.

Normal. They all looked normal. I wondered if they felt as abnormal as I did.

The door past the waiting room opened.

Rebekah, she said with a smile, come on back. Small talk about my shirt and jacket put me at ease.

Within seconds I was spilling my soul to a woman I'd known less than a minute...because sometimes it takes someone with training to help work through the hard stuff.

And after one hour I was confident that I'd made the right decision: seeking help through counseling. I'm confident that the end result will be worth the time and energy I'll put into it over the next couple of months.

It's daunting and scary to bare your soul to a stranger {even for those of us who've been through it before}. But I highly recommend and encourage counseling if you have issues or circumstances which cause you daily stress or anxiety.

A Parking Ticket And The Fate Of Children

2011-10-12T08:53:00.000-05:00

This is a long post in which I am simply working through a long-time question. I don't claim to be a Biblical scholar, and what I've written is simply the understanding to which God has led me at this point. I'd love to read your thoughts on the subject...

Last week Mark and I loaded up the kids and drove to Washington D.C. We had meticulously planned an itinerary for the four days we'd be visiting our nation's capitol. Upon our arrival the first day, we drove around for no less than thirty minutes, looking for a parking spot near the Washington Monument. Finally, we found a spot just across the street from the monument. The sign next to our parking spot read something to the effect of Three-hour parking until 4:00. We assumed that after 4:00, there was no time limit on parking. Since it was about 2:00 when we parked, we weren't concerned about passing the three-hour limit.

We walked block after block until about 6:00, then headed back to our car. As we approached the street where our car was parked, we quickly realized there were no cars parked where we'd left ours. Our always-observant middle child was the first to exclaim, "Our car's not there!" Then, "Hey! There's our car! Why's it on the grass on the wrong side of the street?" Gulp. It only took a second to realize our car had been towed to the opposite side of the street. Obviously, there was NO parking after 4:00 on the other side of the street. When we reached the car, we found a $100 ticket snuggled tightly under the wiper blade.

Mark and I immediately started complaining:

We didn't know.
The sign didn't say No parking after 4:00.

The next day, I was thinking about the ticket and wondering why we were penalized for breaking a law we didn't even realize existed. Of course we're going to write a letter of admission and plead ignorance, but I'm guessing we'll still have to pay the full cost of the ticket. Not fair! Not fair!

{stick with me...I'm about to make a big, leaping transition}

I've often wondered about the fate of a young child who dies. I've always been told that young children go to heaven, but I've also always been told that there's an "age of accountability." So I've often wondered what that age is. Then there are the verses about children:

And (Jesus) said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." (Matt. 18:3-4, NIV)

People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them. (Mark 10:13-16, NIV)

So...what of the child who's never prayed the sinner's prayer of salvation? {I could go off into an entire new topic here on the "sinner's prayer" which, by the way, is not in the Bible. But I'll stick with the original subject.} What of the child who's never made the conscious decision to believe?

I guess my question has been this: If children are born with a sin nature, and God hates sin, how does one enter heaven without redemption? For instance, my youngest child has yet to pray the sinner's prayer that I've always assumed meant salvation. While I occasionally talk to her about sin, she still doesn't "get it." She talks about going to heaven when she dies. She says she loves God and Jesus. She prays sweet, little prayers. There's still a lack of understanding on her part about confession. She simply believes God loves her, and she loves Him. She hasn't rejected Christ...she just hasn't reached the crossroads of understanding where she must make a conscious decision to reject or accept.

When we parked on the street, we broke the law in ignorance; but once we understood the law, we recognized why we were being penalized. We also understood our need to plead for mercy, and if denied, to pay the cost.

I assume the term age of accountability refers to the time when a child moves from ignorance to understanding. Until children understand there's Law, a penalty, a Savior, and a need for mercy, they simply must be covered by God-grace. My child's simple faith in a God who loves her and a simple faith that God hears her prayers and will answer must be the childlike qualities Jesus was referring to in the above verses.

Simple, trusting {childlike} faith...

What are your thoughts on this topic?

"Thank You"

2011-10-11T14:27:00.000-05:00

If you've ever found yourself in a place you never thought you'd go...

If you've ever known the power of one person's love when everybody else turned their backs...

you should take a couple of minutes to listen to this song:

Second Time Around

2011-10-04T08:50:00.000-05:00

I remember learning to roller skate. My sister held my hands as I skated along the sidewalk. I learned how to move my feet and maintain balance that day. The next time I skated, it was a much easier process, and I didn't need anyone to hold my hands.

Have you ever noticed that once you do something for the first time, it's easier to do the second time?

I was terrified the first time I had a speaking part in a play. My hands and knees were shaking, my mind raced a hundred miles a minute, and my stomach was in knots. But after that first time, each subsequent time became easier. I became a little less nervous, and a little more bold.

I read a passage in Luke a couple of weeks ago, and since then, have been reminded of it several times and have come across it in other places. It's one of those passages that I've read and heard many times, but felt it didn't apply to me. I've never stopped to give it my full attention until a couple of weeks ago. Jesus was speaking:

"When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, 'I will return to the house I left.' When it arrives, it finds the house swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worse than the first." (Luke 11:24-26, NIV)

Most of us don't give a second thought to evil spirits, but according to the Bible, they do exist. And as Christians, evil spirits do not dwell within us, but they can {and do} surely persist in attempting to make us miserable. For if Christians are caught up amidst sinful behavior, we are usually not sharing Christ. Think with me in terms of sinful strongholds. Do you have one? What is it?

Say, for instance, you've acted out in sinful behavior. The first time you acted out, it was scary, yet a little exciting. However, you recognized your wrong, and cleaned up your act. You attend church every Sunday, facilitate a Bible study, volunteer at a local shelter, and by all appearances, you are a shining example of a Christian. But if you're not being transformed by the renewing of your mind with His Word, you have a void that is an easy target and a stronghold that you may or may not recognize. You may know your weakness, but assume you can handle temptation. However, you don't imagine that temptation could return with a vengeance much stronger than you. Soon you might find yourself amidst the same sinful behavior as before with its grip on you much tighter than you ever thought. You never realized how easy it would be to give in a second time or how much destruction your actions could cause the second time around.

Doing good and behaving well are great for appearances, but won't satisfy our innermost cravings. Only Christ can satisfy our deepest longings. It is only when we dwell in Him that we are assured a refuge from evil.

OneVerse

2011-09-26T17:18:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a home in which there was at least one Bible, if not more, in almost every room. My daddy was a preacher, and he had more than a few translations of the Bible from which he studied in our home. In addition, every member of my family had at least one Bible, if not a few. I took all those Bibles for granted, and assumed that every home was abundantly accessorized with a plethora of Bibles.

When I became an adult and married, I purchased an adult-style Bible for women. When I became a parent, I purchased one for mothers and one for fathers. When my children were little, I purchased children's Bibles and Bible storybooks. As they got a little older, I purchased devotional Bibles for them. I'm not quite sure how many Bibles I'd currently find in my home if I were to start searching for them all, but I'm guessing there'd be at least twenty.

Even though I'd often read the Bible throughout my life, I was confused by it. I often thought it contradicted itself. But a couple of months ago, I begged God to give me a greater understanding of grace. Over a few weeks, the Bible came alive to me in ways I never imagined. And through His Word, God transformed my life and my concept of Him. He sunk the truth of His unending, unchanging, unconditional love into my heart.

I now count it a privilege to own even one Bible. I treasure God's Word in written form. I can't imagine not having a single copy of the Bible in my language in my possession. Yet that's exactly the case for approximately 340 million people around the world. That's a stunning statistic to those of us who for so long have taken our Bibles for granted!

OneVerse, a program of The Seed Company, is working to make the Bible available to people in their language. OneVerse understands the transforming power God's Word can have on a reader's life. You and I have the opportunity to partner with OneVerse by giving a one-time gift of $26 which will ensure the translation of one {life-changing} verse into the language of our choosing. Won't you join me today in spreading the Good News?

To learn more about OneVerse, and to donate, visit: http://www.oneverse.org/about.

This post is my entry into OneVerse's contest for a ticket to the Relevant Conference '11.

Transformation

2011-09-22T21:57:00.000-05:00

I used to:

be adamantly conservative...now what used to matter to me no longer does

be a Republican...now I won't vote based on party

believe in the death penalty...now I'm not so sure

judge people who don't go to church...now I sometimes wonder why I go

think people at church were as sinless as they appeared...now I know better

think grace was too easy, too lenient...now I know its transforming power

not know a thing about real love...now I'm learning

And that's the short list...

My Blue Journal

2011-09-22T07:41:00.000-05:00

I keep a little, blue journal that my husband bought me several years ago. In that journal is a list of names that only God, Mark and I know. The names included are of those who God has brought into my life over the past several years who have experienced situations with which I can relate. Lately the list seems to be growing almost daily.

While it's a privilege to write down a name and begin to pray for these, my heart aches with sadness with every pen stroke because I know the pain that must come before healing. I'm familiar with the uncontrollable tears and the feeling that nothing will ever be the same again. But I also know the power of a great God who heals the deepest hurts.

So today I'm honored to pray for my friends. I encourage you to seek out those who need to hear your story, who need you to love them, and who need you to pray on their behalf. It's a joy to watch God work in the lives of friends.

POTSC: What We Have In Common With Mel Gibson

2011-09-20T08:20:00.002-05:00

There have been more than a few moments in my life that if an audio or video recorder had been taping, I'd be horribly ashamed to watch or listen. It would be even more humiliating for those moments to be publicly released. I've yelled at my kids, I've said awful things to my husband...I've acted out in a way that didn't represent what I truly believe. Those moments often stem from my own needs and hurts, and usually have nothing to do with the targets of my actions.

We all have those moments when we do things that don't represent who we are or what we deep-down believe, and those are the moments we usually regret the most. They're the moments that come back to haunt us in the dead of night.

Why would someone famous be any different? Specifically, why would Mel Gibson be any different?

Unfortunately, Gibson's irrational, drunken, angry moments have been released to the public. And we, the public, seem to base his reputation on those moments. But is a reputation the totality of a person? Not likely. Unfortunately, instead of throwing out the bad, and choosing to focus on the good, we often allow a few ugly moments in time to define a person.

It's as though we don't have enough to deal with in our own lives, so we gossip based on what we think is true about others. Whether it's the neighbor down the street, a co-worker, or a public persona, we talk about others to deflect the attention from our own needs and hurts.

Hurt people sometimes hurt others. Whether it's Gibson's behavior or our gossip, both stem from a place of hurt. We could all benefit from a little more grace and forgiveness from one another. Forgiven people should forgive others.

Who do you know that might benefit from your grace and forgiveness today?

Other POTSC Never Beyond posts:
Casey Anothony
Mike Tyson
KKK

Auburn vs. Clemson And Recovery

2011-09-18T22:06:00.000-05:00

I watch my favorite college football team most Saturdays. I admit that I sometimes fall asleep during the games. (I know, I know...that's close to sinning in the south.) But this past Saturday I managed to stay awake for most of the game. And I saw my team make an error that could've and should've been easily avoided.

Clemson punted the ball to Auburn, and sent the ball sailing down to the end zone. Even I know that a player shouldn't catch the ball in the end zone because if the ball hits the ground, the team will automatically advance to the 20-yard line. But as my husband was yelling, Let it go! Let it go!, I watched a player catch the ball and try to run. Much to our chagrin, he didn't make it very far before the Clemson players had him on the ground. My husband was muttering something about a mental error costing Auburn. It took several plays before Auburn made it to the 20-yard line, where they should've been in the first place.

