In Their Youth.

On Saturday evening I stumbled upon this verse:

May our sons in their youth be like plants full grown,
our daughters like corner pillars cut for the structure of a palace. Psalm 144:12

This is what I noticed.

Our sons in their youth should be like full grown plants. In their youth, our sons should provide like a full grown plant provides food for a family. In their youth, our sons should already have a maturity and a focus to provide for their family.

Our daughters, likewise, should be strong enough to hold up the home in their youth. They should be pillars of strength, strong enough to hold true even when winds blow and the rains come. Some pillars maintain their stature after thousands of years, and this is what the writer of Psalms dreams for his daughters in their youth.

My goal as a parent is to raise my children to be responsible. As much as my selfishness aches for my children to constantly need me (and they do right now), my job as a parent is to raise them so they do not need me, so they can stand on their own in every way. I believe this is supposed to happen sooner rather than later.

My goal as a parent is to raise my children to know the LORD...now. I don't want to wait for them to acquire this knowledge on their own. I take ownership of their spiritual maturity because more than any other dream I have for my children whether it be a vast education, marital bliss, professional success, or the scientific discovery of cancer's cure, I want my children to know their creator, to bow in humble thanks at their Savior's feet.

I believe this can happen in my children's youth. I pray it can. The choice is theirs to hold the hand of Jesus or to hold the hand of the world, but as long as I have breath I will love, I will pray and I will lead them toward the Savior. I have witnessed the other option, and I plead with the Lord daily that my children avoid it.

When Christ is the goal, then the sewing of wild oats is never acceptable. It may happen, but should not be the common accepted norm among Christians. We should aim higher for our children. They are worth the effort. We will set our children on the path of success in many ways, right? We force them to get up for school. We sign them up for every athletic endeavor. We encourage them to love God and country in scouts. We aim for our kids to be good people, good athletes, good students, and good loyal patriots. Do we aim for them to be spiritually mature...in their youth.

The psalmist would suggest that in their youth children can do strong amazing things. I hope and pray that the path I set my children on leads them to become pillars and full grown plants in their youth rather than consumers and pleasure seekers expecting the world to provide all needs. I hope and pray that the path I set my children on leads them to seek God above all else because He IS the provider of all things.

Father, protect my children. Please give me the words and wisdom to train my children in your ways. I cannot do this on my own. My failures discourage me. My inadequacies silence me. Give me the strength to reveal your love to my children. Please give my children the courage to love you in their youth. 

Naked.

I realized the other day as my sons rebelliously chased through the living room dripping bath water all over my hardwood floors how thankful I am that they can enjoy this freedom, this innocence of being completely nude. The same night my youngest opened the front door stark naked after hearing the doorbell. Luckily, it was just one my my friends who simply laughed at the little exhibitionist. She has sons too.

Little boys know no shame. They will strip down to nothing in seconds. Then they most likely run squealing through the house out into the backyard without hesitation with a joyous free reckless abandon. A mother is hard-pressed to stop them, much less, coral them without at least a smirk.  

When my daughter was three we left her in the house napping (we thought) while my husband and I painted the shutters in the front yard. Within two minutes my dear sweet daughter stripped down to nothing and plastered her little body to the front picture window. There she was in her birthday suit with her little nose squished against the glass waving and grinning from ear to ear. No shame, only freedom.

It causes me great pain to consider that my children will experience shame in their life. They will make mistakes. They will experience embarrassment. They will be will mocked. Thanks to their psychological genetic pool, pangs of guilt may steal away their smiles. One day, they may hide. One day, they may hesitate before looking in the mirror. One day their joy and innocence may be stolen. 

One of the freedoms of Christ that I hope to build into my children is an understanding of grace. 

Grace to run free without shame. 

Grace to stare into the mirror and see a forgiven and loved face smiling back.

Grace to joyously run with reckless abandon to our merciful Father.

Grace to be naked with imperfections washed away abandoning the ugly past behind them.

Grace to be freed from the bonds of sin and shame.