Sometimes we make errors, and we have to work hard to recover and get to where we should've easily been in the first place. But instead of beating ourselves up over our mistakes, it is important to start recovery...to get to the place where we should've been so we can move forward from there.

Yes, recovery is a hard road. It's a road that's only taken because of mistakes. It's the brave who decide to journey down that humbling road. It requires forgiving ourselves, and sometimes forgiving others, neither of which is easy to do.

And as for those who would come along and knock you down, trying to stall your recovery by making condescending comments or by not believing in you: move right on past them. Keep doing what it takes to make progress.

Mistakes and errors are often costly, and might mean the game is more challenging, but they don't have to mean that the game is over. It's your choice: call it quits, or start recovering with humility what you've lost. Restoration awaits you.

Loosely based on Luke 15:11-32

Loads of Groceries and Seeking Help

2011-09-16T07:59:00.000-05:00

No one else was home as I unloaded the groceries, bag by plastic bag. {Sorry, I'm not a re-usable bag kind of girl.} There seemed to be a hundred heavy bags. You know how when you're tired, just a few heavy bags seems like a million? Yeah, I thought I'd never get all those groceries upstairs to the kitchen. About the fifth time of trudging up the steps I thought, If only Mark were home to help me carry these bags, it sure would lighten my load.

Bingo!

When we're tired and weary, and the heavy load seems never-ending, it helps to have someone come alongside and share the load with us. The weight lifts and the burden eases when we allow someone to help us carry our "groceries." And you know those "groceries" have to be dealt with; you can't just leave them in the car to spoil.

You may be facing

job loss
financial devastation
an unwelcome diagnosis
death
marital turmoil
addiction...

You must deal with your circumstances. Ignoring them can lead to bitterness, anger, and depression {just to name a few}. But while you deal with them, allow someone to encourage and comfort you, to help you.

So whether it's a trusted friend or a counselor, make the call! Seek help. Let someone help you carry your load.

Above all, seek the ultimate comforter:

Give praise to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! He is the Father who gives tender love. All comfort comes from him. He comforts us in all our troubles... (2 Cor. 1: 3-4a, NIV)

Confidence

2011-09-15T09:27:00.000-05:00

She stepped up to the plate, raised the bat over her right shoulder, shimmied her feet steady into the red dirt, and waited for the ball. In that moment I thought, My eleven year old has more confidence in her pinky than I've ever had. When I was her age, I wouldn't go near a ball. I was too scared.

Last Christmas I sat on pins and needles as the pianist began to play the intro for the song in which my daughter sang a solo. Standing on ready in the red shirt I'd bought her, she stepped forward to the microphone, face a little flushed from nerves, and opened her mouth to sing with the voice of an angel. At that moment I thought, She's got more confidence than I had at that age. At ten years old, I wouldn't sing a solo in front of 50 people, much less a packed sanctuary of 1500-plus.

I guess she gets her confidence genes from her dad. He was Mr. Sports growing up, and to this day, is quite confident of his abilities and talents. I admire my daughter, and I often draw strength from my husband. But when it comes to self-confidence, I have little.

It's the reason why:

I write raw, honest blog posts and never click Publish
My knees quiver when I sing a solo
When another adult criticizes my children, I question my parenting skills for days
I dig deep for weeks when my beliefs are challenged
You'll rarely get an invitation into my cluttered, lived-in house
I stand on the scales and shake my head in disgust every morning
I let friendships slip away instead of pursuing them

Really, self-confidence is an ugly thing. It's focusing on self...me.

In the moments I turn my eyes on Jesus and place my confidence in Him, my world flips upside down. Suddenly, I'm focused on what He wants to accomplish through me, on what He created me to be and do, on His plans.

Maybe it's not so much a gene-thing. Maybe it's just that my girl understands her purpose for being better than I understand mine. She's aware of the talents and gifts God has given her, and she puts them in action.

Shouldn't we all be so bold?

POTSC: A White Alabama Girl and The KKK

2011-09-13T22:03:00.002-05:00

The Heart of Dixie. Where neighbors lounge in rocking chairs on front porches, sipping sweet iced tea on hot summer evenings, chatting about all the other neighbors and solving the world's problems, one sip at a time.

My home.

Alabama the beautiful...with an ugly past.

Alabama: The 1960's battleground for civil rights. The home of the infamous Sixteenth Street Baptist Church bombing. The state whose capital name is synonymous with Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr., as well as George Wallace, Jr. A state once divided on the basis of skin color.

A white girl, I was born in the 1970s when the fight for civil rights was still pretty fresh on adults' minds. Alabama was adjusting to a new {and better} normal. Laws had changed, but the undercurrent of racism was still strong. In fact, most of what I knew as a child about Martin Luther King, Jr., was negative {and false}. Nigger was a commonly used word by white people {including me}, and attitudes of white supremacy were not uncommon.

And, sadly, the reputation of the KKK was somewhat that of heroic.

It was not rare to hear jokes about the KKK. Stories of burning crosses and roadside murders were passed down to my generation with little compassion or concern.

Looking back, even the church didn't seem to take a hard stance against the KKK. In fact, the church seemed somewhat netural, even if they weren't condoning. Maybe the blame was to be placed at the feet of ignorance. I certainly didn't have a full understanding at a young age that racism and prejudices were wrong and to be avoided. And even though I didn't participate in KKK activity, my attitude probably wasn't much different from those of KKK members.

It wasn't until I gave birth to my first child that I realized that racism and prejudice lied just beneath my surface. I was quick to give up the use of the n-word. With time I began to see beyond skin color, to understand that we were all created equal and in God's image.

So when I ask you to forgive the KKK and extend grace, I am asking you to include my past prejudices because there's only a fine line separating attitude and action. And whether or not ignorance may have been {and still be} the cause for most people who were involved with the KKK, hate runs deep, and your forgiveness could be their healing balm.

If you can't find it in your heart to forgive the doers of such despicable deeds, remember what Jesus had to say as he hung on the cross: Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing. (Luke 23:34 NASB)

Other POTSC: Never Beyond posts:
Casey Anthony
Mike Tyson

I Will Not Forget

2011-09-11T06:00:00.017-05:00

Ten years ago today I awakened with my oldest daughter, then a year-and-a-half old, started her breakfast and strewed a load of laundry to fold across my living room floor. I turned on the tv and switched it to the Today show just in time to see a plane crash into the south tower of the World Trade Center. Within just a few seconds I understood that the land of the free and the home of the brave was under attack by faceless and nameless killers. I grabbed the phone and called my best friend. Turn on the news! Planes have crashed into the World Trade Center buildings! We're under attack! I don't remember much more of the conversation as I'd begun to see people falling from the top floors. Then came the news of the Pentagon crash, followed closely by the tragedy of United Flight 93.

Tears streamed down my face, and I held my daughter tightly. I was no different than anyone else that day as fear gripped our nation. Of course, I lived in small-town Alabama, and the threat of an attack was almost non-existent. But my country, without warning, had been almost paralyzed with fear. There was almost nothing on tv except news coverage for days. Even some of my daughter's favorite tv stations had gone off air. The entire nation was in shock. And we mourned for the lives of fellow citizens we didn't even know.

Over the past couple of weeks I've been watching shows recounting the events of that dreadful day. I've cried as survivors shared their stories. A lump has formed in my throat every time I've remembered people falling and jumping to avoid death by fire. I never get used to watching the collapse of two monstrosities that were never supposed to collapse. Every time I've seen a replay of the towers falling, I've been instantly transported back to the spot where I stood amongst laundry on my living room floor. The feeling of horror is the same every time.

Today, ten years later, the bravery of the 9/11 firefighters and rescue workers amazes me just as much as it did back then. Today the stories of human kindness told of that day still make me proud of my fellow Americans. Today I will remember the courage of ordinary, extraordinary people. Today I will take time to remember what my country endured. Today I will thank God for the bravery of men and women who continue to fight for freedom. Today I will hope for a better future for my children. Today I will love a little more intentionally. Today, and for the remainder of my days, I will not forget.

Storm Damage

2011-09-08T05:30:00.001-05:00

Tropical Depression Lee made its way through Alabama on Labor Day. We weren't able to spend the day at the lake as originally planned, and actually, didn't accomplish much of anything that day. We spent the evening lounging on our sofas in our pjs, listening to the howling winds and intermittent downpours of rain. Little Hannah huddled close beside me, fearful that the winds were much like those of a tornado. Truthfully, I was a little scared too because the top of the huge tree in our front yard kept looking as though it might crash right through our palladium window. However, by bedtime the rain had calmed, and the winds had somewhat diminished.

As I ventured out to run errands on Tuesday morning, only gray clouds and a few showers remained. As I drove, I saw the debris Lee left behind as it began to move on to the east. Granted, there was no comparison to the damage left behind from the tornadoes Alabama experienced back in April, but there were some downed trees and fallen limbs. Leaves and small branches were scattered across the streets. And flooding was an issue in many surrounding cities and towns.

By Wednesday morning, a few leaves were still strewn across my yard, and I saw a branch or two on the streets. But mostly, it was a beautiful morning! An unfamiliar crispness in the air and sunny skies made up the weather. And that's when it dawned on me...

Storms enter our lives, usually quickly and unexpectedly, changing our plans:

the death of a loved one
an unexpected diagnosis
the admission of an affair by a spouse
hospitalization of a loved one due to drug use
unexpected termination from your job
financial crisis

With little or no warning, we find ourselves in survival mode. We watch as the storm crashes in on us and hope it doesn't leave damage beyond repair. We're scared, but there's little we can do until the storm settles.

When the initial brunt of the storm is over, we look around to survey the damage. And while the damage may be plenty, we find that we're still standing. We're still surviving. We're still alive! And so it's time to start the process of sifting through the damage and ridding ourselves of the debris:

counseling
rehab
story

Before long we find ourselves amidst a "Wednesday morning"...the day the sun shines, and signs of the storm are minimal. We remember the storm, but the damage and debris are mostly gone. Signs of a new day, a time of rejoicing, are clear. We can finally enjoy a fresh start, and we are a little more aware of how to make it through the next storm.

The Gift My Mother Gave Me

2011-09-06T07:03:00.000-05:00

My mother gave me the gift of loving music. As far back as I can remember, my mother would sing or hum. I remember having a particularly hard time in school my fourth grade year. One morning as I was getting ready for school, dreading the day ahead, my mother shared a trick with me. She said, Whenever I'm sad, I hum or sing. I remember replying, I can't sing at school. She went on to tell me that I could sing in my head or hum very softly.

That day as my class was standing up against a hallway wall, waiting our turn to enter the cafeteria, dread and anxiety weighed on me. My mother's words echoed in my mind, and I began to sing Jesus Loves Me in my head. Within seconds, the weight lifted. Her trick had worked for me. And so began my need to sing about Jesus. I applied that little trick in many circumstances throughout my elementary and middle school days.

Years later, I spent hours singing in the car, driving the long commute to and from school and work. Late night classes left me weary, but singing made the drive home enjoyable. It wasn't until I was in my early twenties that I realized what I'd been doing all those years: worshipping and declaring my need for Jesus. And I was hooked. Worship through song was an essential part of my life.

A couple of years ago, I stopped singing. Like my mother, I'd been one to sing around the house, humming a tune while folding laundry, or belting out a song playing on the radio while I cooked supper. But I allowed circumstances to hinder and almost destroy the way I love to worship. Mark would sometimes come home and mention that he missed hearing me sing. I missed it too, but I'd given up.

My heart would ache and every fiber of my being wanted to scream when the church would sing a song I had so often sung as worship. Tears would slide down my face as I wondered if I'd ever dare to sing again.

Little by little, the flame of my passion began to flicker again. I went from standing silently during the music portion of church service to singing just above a whisper. I couldn't bear to sing much more than that.

Then one day while home alone, I gathered every cd of every song I'd ever sung and stood in front of the speakers, and sang for two solid hours. My voice was shot, but my spirit was soaring. Having sung so many songs declaring the name of Jesus couldn't do anything except lift my spirits. There's something about singing His name that humbles the heart and renews the mind.

There have been so many times that singing about Jesus has been my saving grace. These days I don't take for granted the gift my mother shared with me all those years ago. I count it a privilege to sing the name of Jesus and do so not only with my voice but also with my heart.

Reacting, Responding, Grace and Wisdom

2011-09-01T10:01:00.000-05:00

I've not written much lately. I've been unable...not necessarily because of circumstances and busyness, but because of a little whisper of attack:

Hypocrite.

I've written quite a bit recently about grace. And it seems that after almost every grace post, I'm confronted with a circumstance in which I must offer grace. And like I told someone recently, my first responses to unkindness, cruelty and challenges are almost never good. I tend to react instead of respond. Granted, most of my reactions are held secretly in my mind, or at least go no farther than my husband's ears. But sometimes, words and emotions slip right through my lips or from my fingertips and touch the eyes and ears of another. Those are moments I usually regret.

Grace usually enters the scene when I stop to think how I would want to be treated, or how God has showed me grace. If only that were always my first response.

I digress.

So after recent subtle attacks from other Christians about my newfound freedom in Christ, I found myself reacting. And grace was nowhere to be found. I questioned how I could offer grace to those who would rather see me bound in chains of moralism, subjecting myself to the religious status quo than to encourage me in this new, liberating journey. So the dilemma before me is how to offer grace and live in relationship with these when I refuse to be bound by the shackles they would put on me.

You see, I've struggled over the last several months with distinguishing between law and grace. I've begged God for clarification. And what He has shown me is that there's no middle ground. There's absolutely no mixture of the two. The Old Covenant (law) was put to death (dead as a doornail!) with Jesus' death and resurrection, i.e., the New Covenant, grace, redemption. And I refuse to try to live by the law while under such marvelous grace.

It's been so eye-opening for me that the other night I started reading through Romans, and for the first time ever, I understood what I was reading! I didn't have to take verses out of context; I didn't have to question why I thought it contradicted other parts of the Bible. I finally understood!

I digress again.

So what to do about the dilemma? Well, I thought about Jesus. He didn't terminate His gatherings with the Pharisees. He let them ask their questions, and He let them spout off their laws and traditions. But He answered them, whether with silence or words, He answered them...with grace. Either way, the Pharisees would walk away puzzled, more determined than ever to prove Him wrong.

Maybe it takes a huge dose of grace to maintain relationships with those who are bound to moralism and traditions and who would argue their point at every opportunity. Maybe there's a time to be silent and a time to defend, both being founded in grace. Now I just need the wisdom to know when to apply one or the other.

If you've experienced liberating grace, are you able to respond in grace to those who try to bind you in chains?

Another Chance At Life

2011-08-24T14:57:00.000-05:00

Mike Tyson. Former heavyweight champion of the world. A legend in his own time. A hero to some, and a monster to many. He's either on one end of the spectrum or the other, but he's not in the center. He's not your normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill, routine kind of guy. His fights in the boxing ring brought him great fame and fortune. His animal-like behavior outside the ring {well, inside too...I mean, there is the ear thing} brought him a ruined reputation and time behind bars. There's a long list of crimes and bad behavior we can attribute to him.

In October of 1998, he revealed a glimpse into his mind: I know I'm going to blow one day. . . . My life is doomed the way it is. I have no future. I feel bad about my outlook, how I feel about people and society, and that I'll never be part of society the way I should. (source: Fox Sports Community)

In that one quote was a cry for grace, love and acceptance. And isn't that the longing of all our hearts? Another chance at life...to make right what's wrong.

Just a few days ago, Mike Tyson's Twitter feed read: People deserve more than 1 chance. Sometimes more than 2. Then, two days later: I love seeing people out there that take care of other people, selfless. They make me want to improve my life more as a family man & father.

What a drastic change from his mindset in 1998! And he's right!

We all want second chances, third chances, never-ending chances to be accepted and loved. To improve our lives. To be the parent, the lover, the child, the friend God created us to be. To know that our screw-ups have not ruined God's purposes for our lives. It seems as though Mike Tyson is taking hold of his second chances and making a go of it.

What do you think of his second chance?

This is part of the People of the Second Chance campaign, Never Beyond, that focuses on forgiveness, grace and second chances. There will be 25 posters representing well known historical, current and fictional characters who are believed to have harmed society.

Writing and Singing

2011-08-23T06:30:00.000-05:00

I've been a stay-at-home mom for ten wonderful, painful, tedious, satisfying years. But now all three girls are in school, and my stay-at-home mom gig leaves me feeling less than satisfied during those long eight hours each day. While I'm helping out my husband with our business, answering phones and shuffling paperwork just doesn't fill the need I have to do something productive and satisfying. More and more I keep thinking I might look for work. But not just any work. I want to do something I love.

I love to sing and write. And not just sing and write about any old thing. My passion is singing and writing about how God loves me, how His love changes me, how He is hope. Yet I struggle with my abilities to sing and write. It's a lack of confidence, even though I know He equips the called. This is probably the biggest area where I take my eyes off Him, and focus on so many others who are so much better at singing and writing. And when I do that {which is more frequent than I like to admit}, I think about giving up.

I've said before when God wants me to understand something, He speaks to me over and over about it. I've been sensing this changing season, and this new thing He's doing in my life. He confirmed that to me through two different people using the same verse on the same day: Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert. (Isaiah 43:19, NASB).

Then, if that wasn't enough, He confirmed to me that this new thing He's doing will be through singing and writing...those two things I love so much, yet scare me too. In addition to the verse, God spoke directly to me through my pastor as he was preaching about grace and work. He talked about how we should use the gifts and talents God has given us to work in jobs that we love. The he said, Don't quit writing and singing.

My head snapped up from my sermon notes. What was that, God? You really had him say that? Of all the job illustrations he could've used, you spoke those words through his mouth to me. I sat stunned, amazed and grateful. And confirmed.

I don't know what God's plan is or where He's going to lead me in these areas. But I recognize that I can't settle for less...for something that won't satisfy. And while I want Him to hurry up and show me, I know that sometimes the beauty is found in the waiting.

POTSC - Casey Anthony

2011-08-21T20:30:00.000-05:00

People of the Second Chance has begun a campaign, Never Beyond, that focuses on forgiveness, grace and second chances. There will be 25 posters representing well known historical, current and fictional characters who are believed to have harmed society. The first poster is of Casey Anthony. Following are my thoughts on Casey Anthony's second chance:

I awaited his response to my confession. I was prepared for the worst. My body was tense, my emotions frayed in expectation of losing everything. Knees to the floor, I awaited my judgment and sentencing.

As much as I had prepared myself, I was completely shocked at what happened next.

I forgive you. It won't be easy, but we'll get through this.

I'd like to say I felt relief, but my first response was to question how. How could he ever forgive me? How could he still love me? How could he not want to make me pay for what I'd done?

It was in those moments of weeping on my bedroom floor that I began to understand the love and forgiveness of a good God demonstrated to me through human flesh that should've acted otherwise.

Five years later, I watched as Casey Anthony awaited the jury's verdict. I felt her tension, the way she braced herself for the worst. I recognized the defeat in her eyes.

Then as the verdict was delivered, I cried with her as she realized her second chance at life. I identfied with the breaking that hope sometimes brings.

Within minutes my Facebook news feed was hot with rage, angry members of society claiming justice had not been served. And all I could think was, I know how she feels.

Guilty or not, I don't know. But as I read the angry comments, I remembered my guilt and my second chance. I remembered grace changing my life. And I hoped that grace would change her life too. And while I read all the raging comments, I wished that I could look Casey Anthony in the eyes and tell her that nothing she ever did or ever could do could make God love her any more or less than He already does.

Words

2011-08-19T10:00:00.000-05:00

Words. They're not worth much
Everyone wants something they can touch

These many musings of mine
Much like opinions, not worth a dime

Yet in seeing them I find release
Even if they're mine to keep

These strings of words rattle around
Until I find a place to put them down

And if you wish to know the longings of my heart
Read the words which from my pen depart

A New Thing

2011-08-18T19:43:00.000-05:00

Seasons come and seasons go
But this new thing you're doing
Leaves me scared of what I don't know

You've taken me out of my comfortable place
And set me in the midst of the unclear
But in the waiting I sense Your grace

Today unlike yesterday and years gone by
This new thing is different and uncharted
Tomorrow I'll look back and understand why

In grace I'll leave behind the old
To embrace this new life You've created
Seasons come and seasons go

Searching For Truth

2011-08-17T08:01:00.001-05:00

Several months ago I felt a personal challenge to dig deeper into law and grace. I've spent most of my free time reading. I've been reading through the New Testament portions that describe Jesus' life. I've also been reading several different books on the subject, picking them up alternately.

When I set out to learn about law and grace, I had no idea the journey God would take me on. All I knew at the time was that my experience with God was different from anything I'd ever been taught, and I wanted to find out why. I started asking questions. A need to know permeated my being. And with each bit of information, the need intensified. More, God...tell me more.

When I asked God to reveal truth to me, I wasn't quite prepared for what He'd show me. He began to reveal to me the understanding of Scriptures that I'd long questioned because they seemed contradictory to one another. What I found was that most of what I believed was a mixture of law and grace, which skewed my understanding of Scripture.

The most amazing thing I've learned is when reading the Bible, read it in the context of two divisions:

Old Covenant
New Covenant

When I began to put Scripture into context of these divisions, the purposes of law and grace began to finally make sense to me. And freedom began to rush in. I finally began to grasp that God sees Jesus in me, and me in Him. He sees righteousness when He looks at me. All my sins (past, present and future) have been forgiven. God's love for me doesn't depend on my beahvior...at all! If it did, that would be mixing the Old Covenant with the New. But the Old Covenant was put to death on the cross. Living under the New Covenant allows me to live in freedom, glorifying God, instead of living in a sin management program.

This truth has completely changed me. I am a different person. My understanding of Scripture is radically different. My concept of God has been aligned with His Word. My opinions and beliefs have been shifted.
And, honestly, I've been a little afraid to talk about it because it's so radically different from what most Christians I know believe. I've felt that if I discussed my questions, people would label me as on the verge of heresy. Maybe they will. But for the person in bondage, searching for freedom, I hope to encourage you to dig deeper. Ask questions. Keep searching!

Five Lies

2011-08-16T17:10:00.000-05:00

In the following videos, Steve McVey addresses lies taught in churches every Sunday. If you want to go deeper into understanding grace, this is a great place to start. These videos are each approximately 2 minutes in length, and are well worth about ten minutes of your time!

Your Sins Alienate You From Your Heavenly Father

Repentance Brings God's Goodness Into Our Lives

God Will Bless Us Because We Keep His Commandments

We Need To Speak Out Against Sin

Grace And Truth Need To Be Kept In Balance

Belonging

2011-08-15T09:04:00.002-05:00

I have over 600 Facebook friends, very few of whom I see on a regular basis. Most of the people on my friend list are from some part of my past, from some place I once lived. Fragments of me are scattered from one side of the state of Alabama to the other.