I know my children will grow out of silly streaking, I hope. For now, I treasure their sweet innocence.

Thank you, Father, for freeing us from our bonds of slavery. Thank you for washing us clean and finding us perfect and beautiful. Thank you for your grace.

For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy. Hebrews 10:14

Refined by Fire, literally.

Moments ago we had an exciting adventure. I threw left over pizza in our oven to heat for lunch (reheating pizza in a microwave does not produce good results, in my opinion). Four minutes into the heating my youngest screamed, "FIRE!!!" I ran into the kitchen to find our oven full of flames.

I turned to my daughter and said, "Get Micah (our youngest) outside."
I looked straight at Elijah, our middle child, and said, "Go outside now."

No one moved. Instead they all started screaming. Great. Thinking I've totally dropped the ball on my kid's fire safety education I grabbed a bag of flour, slowly opened the oven, threw some flour at the burning element, closed the door, yanked the oven away from the wall and unplugged. Children screaming, fire still burning, smoke filling the kitchen, I grab more flour to throw on the flames more concerned about the drama ensuing around me and frustrated that I forgot to clean the oven in the first place.

Elijah screams, "Why you throwin' that, Mom? THROW WATER!!!!"
Lily, our oldest, "WHERE'S THE PHONE!!!"
Our youngest vanished completely, but I hear him crying.

I turn again to ask Lily to get Micah and get everyone outside rather impressed with myself for staying calm considering three screaming children and a flaming pizza staring me down.

For the last month my children have attempted to destroy one another physically and emotionally. The last few weeks have been tough for me not to completely fly off the handle and send every one of them to military school in Russia. They do not like each other. They rarely show love to one another. We force them to hug and say bedtime "I love yous". They are mean and nasty and intentionally cruel to each other. Since we don't allow any kind of hitting in our house even at play, my children utilize verbal artillery rather often and those word wounds hurt much worse than a black eye, and the pain from them certainly lasts longer than a bruise. At any rate, my prayer life over the last month has included the fractured relationships between my kids. Today I witnessed an answer to my prayer in our charcoaled lunch.

Finally after my third pleading, Elijah ran outside the house into the backyard. I could hear him crying out there alone. The flour finally and thankfully snuffed out the last of the flames. I turned to find my youngest standing in the middle of the living room sniffing and snuffing and my oldest sobbing about not being able to call the fire department to save our lives (no drama here, not a bit!).

I grabbed both of them and went out into the backyard. Immediately we formed a family hug. Everyone was clinging onto each other and sobbing into one another. They revealed their true love for each other as I witnessed each of them look into their sibling's eyes crying and squeezing each other tighter into the hug. I knew what was going on. They were thankful we were all OK. So am I! We stood there for a good fifteen minutes without one fuss or whine about personal space or someone's bad breath. I finally started a prayer and thanked God for saving us from the fire and always providing so much for us. Micah finished the prayer thanking God for all the firemen in the "werld". No one wanted to let go of our little family hug.

In truth, it wasn't a big deal. I've had friends who lost everything in a house fire or natural disasters, but to my children a big fire in our home was terrifying. God used this moment to first and foremost prove his provision of safety for our family. Secondly to reveal to me that my children DO love each other. They LOVE each other!!! And finally, God worked in our lives to reveal and remind us how quickly life can change. I'm so glad HE is our constant, our Rock, our Safe Place.

We walked back inside the house to find our pug finishing off our salad and, of course, the pizza was no more than a black powdery mess.  Everyone had to run to their rooms and check on special stuffed animals, and I got to work on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I guess I'll clean out the oven today and probably buy a new element. Life goes on.

Giving up: A parent's daydream.

Allow me a moment to be excruciatingly honest regarding parenting.