Recently, my Facebook news feed has been covered with You know you're from (fill in the blank) if you've ever... If you spend any time at all on Facebook, you've probably seen it too. Friends from all across the state have been posting to those walls like crazy. I find them interesting to read because I remember so much of what they mention. Yet I haven't posted on a single town's wall. I don't post the things I remember because of one little word: from.

I don't have a hometown. I lived a lot of places, but I'm not from anywhere. Home has always been wherever I lived at the moment. I've lived in my current location for ten years, but I don't call it my hometown. It's not where I'm from. Yet, I don't have a place to go back to either.

I attended a funeral yesterday, and on the ride home, I wondered aloud to my husband, I don't know where I want to be buried when I die. Jokingly I said, Maybe I should be cremated and my ashes scattered across the state.

I lack a sense of belonging. And it's bothered me lately. Seeing all the Facebook posts and attending the funeral have frustrated that lack of being from somewhere and the emptiness I tend to feel because of it. God knows that frustration and need I have to belong somewhere. Anywhere. And during my run this morning, a song came on I'd never before heard. God showed me where I belong...where I'm from.

If you lack a sense of belonging, listen to this:

Perspective

2011-08-08T16:10:00.002-05:00

Jane married young, confident of the bright future ahead of her, but life hasn't turned out quite like she expected. She never expected to single mom of three at thirty. She never expected her ex-husband to be a dead-beat dad. She never expected life to be so hard.

Jane works diligently 40 hours per week at a decent-paying job, but it's just not enough to make ends meet, much less have money left over for extras. Paying the rent, utility bills, and childcare fees eats up her paycheck. Her small children don't get the pleasure of summer vacations or even a night out at the movies. Her pillowcase is stained from the tears of worry that stream down her cheeks each night when she finally puts the day to rest.

School starts soon. Jane isn't worried about getting her children name-brand backpacks and shoes. She doubts she'll be able to afford backpacks and shoes at all. She can't even afford groceries and toiletries for her own family. She wonders how in the world she'll afford school supplies.

My Little Piece Of the Blog World

2011-08-07T18:07:00.000-05:00

This month marks a year since I began regularly blogging. It's taken a while, but after trial and error, I think I've figured out my little space in the big world of blogging.

I write because it's therapeutic for me. Writing about my experiences helps me figure out what it is God's teaching me and where He's leading me.

I write because I hope someone else can identify with the joys, struggles, and questions I experience. I usually learn things the hard way, and if one sentence out of a multitude of blog posts helps someone choose a different path than I have, it's worth every word. And if someone has chosen the hard way of doing things, then I hope the peace and joy I've found in God's grace helps to direct them to Him.

I write because this little space of mine is one of the very few places I can paint, splatter and repaint the words and thoughts that drift through my heart and mind. In a verbal situation, I often keep my thoughts/opinions/beliefs to myself. But here is where I find release.

Over the past year, I attempted to gain more followers through contests. Stats are apparently a big deal in blogland. But a couple of months ago, God showed me that He would bring the people who needed to identify with my experiences. No contests needed. I gave up the approval of followers.

I also attempted to write about set topics on specific days...another biggie in the blog world. That didn't work out too well for me. I would sit for hours, staring at a blank New Post screen, beckoning words to enter my brain, only to walk away frustrated. I've learned to sit and write when God gives me the ability.

All in all, my little piece of the blog world has been a blessing to me. I've met people I would've never otherwise met. I've learned that sometimes I have to dig deep to discover what it is I believe. And, probably, most importantly, I've realized that people just want the freedom to be real with one another and to be loved just simply because they are human...no strings attached.

From Homeschool To Public School

2011-08-06T08:27:00.000-05:00

After homeschooling last year, my three girls will rise and shine {okay, well, rise...I don't know about shine} very early on Thursday and head back to public school. I'm nervous, and yet, excited. The girls are very excited. They can't wait to be with their friends every day.

My wise friend Ashley, who I quote often, says, Our job as parents is to teach our children to love God and others, and to teach them to grow up to live indepently in the world.

I'm not sure why I felt the need to homeschool last year. But it was a strong leading, so we did it. I can't say I kept the girls from any harm in public school. Or that there was something we did while homeschooling that made a huge impact on them. But, I do know this: I now know my children better...their personalities, their learning strengths and weaknesses. And because of that, I'm prepared to send them into the world of public school, confident that we are all prepared for whatever this year holds.

I'm prepared to help with homework, to talk with teachers about my childrens' learning habits, to get help if we need it. I was never confident in these things before homeschooling. I'm also prepared for my children to hear conversations and words that I'd rather them not; to struggle through being, as well as finding, faithful friends; to see and experience things I might not choose for them. I'm ready, and they're ready, to participate in the public school experience. Before homeschooling, I was terrified of what each day of public school might hold. Now I'm confident that we can be an active part of "the world" without feeling the desire to shelter them.

I think I've taught my children to work out problems on their own: schoolwork-related, as well as relationships. I endured many days last year of hearing, But I can't do this by myself. I need you to help me. But by insisting that they keep trying, they learned how to think for themselves {at least a little bit more than they had been}. I also endured many long days of hearing, She's bothering me. Make her quit. But by insisting that they learn how to work out their differences, after a while, they actually enjoyed each other for extended periods of time. The girls know they can come to me and ask for help about anything, but they also know I'm not going to make a big deal over or fix petty relationship annoyances. {Of course, if someone were intentionally being harmful to them, I'd jump right in!} But I think that's part of teaching them to be independent: sometimes there are things you have to do, and people you have to deal with that you just aren't going to particularly like.

Most importantly, I think we've all learned a little more about loving God and others. They got the chance to be active participants in helping others in ways that otherwise they'd never have had the opportunity. They handed out food to those in need, they entertained precious little children whose parents were getting help, they organized items at a ministry house, they spent time seeing other sweet volunteers serve out of love. And I hope they learned that all of it meant nothing if done without love.

Yes, I'm so thankful they had the opportunity to homeschool last year. And I'm so thankful they have the opportunity to go to public school this year, where hopefully, they can take what they learned last year, and influence other students' lives.

There's just one thing I'm not quite sure we're ready for: the alarm clock!!

Survival

2011-08-04T07:01:00.000-05:00

My husband and I like to watch reality shows in which people tell their stories of surviving tragedies. We've watched some crazy stories, like the couple who was on a date in the mountains and got separated from their tour group. They spent days lost in the mountains with no food, shelter or warmth. I'm always amazed at the choices people made to get themselves into the situations, not realizing their very lives were about to be challenged. I often tell my husband during these shows, If we were to be in that situation, you need to go ahead and know that I am not going to survive. I WILL die.

You see, I've never been one to fight for myself. I often do things I don't want or have time to do just so I won't make someone upset or angry. I often allow people to say things to me that I shouldn't allow. My friend often reminds me, Don't be a doormat.

Probably for the first time while watching one of those shows the other night, I told my husband, I would've gotten out of that situation! I would've done whatever it took. You see, a man had abducted a woman and her two small children in her own car. He kept them for several hours, repeatedly abusing the mother. She and her children made it out alive. I would have too...because the are two things I will fight for {albeit sometimes not very well}: my husband and my children.

I've learned over the past few years that family is worth fighting for, even when we're the very ones who make the choices that put us in situations where we'd rather give up. Family is worth spending countless, difficult hours in counseling to get to the root of a problem. Family is worth saying no to all the busyness. Family is worth carving out time to just be together. Family is worth the effort of fighting all the outside influences that would tear it apart.

I will do whatever it takes for my little family to survive and to thrive. What about you?

Just A Thought

2011-08-03T08:03:00.000-05:00

We make judgments based on our limited knowledge of a person or situation.

More often than not, we don't have all the facts to make a correct judgment.

God knows all the facts...every detail...and still He forgives and restores.

What about us {those who seldom know all the facts}? Are we willing to forgive and restore? Or does our judgment cause us to pronounce a sentence of Get your act together, and keep it together for as long as I deem necessary, then maybe I'll forgive and restore you?

{I might be limping today...my toes are kinda sore now.}

Process

2011-08-02T07:30:00.000-05:00

Scratched the surface
Headed into the deep
Finding some answers
What is sown is reaped

Not so much doubt
More a working process
This finding out
Faith in progress

Working out salvation
Costly for sure
Priceless in the end
What is refined is pure

On Drowning and Falling Apart

2011-07-28T08:07:00.000-05:00

At the beginning of this summer I read an article about drowning. I learned some facts I never knew...some signs to watch for in my children while they're swimming. You see, drowning doesn't look like drowning. The article says, Drowning is not the violent, splashing, call for help that most people expect...There is very little splashing, no waving, and no yelling or calls for help of any kind.

In much the same way, people who are falling apart often don't look like they're broken. Our view from the outside is usually, If they look fine, they are fine.

Someone who's drowning is not going to stop, look at you, tell you they're drowning, ask for help, then go back to drowning.

Someone who's falling apart usually isn't going to stop the breaking process, tell you their deepest secrets, tell you they're falling apart, ask for help, and go back to falling apart. We usually find out when the damage is done:

an addict ends up in rehab
a couple divorces
sickness has claimed a life
a child is behind prison bars
a family member is dead at the hands of another.

We're often left wondering why they didn't tell us they needed help. Maybe it's because they couldn't. Sometimes when you're in over your head, you can't think clearly enough to take the appropriate measures to save your own life, much less ask for help.

We, friends, family, churches, need to make ourselves aware of the signs of falling...drowning. We need to get out of our comfort zones when something doesn't seem just right with another, and ask if we can help. We need to be prepared to step into the waters, and make ourselves available to help the drowning.

The Ultimate Father

2011-07-27T09:32:00.000-05:00

In the deepest heart of every person, God planted a longing for himself, as He is: a God of love. - Eugenia Price

My life changed when I grasped that God is loving and good. He's the ultimate Father.

I know there are many other characteristics to describe God, but good and loving Father is the concept to which I cling. Everything He does is based on His goodness and His love for His children.

I used to think of God as an abusive Father: one who sat on His throne in anger, waiting for me to mess up so He could dole out His wrath. I thought He couldn't wait to say, I told you so! as He watched me writhe in anguish at the punishment and consequences he heaped upon me.

It took an act of complete selfishness on my part, inflicting injury on others, for me to see God as good and loving.

My sin was not without consequences, but in my opinion, they should've been much worse.

What I received from God shocked me:

forgiveness instead of wrath
gentleness instead of anger
mild consequences instead of a tornado of punishment
faithfulness instead of abandonment
mercy instead of vengeance
compassion instead of condemnation

I'm so thankful that God revealed Himself to me as a good and loving Father.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. "The LORD is my portion," says my soul, "therefore I will hope in him." (Lamentations 3:22-23, ESV)

Running Out Of Time

2011-07-25T08:57:00.001-05:00

My baby girl turned seven on Saturday. While she hasn't been a baby for a long time, the number seven seems so big girl. My middle daughter will turn nine next month, and my first born is eleven. I've been out of the baby stage for a long time, yet it seems like it was just yesterday that I was changing diapers, washing bottles and cutting the paci.

Reality forced itself into my brain this weekend about where we are as a family, and where I thought we'd be by now.

I remember a conversation Mark and I had a few days after finding out we were pregnant for the first time. We talked about how important it was for us to raise our family in a Godly home. That picture today looks a lot different than it did back then.

Looking back over the past eleven years, right up until today, I'd say we've failed even though we've done a lot of the "right" things. Oh, we take them to church almost every Sunday; we pray before dinner {if we happen to all sit down together}; we say bedtime prayers on a hit-and-miss basis; we go through spurts of memorizing Bible verses; and we talk about why we believe what we believe.

But I can't say with certainty that we're raising our girls in a Godly home. I think we've focused so much on the do this, don't do that that we've missed teaching them the heart of it all: loving Jesus and loving others.

I'm suddenly frightened that our teachable time with them is running out. It won't be long before they're asking for car keys and preparing for college admission tests.

Today I'm putting the list of do this, don't do that on the back-burner. Instead, we'll focus on loving Jesus and loving others. We'll not worry so much about a list of rules that satisfies a religious quota I had on my brain twelve years ago.

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God's Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps, but I don't love, I'm nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don't love, I've gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I'm bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.
Love doesn't strut,
Doesn't have a swelled head,
Doesn't force itself on others,
Isn't always "me first,"
Doesn't fly off the handle,
Doesn't keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn't revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

Love never dies.
(I Corinthians 13: 1-8a, The Message)

Sin Management Program

2011-07-21T09:44:00.001-05:00

I admit it: I'm not much of a manager, nor am I very organized. I'm not one of those people who keeps a running to-do list and checks off each completed task. Most days I don't manage my children very well, much less household chores.

This week I've come across a new-to-me term three different times, in three different places: sin management.

The first time I read the term, I wondered what it meant. The second time I read it, I thought I should probably check it out. The third time I read it, I knew God was wanting my attention on the subject. I had a vague idea of what the term means, but I needed something to compare it with to help me better understand. So I decided to do a little research on time management.

Generally, time management refers to the development of processes and tools that increase efficiency and productivity. (about.com)

Hmmm...I realized that time management is something I strive for {especially during the school year}, but rarely succeed at. Honestly, my household is usually running around like crazy people when we're trying to get somewhere on time. It's only on rare occasions that I call myself efficient and/or productive. I say all that to demonstrate my lack of {time} management skills.

There are all sorts of other management skills: anger management, business management, pain management, stress management, etc.

The common theme of management is control. Sometimes we are managed by others; and other times, we manage people or circumstances. Effective management means there must be set goals with plans to achieve those goals. Often a contingency plan is required in the event that something goes awry with the first set of plans. And in order to achieve the goals at all, action is required.

Whew! That makes me tired just thinking about it!

Okay, so now that we've somewhat established that management uses goals, plans, and actions to control certain scenarios or circumstances, let's move on to that nasty little term sin management.

When I attended a Christian high school, I had to sign a pesky little sheet of paper at the beginning of the year. That paper stated that I would not engage in any of the listed activities the school deemed as "sins." My signature was supposed to guarantee my agreement to the school's rules {or perhaps a better term would be their sin management program}. Fear of punishment for breaking the rules is about the only thing that made me stick to my signed agreement.

As an adult, my fear of God's anger over my sin, as well as the swift and sure consequences He would heap upon me, kept me in a sin management program. But, remember, I'm not a great manager. Unfortunately, I felt I could never do enough or rid myself of enough sin to make God happy with me. So I focused my attention on managing other people's sins, which by the way, didn't work out too well either.

Eventually, I was so disheartened with endlessly trying to be sinless for God's approval and acceptance that I dove headfirst into a sinful lifestyle.

One day, I fell face-first on the floor, and told God I couldn't be a good enough Christian. Actually, without even realizing it, I was telling Him I couldn't manage my sin anymore. Basically, I left my striving {and all the guilt and shame that accompanies failed striving} at the foot of the cross. I had to stand up from that moment, trusting that the moment I entered relationship with God, He forgave all my sins (past, present and future).

What I'm realizing is that trying to control, or manage, sin is nothing short of ridiculous. When we give up the sin management program and realize no amount of sin control will cause God to love us more, we can trust Him to guide us. We can hand over control to God, and as a result, live in the loving, intimate relationship with Him for which we were created. Since I entered a covenant relationship with God, He no longer sees my sin when He looks at me; He sees Jesus.

What actually took place is this: I tried keeping rules and working my head off to please God, and it didn't work. So I quit being a "law man" so that I could be God's man. Christ's life showed me how, and enabled me to do it. I identified myself completely with him. Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ. My ego is no longer central. It is no longer important that I appear righteous before you or have your good opinion, and I am no longer driven to impress God. Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not "mine," but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I am not going to go back on that. Is it not clear to you that to go back to that old rule-keeping, peer-pleasing religion would be an abandonment of everything personal and free in my relationship with God? I refuse to do that, to repudiate God's grace. If a living relationship with God could come by rule-keeping, then Christ died unnecessarily. (Galatians 2:19-21, The Message)

I've only touched the tip of the iceberg on the subject of sin management. I'm reading quite a few articles and books on the subject, so I'm sure I'll have more thoughts on it later. I mainly just needed to process what I've learned so far. If you have thoughts/opinions on the subject, I'd love to hear them!

Finding Church

2011-07-19T22:57:00.001-05:00

Organized religion has really begun to cause my skin to crawl lately. I can't put my pointy finger on why, but there's something going on inside of me that is screaming for more. Something deeper. Authentic. Without boundaries of time, dress code, or any other traditional church-y remnants.

Maybe it's that I'm finally starting to learn what it means to be the church, not just be in church. I understand the importance of gathering with a body of believers, but this question begs an answer of me lately:

What good is gathering with a body of believers if we never get beyond the walls of the church building?

I've been in church, as my momma would say, since nine months before I was born. And this I know:

Lost people are not knocking down the doors of the church building, hoping to get inside for a Sunday morning service!

Why is that?

Maybe it's because they don't want the pressure of finding clothes appropriate enough to meet the local church's standard. Maybe it's because the difference they see in us and them is only as high as our turtlenecks, or as deep as our layers of makeup. Maybe it's because we try to confine worship to one hour on a Sunday morning, so maybe what we call worship isn't really God's idea of worship at all.

Maybe, just maybe, if we were truly experiencing God, lost people would be knocking down the doors, if for no other reason, to see for themselves what all the fuss is about.

But, I fear the Americanized church doesn't have a clue what it means to be the church. To be the hands and feet of God. I'm in my mid-thirties, and I'm just now starting to learn. And it's not because some church, some ministry, some person taught me; but because I have been begging God to show me what it really means to love.

And I'm finding that loving means moving beyond the church walls, seeking the lost. And in all honesty, I'm fearful to invite the lost in to church, where people are only given so long before the ultimatum of shape-up or ship-out is silently delivered.

So for me, these days, I'm finding church in the most unexpected places, the least of which is inside the walls of organized religion.

Peace

2011-07-13T09:37:00.000-05:00

I've experienced a lot of doubt and questioning over the last couple of weeks.

But God...

faithful, as He always is, has wrapped me in perfect peace.

The more I focused on the doubt and questions, the more I doubted and questioned. I think questioning is good, but when it gets to the point of creating confusion, it's gone too far.

I finally decided I'd doubted and questioned enough over this particular subject that kept presenting itself. I had to trust God's Word and the interpretation of it He'd led me to understand. And through others, He confirmed that understanding.

This morning I was thinking about the peace I've had over the last couple of days. Isaiah 26:3 came to mind:

You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.

I realized when my mind is set on Him, on trusting Him, instead of being set on doubts and questions, peace prevails.

2011-07-12T10:38:00.000-05:00

I'd written a long post about how volunteering at a ministry is changing me.

But...

I didn't save it, and lost the post.

So, I'll sum it up in one sentence:

In doing ministry, my prayer has changed from Use me to Change me.

What's your prayer when you do ministry?

Looking Back

2011-07-11T07:50:00.000-05:00

I used to think my job as a Christian was to be a spiritual police. I actually looked and listened for someone to be wrong. And when I found someone I believed to be wrong, I jumped on my spiritual high-horse and chased them away. I was quick to "correct" others. The angrier I made people, or the more hurt I inflicted, the more justified I felt in being right. And everything was either wrong or right, black or white. No gray areas.

I offended many people over trivial issues, and took pride in it. I wanted to be a martyr, and looked for ways to become one. I loved a heated debate, and would twist another's words just to start an exchange. I almost always had Scripture on hand to back me up, and I dared anyone to argue with me.

I look back and realize my "job" was nothing more than my pride on display. I often think about the people I hurt and offended. My pride was more important than their well-being or my relationship with them. Being right was more important than being loving. Oh, how my heart aches at the people who may have needed love and encouragement, but received anger, arrogance and bitterness from me. What I didn't realize was that my self-righteous attitude was a stumbling block to others, not a help.

In my desire to be proven holier than everyone else I knew, I studied Scripture for the sake of knowledge. I didn't study to be transformed. I never thought it possible that I could actually sin. I was aware of my tendency to gossip, my little white lies, my "acceptable" sins, but I justified them because almost everyone else I knew committed those same sins. Oh, yes, I would tell you that I was a sinner saved by grace, and I would claim humility, but the truth was that I really didn't see myself as capable of sinning.

The turning point...

Temptation crept in almost unnoticed. The more tempted I was, the more I thought I could handle it. After all, I was a spiritual police. I didn't think I was capable of actually sinning beyond the "acceptable" sins.

In a matter of weeks, I was among the worst of sinners. Life as I knew it was over. God relentlessly pursued me, and used some very humble and genuinely encouraging people to sustain me. The next few years were filled with brokenness and humility; with experiencing grace and mercy in ways I'd never before known. My life became less and less about being right, and more and more about extending grace.

I can now truly admit that I'm far from perfect. I've committed sins among the worst of sins, and God covered them with His grace and mercy through Jesus.

Grace showed me that being right is not important; loving others is. God taught me that He is sovereign, which means He can take my wrongs (both intentional and unintentional) and use them for my good and His glory. In this journey with Him, I've found peace and joy I didn't previously know. I've found freedom in not always being right. I've found that God grants mercy and grace to cover and protect me and those in relationship with me.

Forgive Me

2011-07-01T07:42:00.000-05:00

Angry, defensive, smack-dab-in-the-midst-of-sin...Christians, church members.

God has burdened my heart for these. Even in the midst of arrogant sin and hard-hearted denial, I know they'll eventually break. And when they do, it will feel as if the world is crashing down around them. Guilt and shame will overwhelm them. And they'll feel like there's not a single Christian they can turn to for help.

I. know.

So forgive me if my heart breaks with them. Forgive me if I don't tell them, repent or else. Forgive me if grace and mercy are all I have to offer them. Forgive me if I gently encourage the breaking of sin instead of breaking off fellowship. Forgive me if all I know to tell them is that God loves them no. matter. what. they've done. Forgive me if I tell them that God can use them again, maybe now more than ever. But it's all I know...because I've been there.

For Today

2011-06-30T07:23:00.000-05:00

Much like a candle whose flame is not extinguished until it reaches the end of the wick, religion leaves the soul

burned out.

Like music flowing from a well-trained musician, so are the unforced rhythms of grace: free and light.

(My response to Matthew 11:28-30)

Reminders

2011-06-29T08:16:00.000-05:00

The Message puts some Scriptures in whole new perspective for me. As I was reading Psalm 51, a couple of verses jumped out at me, and I responded with, Yes, that's my heart's cry:

Give me a job teaching rebels your ways so the lost can find their way home. (v. 13)

Going through the motions doesn't please you, a flawless performance is nothing to you. I learned God-worship when my pride was shattered. Heart-shattered lives ready for love don't for a moment escape God's notice. (vs. 16-17)

Over the past few days, my beliefs have been called into question, creating doubt in me. I've questioned God's grace, His goodness, His forgiveness and His mercy. I took my questions to Him.