Sometimes, albeit rarely, sometimes I want to give up. I just want to run to my room, lock my door, climb into bed, cover my head up with a pillow, and pretend that no one else exists in the world... especially people shorter that four foot nine. I want to cry myself a river about how exhausting it is to parent. I want to make mac n' cheese everyday for three weeks and then begin a regime of ramen noodles for two months. I want to refuse to clean the bathroom. I would like to never under any circumstances set one toe inside my laundry room again. I'd rather burn my refrigerator in the neighbor's front yard while wildly dancing circles around the flames than clean it out one more time. Most of all I'd just like to stop hearing myself saying 'no'.

You wanna' pick your nose and wipe it somewhere that was once clean? Go right ahead.

You wanna' refuse to wash after going to the bathroom? Here's a snack.

You wanna' kick your brother for no reason? Be my guest.

You wanna' wear bright red lipstick and eyeliner at age ten? Here, take my mascara.

Oh, you're gonna throw a tantrum because he ate the last cracker? Ok. Pardon me, my bubble bath is getting cold.

We started daily summer bible studies last year, and it proved to be a big blessing. For the most part, this summer has also been great studying the bible with my kids. They are learning God's word, which is paramount to me. This morning started out like all the others except no one was focused. It came to a head when right in the middle of a song (Get Away Devil, don't bother me!) my youngest began screaming because his older brother stomped on his foot. Then, of course, we heard the always present justification of (I bet you can guess) "he stepped on me first!" 

On any other day this would be a normal occurrence, and I just would address the stomping of feet, redirect everyone's attention and move on. Except today, of all days, the lesson was on the temptation of Christ. We had JUST talked about temptation and making good decisions even when everyone else around us is being naughty. I just sat there stunned with the realization setting in that perhaps none of this time, none of this effort will ever pay off in the end. 

Maybe my children will never accept Christ as Savior. Maybe my children will walk away from their parent's faith. Maybe the world will triumph over them and will win in this tug of war for their hearts. It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about it, but maybe all my prayers and love will be in vain. In the end, my children make the decision to follow or not follow Christ. I can't make that decision for them.

In that moment, I wanted to run my room and hide behind my locked door and give up. I wanted to just not try, rather than try and watch them take a different road. I wanted to drown out all whining and squealing with my pillow and somehow justify never mentioning God to them again and never making them sit and listen to another story of Christ. I mean, after all, bible knowledge won't get them into heaven, right!?! Just because you can recite verse after verse of scripture it doesn't make you holy or righteous. What a waste of time! They could be out playing and soaking up that summer sun! I need to log some hours of work anyway. They'll learn all this stuff in Sunday school. They don't need me.

Then the words of the silly song we were singing began to sink in...

'Get away devil, don't bother me. 

Jesus has set me free. 

Get away devil, don't bother me. 

For I belong to God's family.

I will, I will, I will do what God says!

I will, I will, I will do what God says!'

and I realized my temptation was to give up and walk away from my responsibility as a parent.

It is easier to not parent. 

It is easier to let children raise themselves. 

It is easier to never discipline your child. 

It is easier to never make them eat peas. 

It is easier to take all the responsibility and hand it to them and hope they end up OK.

It is easier to never expect them to memorize scripture.

It is easier to never expect anything from them.

It is easy to give up. 

As of now, I don't want to take the easier road. They are worth me trying. Even though, they will indeed make their own decisions about life and Christ, I never want to look back and regret not taking the time to teach them and prepare them just a little for what the world will dish out. Either I will fill their hearts with the knowledge of God, or the world will fill their hearts with something very different. I want to be first to fill their little minds.

I'm not giving up. True love always perseveres. I want to love them, truly. 

These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.  ~ Deuteronomy 6:6-7

Love Labels.

Ten years ago, keeping up a weekly duty, my ministering dad wrote a bulletin article. I wanted to share some tidbits from this article on Father's day to celebrate not only a faithful servant of God, but to share that I come from a long line of love and compassion for the hurting. May I ever strive to maintain and honor this legacy.

There is a noticeable change in our world today in the realm of compassion. It seems that even in the church compassion has lost its touch for fellow Christians. Compassion is seeing and understanding the hurting and distress of others, along with doing what one can to help and alleviate it, thus helping the emotional, grieving, and trying situations of others within the body of Christ. It is a spiritual consciousness of the personal tragedy of another. 

In our society there are many organizations that truly do tremendous work, and certainly we honor them for their great efforts to serve humanity. But, what we must realize is that does not take the place of our personal responsibility in the family of God. Just because we give to a charitable organization, including the collection plate at worship, does not mean that we have accomplished our duty with showing compassion. We all need to be aware of the body of Christ and not neglect to show compassion. 

This week think upon the sanctity of human life and the preciousness of life itself. Try to think beyond self and realize how precious each life is, just as Jesus did with a complete stranger, one that was caught in adultery, John 8:3-11. Many have walked out of the presence of the church because of never being made to feel a part or even feeling a heartbeat of compassion. These may be just the ones that needed so desperately to be a part of the body of Christ for their mere existence. 

I've been labeled a lot things in my life. Some labels I own. Others I do not. Certainly, the only label that matters is Christ. But here are a couple more that I wear with pride:

I am the daughter of a lover of THE LORD. I am the daughter of a man who gave years of his life to serve the hurting, the seeking, the lonely. He gave up riches and earthly status. He served with humility when doors slammed in his face. He left the land of his youth, his family, and his home to serve the King of Kings. He was faithful and loyal to his wife and raised his daughters to know the Lord. He served one Master, and one alone. He lifted his head high through mocking from even the closest of relations as he looked up to his Savior and focused on the mission. I am proud to be his daughter. If you must label me a PK (preacher's kid), do it. I love it. I own it.

I am the wife of a lover of THE LORD. I am the wife of a man who devotes his life to sharing God's love and His Word with the young. I am the wife of a man who loves an age group who takes a lot of hits just for being young, and yet he loves them. I am the wife a man who passionately wants to see the church serve the hurting, the seeking, the lonely. I am the wife of a man who left the land of his youth, his family and his home to serve the King of Kings. He is faithful and loyal to me and raises his children to know the Lord. He serves one master, and one alone. He lifts his head high through mocking from even the closest of relations as he looks up to his Savior and focuses on the mission. I am proud to be his wife. If you must label me a minister's wife, do it. I love it. I own it.

Finally, if you must label me, label me with Christ. Label me as one who will seek out the hurting and reach out to the community. Label me as the noisemaker that tries to remind the church to remember it's place as 'servant' and not 'the served'. Label me as a lover of the LORD and of the mission to serve and to share HIS love.

Thank you, Father, for my daddy. Thank you for his example of what a servant of Christ is. Thank you for his heart of compassion.

Thank you, Father, for my husband. Thank you for his example of what a servant of Christ is. Thank for for his heart of compassion.

Thank you, Father, for loving us even when we neglect to love others.

Father, help me to raise my children to remember and honor this legacy of Love. Help me to raise servants of Your cause of Love.

When all is said and done.

It won't matter what bag I carried,
what team I cheered for,
what mascara never smudged,
what car I drove,
what my occupation was,
whether my children loved me,
whether my marriage failed or succeeded,
whether I was popular,
whether I owned a home,
whether I made any money at all,
what I wore to prom,
what state I lived in,
whether you like me or not,
what my furniture looked like,
what brand of clothing/jewelry/makeup I used,
whether my hair was short/long/or completely gone,
whether I lost the extra baby weight or not.

When all is said and done, all that matters is if I loved others the way Christ loved me.

You see, I can work my hardest to try to fit in.
I can work my hardest to lose a ton of weight or none at all.
I can work my hardest to make more money than anyone else.
I could even work my hardest to try to please everyone just so they'll love me back.

When all is said and done, my work is meaningless unless I love others the way Christ loved me.

We could build the biggest safest church building.
We could offer the best Sunday School in town.
We could create the flashiest worship service.
We could hire the most gifted preacher this side of the Mississippi,
We could sing the most beautiful songs and congratulate each other on a job well-edified.

But, when all is said and done our church is pointless and futile, unless we love others the way Christ loved us.