Have I got it all wrong, God? If this is not who you are, show me.

Each time I prayed and searched His Word, He reminded me of the moment I was face down on my floor, weeping and begging for His grace and mercy. He reminded of the many people He's put in my path that He's prompted me to share my grace story with. He reminded me that He was gentle and merciful in the consequences He gave me.

He reminded me of my relationship with Him.

Then He gave to me the above verses. And my heart cries, Yes! I want to keep sharing His story in my life so that others can find their way back to Him. Yes! After so many years of performing, I'm finally learning "God-worship," and I never want to go back.

Job Opening: Hope

2011-06-28T08:34:00.001-05:00

The more I communicate on a deeper level with people, the more I realize this one thing: people just want hope. Hope that God loves them. Hope that there's something more than conflict and pain. Hope.

For so long, the church has offered hope, but with stipulations. As if God's love displayed through Jesus' life, death and resurrection is not enough. If Jesus is not good news and hope, I don't know what is.

For some reason, we often want to pretend that we still live under the Old Testament law. That we all must measure up. That we holier-than-thou-Christians must be the voice of doom and gloom to those living in sin.

If all that were true, there was no need for Jesus.

I'll get personal for a minute. While I've not yet shared my story on my blog, I've referenced it often. I don't dance around the fact that while a Christian, and while being heavily involved in church ministries, I was living a lie. I was living in nothing short of a lifestyle of sin. That being said...

If someone had come to me during that time with a self-righteous, obnoxious attitude, telling me how wrong I was {which I already knew}, I probably would've turned a deaf ear. I probably would've left the church altogether. I'm thankful no one knew about my sin at the time because I'm pretty sure that would've happened.

All that to say, I now frequently communicate with others involved in the same type sin I participated in. I talk to people who are smack-dab in the middle of gross sin. And, you know what? They KNOW they're in sin. They don't have to be told what they're doing is wrong.

I've watched as some of these people made it through to the other side...the place where they've received redemption, reconciliation. And, along the way, I prayed for them, and encouraged them. I offered words of hope...that God loves them no matter what, and they could run to Him for forgiveness. I didn't have to warn them of consequences because they already knew they'd have to pay them. I gently shared my own consequences just to let them know they weren't alone.

I write all of this because, for some reason, people of the church often feel it's their job to make sure to chastise and condemn people living in blatant sin. Not so. Our job is to share with them the good news, the Gospel of Jesus. Our job is to encourage others to live in a love relationship with God which leads to repentance. We don't need to try to extract repentance from sinners. We don't need to heap guilt and shame upon others.

The Holy Spirit exists for a reason...He doesn't need us to do His job.

We only need to offer hope in a living, loving, good and faithful God...the Father of all fathers.

My Accounting

2011-06-26T18:24:00.000-05:00

Some might call me weak. Some may say my faith is watered down. Some surely find fault with the measure of grace which I desire and pour out.

But it is this very grace that has ~~changed~~ transformed me.

The old me, who was quick to speak and slow to listen, who was prideful in my goodness, who was assertive in my opinions, who spouted off my beliefs without considering another's, who was obnoxious to the point of damaging other Christians and non-Christians alike, is mostly gone. Traces, unfortunately, remain. But I hope I am mindful.

You see, it's not some book by an author, some song by a musician, some sermon by a pastor, or some advice from a friend who brought about this radical change in me.

This change is nothing short of God's grace poured all over me, and the desire He placed in me to see it poured out on others. The grace for which I fell flat upon my face, weeping and begging.

And until you've experienced that same grace that cleanses filth, you may never understand me. But be assured...my faith is strong, my love is real, and the grace I offer comes from none other than Christ alone... from the same Jesus who did not cast stones at a sinful woman, but instead, offered her redemption...from the same Jesus whose anger was often directed at the Pharisees who were nothing but hypocritical.

Think not that I am weak or that I am led astray. Think only that I am striving to live by the grace which was lavished so abundantly upon me.

And if along the way, by design, God uses some book, some song, some sermon, or some advice to grow my faith, I am forever grateful to the ones who were obedient enough to Him to make it available to me.

167

2011-06-23T21:21:00.000-05:00

Be careful when you come down our street. There are police everywhere. I can't get past.

What's going on? I asked into the phone as I grabbed our fast food from the drive-thru cashier.

I'm not sure. It's at the top of the hill.

Oh no. I wonder if something's happened to one of those little boys. You know when you come up the hill it's hard to see them when they're in the road. I wonder if somebody topped the hill too fast.

I don't know. I'll see you in a minute.

On the five-minute drive to the house, I imagined every possible scenario. Except the one that actually happened.

Hello?

I found out what happened from the neighbors.

What?

The boys' mom is dead. Apparently, their step-dad killed her.

What?!

That's all I know.

Okay. See you in a minute.

Sure enough, as the neighbors whispered up and down our street, word spread. He'd killed her. The weapon was a baseball bat.

The news rattled me. It still does.

I didn't know her. I'd seen her kids outside quite often when I'd run. But I'm pretty sure I never saw her.

I've passed house number 167 many times over the last few weeks. I've watched the plant hanging from her mailbox wither and die. I've watched the yellow tape disappear. I've seen a note on the front door. And I've wondered about her.

What was she like? Was she abused often?

Last week, apparently someone cleaned out the house. Belongings were placed on the side of the road for garbage pick up. Toys. Game chairs. A microwave. A piece of art. Boxes. Things that she probably picked out to help create a home. Her things.

As I walked and ran past that pile over the past week, I glanced every time. It felt wrong to look. That pile was not ordinary trash. It was a pile of things belonging to a woman (and her children) whose life was taken from her.

Tonight the pile was gone. Pick up was today. The reminder of a life once lived, one I never knew, is gone.

And I wonder how many more broken lives, broken marriages, angry souls, and hurting people are behind the closed doors of beautiful homes. I wonder how many people on my street alone suffer in silence. I wonder, and I pray.

How Did I Miss This?

2011-06-21T08:48:00.002-05:00

It's common knowledge; yet, somehow, I missed it!

I knew the lineage of Jesus was filled with people who had sketchy pasts or who were "nobodys" in the world's eyes. Somehow, some way, I missed David's wife, aka Uriah's wife {which, by the way, is how it is listed in the genealogy}, aka Bathsheba.

Duh, right?

But it just never occurred to me. I guess I was more focused on David since he's the more popular figure. But, yep, she was there. She birthed Solomon. This woman who, we assume, chose to have intimate relations with the king, a man not her husband.

What a dirty, little secret David and Bathsheba had...until it all blew up in their faces. The consequences of their evil were grave....literally. The illegitimate child born to them died. David's household was filled with evil for the rest of his days. The guilt and shame they must've felt. Sheer torture, no doubt.

And, still...

David and Bathsheba are both listed in the genealogy of Jesus.

How beautiful that God took their evil, their sin, and redeemed it. What hope it gives to the woman who has blown it, who has no one to blame for her actions and consequences but herself!

Bathsheba, Uriah's wife
Bathsheba, adultress
Bathsheba, widow
Bathsheba, new wife to David
Bathsheba, mourning mother
Bathsheba, living in a household of crazies
Bathsheba, mother of Solomon
Bathsheba, listed in Jesus' family tree

Talk about a life! One sinful choice...redeemed! Redemption displayed for the rest of eternity in that one family tree!

Fruit

2011-06-20T08:54:00.003-05:00

When my oldest daughter was in kindergarten, she had to learn quite a few memory verses. I would spend time saying them with her, so I learned some of them too. Together we learned two verses that I'd previously struggled to learn:

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control... (Gal. 5:22-23, NASB)

We said that verse so many times, I easily still remember it.

This summer my pastor is preaching through the fruit of the Spirit. While I'd memorized the verses, I never broke down each characteristic of the fruit, and thought about what each one meant. So far, I've learned about love, joy and peace. And what I've learned has rocked my world a little bit.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the sermon on love, and how I'm learning love. The quote from the sermon that keeps making its way through my mind is: Love uses tact, and makes others feel at ease. I think that one stays with me because I am prone to be so tact-less. I often think before I speak, and what comes out is not grace-filled. Eek! I don't like that about myself.

The quote I took away from the sermon on joy is this: Joy doesn't come from a technique; it comes from a relationship (with God). There's not enough good we can do to make ourselves feel joy. Happiness, sure. But not true, deep-down, heart-filled joy.

Then there was yesterday's sermon on peace. Oh, my! Once again, I couldn't get my pen to move quickly enough to write down the words God spoke to me through my pastor. While my pastor had five points to his sermon, the second was the one that made my hand hurt from writing: Be gentle.

Here are some quotes from that point:

Be flexible in dealing with others
A lack of respect leads to being harsh with others
When we don't see people created in the image of God, we will abuse and bully them
We don't need to point out people's failings; they already know them
Be thoughtful
Find what's good in someone, not what's wrong
Celebrate the progress others make

At this point in my life, I can look at that list and honestly say, I'm making progress. But for most of my life, I felt the need to point out everything I saw wrong with someone else or their beliefs. I was in no way flexible; it was my way or the highway.

After seeing my own sin and realizing my desperate need for a Savior, a slow realization came upon me: everyone struggles, and everyone needs a Savior. I soon developed a sensitivity and gentleness towards those who struggle with sin. I remember what it was like to be keenly aware of my sin, yet not caring. I also remember what it was like to be keenly aware of my sin, and crushed with guilt.

Now I understand what it means to find what's good in someone, and not point out their failings. I understand what it means to celebrate someone else's progress. After all, it's often a slow process of removing one's self from living in sin to living a grace-filled life. And it's my pleasure to celebrate every step of progress someone makes toward living in grace.

Stay tuned for patience. I'm sure the notes from that sermon will make my hand fall off! In the meantime, all this talk of fruit has me craving an orange...

Worship

2011-06-16T06:43:00.000-05:00

Here in the Bible belt, there's a church on almost every corner. Anytime we go somewhere, we pass a variety of them. My oldest daughter and I were headed to our own church tonight for a meeting when we saw a church we've passed countless times. As we drove past, a man was walking toward the church, carrying a guitar case. As he neared the church entrance, we gasped as we saw him fall to his knees. My first thought was that something was wrong with the man, and he was falling to the ground. Upon further inspection, we realized he was kneeling in front of an angel statue, bowing his head in prayer.

I have no idea what denomination the church is or what the significance of kneeling in front of the statue is. But in my passing, as I watched the kneeling man in my rearview mirror, my heart was pierced. His worship was obvious and with abandon. I was convicted of my lack of worship lately. I remembered how it feels to worship with abandon. And I miss it.

Sometimes I'm a slave to my flesh, especially in the summertime. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I start to worship relaxation, rest and summertime fun. My mornings go awry, and days later I realize I've not touched my Bible or prayed. Summertime entertainment has become my "little-g" god.

I'm reminded of the saying, We all worship something. It's true. Every day, every minute, we all bow down to something or someone:

work
spouse
children
parents
freedom
entertainment
money
church
busyness...

It so easy to get distracted and worship the here and now, the visible. It sometimes takes reminding ourselves that God is the giver of every breath, and He alone is worthy of worship.

My Childhood Summer Vacations

2011-06-09T11:04:00.000-05:00

My childhood summer vacations were unlike those of most of my friends. Instead of heading to the beach or the mountains, we were giddy with excitement over spending a few days being brainwashed. We packed our dresses and skirts, our biggest Bibles, and little more, and drove to campmeeting. We chatted about who might yell the loudest, run the perimeter of the building, or jump the pews. We were thrilled about getting our preacher-heroes to sign our Bibles. My little mind certainly wasn't aware of the emotional manipulation that occurred every year. That realization came with adulthood.

Rules {and the consequences for not obeying them} were the hot topic. I hope God's love was shared with the hundreds of people who packed the building, but I can't remember. Mostly I remember being scared to do anything wrong for fear of being called out and embarrassed. I feared that God, in His anger, would severely punish me for any wrongdoing. In fact, what I took away from all those campmeetings was that my relationship with God was based on my performance. Even though the cross was a hot topic at those meetings, {and the subject sent the most spiritual into loud hallelujahs and amens, and caused them to run and jump until they broke into sweats, pulling out their crisp, white handkerchiefs}, I don't recall being taught that the work completed on the cross leads to freedom.

I wonder where all the convictions spewed from the pulpit, blanketing all of the listeners, came from. We weren't encouraged to seek God about personal convictions. Instead, we were all supposed to be under the same convictions:

women were not to wear pants or shorts
men were to keep short, above-the-collar haircuts
women were to limit the amount and color of makeup
no rock or country music, and certainly not the new, contemporary Christian
stay away from the movie theaters
only read the King James Version of the Bible {and it needed to be BIG; otherwise, you would be classified as ashamed}

Any deviation from the convictions led one to be shamed. All efforts were made to bring the one back into the fold. If the browbeating, guilt-laden efforts didn't work, the one was shunned and talked about. Surely, they'd never really been a Christian if they could so easily disobey the rules.

Over the past five years, as I've let go of the manipulation and brainwashing, I've come to understand that God is not who I thought He was, nor is Christianity what I believed it to be. On occasion, I will see families with a hauntingly familiar appearance. I remember ~~feeling~~ being different, wanting to be normal, but believing that if I was like everyone else, I would be condemned. I so desperately want to wrap my arms around young girls who remind me of myself at that age, and tell them that God is not an angry monster. I want to tell them it's okay to be normal. I want to pour grace and freedom into them. Instead, I sit and watch. I watch their oppressive spirits, and I remember what it was like to carry that burden. Sadness overwhelms me with the realization that they may never know grace. Or if they do, the road they will travel to find it will be guilt-ridden, just as mine was.

Learning Love

2011-06-08T09:28:00.000-05:00

Loving...must it be learned? It comes so naturally, so easily for some. Sacrifice and humility...a way of life for some. Not for me.

The morning after the conversation, I silently talked with God. Teach me to love...to really love...because I'm not sure I've ever really known how. Like usual, the prayer slipped from my thoughts as the day progressed. But God had heard.

The next day, I was asked to learn and sing a song for the coming Sunday. As I listened to it for the first time, I sat stunned. I clicked over to perform a lyric search. Had I heard those words correctly? If I do not love, I am nothing. I knew the text from which those words came, but I hadn't heard them in song before. And I was to listen to that song countless times over the next four days in order to be prepared to sing it. Every time I listened, every time I sang, I was humbled. Tears formed often.

Sunday rolled around, and I sang. The song fit perfectly with the sermon. The text for the sermon was 1Corinthians 13. Love. While the entire sermon was valuable, several quotes pierced me:

People can fake love.
Love uses tact, and makes others feel at ease.
Our preferences are not the standard.
Love has a delete key.
Love covers, protects, defends and encourages.
Taken from "The Fruit of the Spirit Is Love" by Buddy Gray

Sometimes this loving may have to be learned by people like me, with God as our Instructor. And maybe this learning, followed by doing {with only loving as motivation}, will lead to naturally loving:

Apathy for concern...
Condemnation for encouragement...
Harsh words for kind...
Performance for authenticity...

All for no other reason but loving.

Pretty Packages

2011-05-31T08:40:00.001-05:00

I love a pretty package. Pretty wrapping paper and big bows automatically excite me. I imagine all the wonderful possibilities such a package could contain...something expensive, something exquisite, something absolutely fabulous.

I never imagine the gift inside being something that's been broken and glued back together. I always imagine the thing inside being just as marvelous as the package in which it's presented.

The conversation veered towards where most of my conversations veer lately: religion, Christianity, and the difference. The topic is almost always on the forefront of my brain in recent months. The more in-depth the conversation went, the more I felt the internal struggle. A familiar struggle. Present a pretty package and hope the other person believes what's inside is just as fabulous as what I'm presenting...or open the package and display the me that's been broken and mended. In a matter of a few seconds I questioned, Do I tell? Do I share? Yes.

I opened up what I'd wrapped just so, and displayed the not-so-fabulous parts of me. And the conversation got real, real quick. No more pretending. No more presenting. What I laid bare:

Christians mess up...sometimes badly. I regurgitated my mess, my story, as an example.

I struggle, but God...

Maybe the Jesus that many Christians present isn't the Jesus of the Bible: Jesus wasn't wrapped in a pretty package; He offended people with His love; He spent most of His time with social outcasts instead of with the religious.

A quote from my pastor: Jesus plus nothing.

Sometimes I'm annoyed by all the other pretty packages, as much as I'm annoyed by mine.

For the first time, I felt like I shared me, messed up as I am, and the God who loves me anyway, without wrapping it all up in a pretty package that leaves people feeling the presentation is fake. I walked away with an unfamiliar understanding: love strips away the pretty presentation and exposes the broken parts that God has mended.

With that understanding comes this: I no longer want to try to present a pretty-packaged Christian who people walk away from thinking that what's inside can't be as real as the package. I don't want to be the person that people walk away from and say, If that's what being a Christian involves, and if I have to keep all those rules and appearances, I don't want any part of it. I want to be the person who people walk away from and say, If that's what loving Jesus looks like, and if He can mend my broken parts, I want in!

Did I Read That Right?

2011-05-26T08:19:00.000-05:00

I love Jesus, but I don't like the church.

My head jerked around to re-read. Did I read that right?

Those were the words on a local church sign, advertising the upcoming Sunday's sermon. I've thought about that sign quite a bit. My initial reaction stemmed from deep parts of me that have always known the Sunday School answers: We're supposed to love the church.

Then I was honest with myself: Sometimes I don't like the church. And, more than likely, I'm sometimes the church person that causes someone else not to like the church. Ouch.

I've wondered how the pastor of the church with that sign delivered the sermon. I've wondered what points he included in his sermon. I've wished I had been there to hear what he had to say.

I'm aware that many pastors would jump on that sign statement, and berate those who agree with it. Unfortunately, the more honest and transparent conversations I have with people, the more I hear how others feel the same way. It's almost like a secret underworld of people who find one another when we work up the courage to offer one honest statement. Suddenly, we realize:

Hey, maybe I'm not alone! Maybe someone else feels the same way I do. Maybe there are other people who are weary from wearing masks, uttering the right words, dressing to fit someone else's code, smiling and serving when all they want to do is lay in a heap and cry. I'm not the only one who sometimes dreads coming to church where everyone attempts, in vain, to fit the same mold.

The joy-filled Christian life doesn't come without difficult circumstances. Yet, at church, we often pretend it does. And that often makes us hold back our longings for honest, authentic, transparent relationships. We start to feel like we don't belong with all the other joy-filled Christians. Before we know it, we no longer like the church. We no longer want to attend. It becomes work to wear the mask, but we put it on and go through the motions without an ounce of honesty, authenticity, or transparency.

You'll find me somewhere in the middle. I desperately want honest, authentic, transparent relationships. But I wear my mask, mostly out of fear. I've succumbed to trying to fit the mold. Because of that, I'm probably that person that causes other people not to like church. The irony is that I don't really like the mold, and being part of the church sometimes makes me want to run far from it.

Constant: Change

2011-05-18T08:22:00.001-05:00

Change is happening again. I'm living in what is constant: change.

What's been so unsettling over the past five years is that the thing that keeps changing in my life is the balance of friends. I can count on one hand the number of people now in my life that were there five years ago. {I take the blame for that.} Two weeks ago, I would've said I'm finally developing new, real friendships again. But maybe not. And I'm pondering the why.

Here's what I'm processing:

The more I let go of rules and traditions, and

the more I attempt to loosen the masks, and

the more I want to be real, to be who God created me to be (instead of fitting a mold),

the more the rule-and-tradition-keeping, mask wearing, too-scared-to-be-real people run from me.

I pursue, only to be rejected. So I quit pursuing.

The interesting and ironic part of it all is this:

I now find myself more comfortable among those I formerly would've condemned. I'm comfortable with people who love Jesus, yet don't want to keep rules and traditions. I'm comfortable with people who don't love Jesus and don't even care about rules and traditions. I feel the freedom among these people to be me...a mess who loves Jesus and knows that Jesus loves me. A mess who knows that no amount of rule keeping or rule breaking will make Him love me any more or any less.

As much as I want to be comfortable with rule-and-tradition-keeping, mask wearing, too-scared-to-be-real people, I'm not. And I wonder if there's a balance to be found. I wonder if my desire for them to experience and live in grace and to be authentic and transparent outweighs my desire to accept them as they are.

I wonder if the soul stirrings of constant change will ever settle into a rhythm and balance of people and friendships...

I Miss Me

2011-05-16T10:30:00.000-05:00

I went on a beach trip with a friend this past weekend, and we talked about...well, anything and everything. On the way home, I said to my friend, I've been more me this weekend than I've been in a long time. And with that statement, I realized I still wear masks.

I wear the homeschooling mom mask. While I do love having my children at home, and love having the opportunity to teach them, I don't love it like a lot of other homeschooling moms. There have been more than a few days this year that I've wanted to run down to our local schools, and enroll my girls. Yet, for some reason, I feel pressure to love homeschooling like other moms. I'm torn on the subject of homeschooling, yet parties on either side of the issue have strong convictions, and there's no place for a teetering mom like me.

I wear the I'm-a-good-girl-now mask. This is the mask I wear most often. I make especially sure it's tightly in place when I go to church. I think I'm fearful I won't fit the mold. But, the question now begs, why would I want to fit the mold? I really no longer buy into rules and traditions that are stereotypical of Southern Baptist church goers. Yet, for fear of condemnation, when around those who adamantly hold to the rules and traditions, I play the part. I wear acceptable clothing...a little too much exposed skin would label me as inappropriate. I read acceptable books...reading Rob Bell's book might label me as a heretic. I speak acceptable lingo...one wrong word, and I no longer love and live for Jesus.

Those are just two of the masks I identified myself as wearing. I could list quite a few more. And I've realized something: I miss me. I miss being who I really am. I miss being able to question aloud. I miss voicing my opinion, or lack of, for fear of not fitting the mold. I know that Jesus loves and accepts me without the masks, so I'm questioning why I feel the need to wear masks to gain love and acceptance from others. The question of authenticity and transparency creeps right into my face. Is there a time to put aside authenticity and transparency to be acceptable in my surroundings? Or do I risk being authentic and transparent to the point that others would be uncomfortable, and perhaps, offended? Those are the questions that must weave their way through my heart and mind, while I silently pray for answers.

Nothing and My Favorite Posts

2011-05-10T08:41:00.000-05:00

Sorry, friends...I have no words. I stare at the blank screen, waiting for an idea, a word, some thought worth putting into sentences. Nothing. Hopefully, words will overwhelm me soon. In the meantime...I'd love for you to share a link to a favorite blog post, one of your own or someone else's!

A few of my all-time favorite blog posts:

Do You Feel Judged? at Life Lived Fully

When You're Busy Being Angry at Grace Is For Sinners

God of the Third Chances at The Best Days of My Life

Enjoy reading! Let me know if you like those posts too!

Not the Only Freak

2011-05-05T08:33:00.000-05:00

Tornadoes are common in Alabama in the spring. Before last Wednesday, many of us didn't take the threat of danger seriously and went about our business. So last Wednesday morning, I set about on my storm-day routine. I don't know why, but when I know severe weather is on its way, I start cleaning. It's habit. I posted this on Facebook:

Is there such a thing as "nesting" before a storm??? I feel the strong need to get my house clean before it starts... Weird.

Now I could ramble on here about being prepared for the storms of life. Yes, that's important. But, instead, I want to take another route.

That one post received 27 comments. I was shocked at just how many other people have the same habit as I do. Cleaning and baking before a storm seems to be pretty much commonplace. I had no idea! And I don't think any of the other commenters did either. It was as if we all thought we were the only ones, and were quite surprised to find out other people did it too. I even posted this comment later in the thread:

This cracks me up. Y'all know I'm going to have to write a blog post about this: I expose my secret storm habit, thinking I'm a freak, only to find out there are a bunch of other freaks out there too!

Secrets have a way of making us feel lonely, like we're the only ones in the world who are carrying that burden. When we take the risk of exposing our secrets to others, we are usually filled with angst. But, often, an amazing thing happens. We often encounter many others who are hiding similar secrets, and feel the same loneliness as us.

It's a refreshing thing to live in community...to have a few, trusted friends with whom you can identify. I'm finding more and more of those friends...people who are willing to be authentic and transparent, to share life. I can't adequately describe the bond that develops between people when they share secret life experiences. I'm finding that I'm closer friends with people I hardly know than with people I've known for years. There's something to be said for transparency and authenticity:

Sometimes it just helps us realize that we're not alone, and that there are a bunch of other freaks out there too!

One Sentence

2011-05-04T08:34:00.000-05:00

I had a long blog post about the responses to the reactions of Bin Laden's death, but am on the fence about publishing it. So I'll sum it up with one sentence:

We claim and encourage authenticity until someone's opinion doesn't match ours.

Good Girls

2011-05-03T08:24:00.000-05:00

Years ago, when giving my testimony, I would present myself as the good girl. I was the girl who grew a preacher's daughter and never got into serious trouble. I prided myself on not having a life-changing testimony.

I'm not the only one. I've heard countless similar testimonies during women's small groups and Bible studies.

What I didn't share in my testimony back then was that while I had a good girl image, I had bad girl thoughts. I had private sins. I also had acceptable sins...gossip, white lies, among others.

When we present ourselves as having always been good, what good is our testimony? We may as well say that we don't really need Christ. We may as well say His sacrifice was in vain.

The Bible says No one is good except God alone (Luke 18:19).

We may appear good. Our sinful thoughts may never have been exposed. Our acceptable sins may not seem so bad. But, the truth is, we all sin. And to give a testimony in which we say that we are good and our lives haven't changed all that much...well, maybe we should just sit and be silent.

If we can't give the hope of a changed life to a lost world, what good is our testimony? No, our lives on the outside may not look all that different, but certainly when we realize that even our good deeds are as filthy rags, we will experience a heart change. And that's something to talk about!

Good girls, are you really all that good?

Just When I Think...

2011-05-02T07:50:00.000-05:00

Every time I start thinking I've got it all together {you know...life}, I am reminded that I most certainly do not. There've been at least half a dozen, if not more, times just this week that I've wished I could rewind a few seconds and have a do-over.

I'm great at speaking before I think.

I'm great at sarcasm.

I'm great at forgetting my own mess.

And all those things I'm so great at land me in trouble or leave me feeling guilty. I'm reminded of my imperfection.

I'm reminded that God is gracious for a reason: He knew I {we} would make a mess of things...repeatedly.

One Small Town

2011-04-28T21:45:00.000-05:00

Today was devastating as the sun rose. First light brought the first glimpses of the destruction left behind by violent, deadly winds. Alabamians, as well as the rest of the world, began to see the devastation that is much of the Heart of Dixie.

I spent the first few hours of the morning glued to my computer, viewing heartbreaking images of places once familiar. The more I saw, the more ridiculous I felt. I was sitting in my completely in-tact home, with power, with food, with water...with my completely unharmed children. I needed to do something. Anything.

The small town where my husband grew up, where we met and married, where my in-laws live, sustained major damage and destruction. I saw a Facebook friend's request for food, gas and water for that town. A friend and I decided to go. Other friends donated many, many items within an hour's time, and we were on our way. We delivered the items to the collection site, then we rode over to view the damage.

Sad can't even describe what we saw. We stood atop a hill, and looked down at the place that was once a town, now more similar to a war zone. We saw parked cars with piles of belongings next to them, which we assumed were the only items the owners salvaged from their destroyed homes. We watched volunteers clear debris. We saw groups of people gathered around grills and smokers. We stood in utter amazement that people were alive.

We talked with a gentleman who told of us his story of survival:

He was in his truck as the tornado arrived. He felt the truck shake violently, and as quickly as it began, it was over. When he got out, he realized his truck had first been lifted off the ground as his son's tricycle, which was previously next to the porch, was underneath his truck tire. The front porch of his home had broken off and landed on the hood of his truck. He was convinced that if not for that porch weighing down his truck, he would've been tossed in the air. Two of his three homes were completely demolished, while his third home sustained major damage. He was hungry, but clearly thankful to be alive.

This one small town, Cordova, Alabama, is just one of many that are in the preliminary stages of recovery. If you are a local reader, I encourage you to seek out ways to help. If you read from afar, prayers are much appreciated.

Some photos from Cordova

The Piggly Wiggly grocery store

The town's Methodist church

The local doctor's office

Dance costume

Prayers For Alabama

2011-04-27T21:41:00.000-05:00

I know many of you who read this blog are from different states and countries. I am requesting that you take a few moments to pray for the state of Alabama. I'm writing on Wednesday evening at 9:30 CST. At this time, there have been 53 confirmed deaths due to today's violent tornadoes. The death toll will probably rise on Thursday with the light of day. We have major destruction from one side of the state to the other. Clean-up efforts will be long and difficult.

My immediate family and I did not have damage, but some of our extended family members did. Most importantly, all our family members are accounted for and are safe. However, there are many in Alabama who cannot say the same.

Please pray for:

Families who have lost/missing loved ones

Families who have lost homes and/or businesses

Strenth and energy for clean-up crews, power crews

Recycling An Old Poem

2011-04-27T07:34:00.000-05:00

Inside Looking Out

Living inside these prison walls
Sunrise to sunrise, then again
My life is not my own
Sin cost me what might've been

From the inside looking out
Freedom is the cherished route

My soul ached within me
The choices I made brought me to this place
Guilt and shame were my constant companions
I longed for someone's mercy, some amazing grace

From the inside looking out
Freedom is the cherished route

I opened my heart but for a moment
A loving stranger showed me the way
His Jesus eyes spoke more than words
I found the peace that I so craved

From the inside looking out
Freedom is the cherished route

The continual torment in my mind now gone
In its place a love so great and divine
My heart found freedom even in these walls
All because Jesus the Savior became mine

Barefoot And In Pain

2011-04-26T07:37:00.000-05:00

My girls were down the street at a friend's house, and it was getting dark outside. I walked out on the front porch, and yelled their names a couple of times, hoping to get their attention. It was time to come home. My yelling did no good. They couldn't hear me. I was barefoot, but thought I'd just walk to the edge of the cul-de-sac and be able to get their attention. No such luck. I walked all the way down the street to the friend's house. All the while, my tender feet unhappy with the pebbles on the road beneath.

The girls hopped on their bicycles and sped past me towards home. Meanwhile, I was careful about each step. Those tiny, sharp rocks can hurt bare feet! I didn't want to look like a dufus to anyone who might see me, so instead of tiptoeing to spare my feet, I tried to walk normally, albeit slowly. By the time I made it back into our yard and walked through the grass, I felt like I may as well have been walking on broken glass.

I was reminded of the painful paths we sometimes walk. Rather than letting someone else see the pain in which we walk, we put on a smile and pretend everything is fine. I think this is especially true in the Christian community. We've so often been told that the Christian life is joy-filled, and giving in to pain is a weakness. But as I mentioned in Prepared Through Pain, God sometimes uses pain to prepare us to worship and obey Him.

I believe there are many among us who are walking painful paths, but are afraid to share their pain. They walk the path alone, thinking that no one else would understand. They try to make their walk look normal: smile in place, Sunday School answers on the tips of their tongues. But keeping up appearances while walking in pain is difficult. And the feeling of aloneness mixed with the lack of authenticity can just about cause gaping, bleeding wounds.

When you take the chance of opening up to share your painful walk with another, you just might be surprised. You might find that you're not alone. You might find others who have walked the same path, and who have found healing. You might find a true friend in someone you've kept at arm's length out of fear. You might find grace instead of condemnation.

Prepared Through Pain

2011-04-25T07:43:00.000-05:00

My Sunday School teacher pointed out something I'd never thought of. It was an aha! moment for me.

When the Israelites were in bondage as slaves to the Egyptians, they were constantly lifting and moving heavy stones. Their bodies must've been in great shape. When they left Egypt with Moses to go worship God, they probably didn't realize how all the physical labor as slaves was going to benefit them. God had them build a rather large and heavy altar for sacrifices, and the instructions included moving it on poles. They needed to be physically strong to do as He commanded. God had prepared them through the pain of slavery to be able to worship and obey Him.

In the midst of pain, it often seems that God is far away. And if that pain is a result of bondage or slavery to something, it may seem that it's unfair or too harsh. It's easy to wish the pain away, to want it to be over. But God may be using that pain to prepare you to worship and obey Him.

In my case, the pain I experienced as a result of my bondage to sin made me angry. I just wanted the hurt to go away. I didn't want to acknowledge that the pain was necessary to lead me to a place of healing.

Now on the other side of healing, I can see how God let me experience the pain to prepare me for what was ahead. I needed that pain to be able to share in the hurt of the people God puts in my path. Had I not experienced the pain, I wouldn't know how to pray for others walking the same path as I did. I can now relate to those who experience hard, painful times as a result of their sin. I can assure them that God can create beauty from ashes. I can offer them hope that healing is worth the pain.

And each time I share in another's hurt by listening to their story and by sharing mine, I worship God a little deeper.

Has God prepared you through pain and affliction to better worship and obey Him?

Resurrection Sunday

2011-04-24T05:00:00.001-05:00

The stone has been rolled away. The tomb is empty!

Why do you seek the living One among the dead?

Death has been defeated!

Prophecy has been fulfilled. Hope has been secured. Sufferings have been exchanged for glory.

Reconciliation.

Redemption.

Grace.

Jesus is risen! Let creation celebrate!

The Day Between

2011-04-23T08:16:00.000-05:00

I wonder about the middle day. That day between Jesus' death and His resurrection.

Judas has hanged himself. Peter has denied Christ and is, no dout, wallowing in his shame. The horror of the crucifixion is complete. Jesus' body is sealed in the tomb.

It's the Sabbath. Laws are kept.

It seems all hope is lost. The world declares victory.

What a dreadful, dark day for Jesus' followers.

I wonder if their thoughts continually turned toward times spent with Jesus. I wonder if they would've given anything to have Him back in the midst of them. I wonder if they wanted things just like they were before His death.

I wonder if in the forefront of their minds they silently begged, Give me Jesus.