Christ loved the dirty, the broken, the hurting, the loud, the unwanted, the forgotten, the needy. He loved the dangerous, the threatening, the sinful, the scorned. Do we?

When all is said and done I never want to look back and question what I loved.

Mom Lessons.

My mom deserves more than a blog entry, but my mom would never ask for more. She, like many other moms, put herself last. My mom taught me many lessons by never saying a word. These are some of those life lessons.

My mom taught me to tell people how you feel, but to recognize that you may not always be right.

My mom taught me to go to worship even when you don’t feel like it, because you may bless others by being there and worship is not about us.

My mom taught me to always put my best foot forward as God expects our first fruits not our leftovers.

My mom taught me to respect authority. She never told me not to question, but she did expect me to respect my elders in word and deed.

My mom taught me that wisdom often means turning off the TV, walking out of movies, and walking away from negative friendships.

My mom taught me to never slander and to ignore gossip.

My mom taught me to work in and outside the home and never complain.

My mom taught me to be loyal to my husband even when irritated with him. A commitment is a commitment. A vow is a vow.

My mom taught me that it is OK to move away from parents to further the gospel because Jesus is number one.  She would rather have no other number one than Christ.

My mom taught me to appreciate home cooked meals and to always try something before deciding that you don’t like it…even okra.

My mom taught me to be a professional woman who doesn’t demand respect, but one who displays it and earns it.

My mom taught me that you will, indeed, catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

My mom taught me that beauty comes from the inside… and a little mascara.

My mom taught me to appreciate the creation by planting a garden and watching God provide the increase. If the weeds come, don’t complain just get rid of them before they kill the beans.

My mom taught me to never demand gifts, never expect praise, and never pout till getting attention. Although, gifts from her were many, praise constant, and attention from her consistent.

My mom taught me that feminism was faulty, but that equality was God-given.

My mom taught me to never stop learning.

My mom taught me that money does not bring happiness, and that life is not found in things. Birthdays and Christmas are not about gifts.

My mom taught me to put Christ at number one, my husband at number two, my children at number three, and my church family at number four. All else is somewhere down the priority list.

My mom taught me that living right is a better means to teach the gospel than just talk. She said, "actions speak louder than words." Nevertheless, words are what spread the gospel and she taught me to never be ashamed to tell the good news of Jesus Christ.

My mother means many things to me: She is my role model, an example of professionalism, motherhood, ministry and womanhood. She taught me the message of Christ and passed down a rich heritage of faith. She was/is faithful to her Lord, my God. She was/is loyal to her husband, my dad.  I am who I am because of my mother.

I love you mom. I miss you, but I know, more than anyone else, you understand.

Happy late Mother’s Day, mom.

Treadmills and Broken Toys.

Training your son to 'turn the other cheek' in a culture where the 'boys will be boys' philosophy reigns is more than difficult. Like most boys, my boys are active wiggly noise makers. I love them for that. From day one with each of my children, my goal has been to teach them biblical wisdom rather than merge them into the pop cultural trend of the moment. For my daughter this is surprisingly gender equalizing, thanks to my good friend Paul, the apostle. "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, we are all one in Christ Jesus." Galatians 3:28

For my sons, this is a wee bit more difficult.

I can't tell you which plays into gender roles more, nurture or nature. We could debate that all year, I suppose. What I can express to you, from my experience, is that to some degree both nurture and nature create who our children are and become. A fact that should wake parents up any day of the week.

My experience with my eldest son has been quite educational to say the least. He is the proverbial bull in the china cabinet... but with a heart that breaks when he discovers his guilt in breaking the china. He is a jewel, indeed. He is all boy, as they say, without a doubt! But with the addition of a rare tenderness and compassion that keeps him from walking away from a hurting friend on the playground. In our house we believe that self-control is paramount and that there is no excuse for hurting another person whether in play or retaliation hence the 'turn the other cheek' philosophy.

The last few weeks we've worked on training him to play gently with his toys rather than launch them across the house for use as artillery especially when our pug dog is in close proximity. He's doing better and better with this. We made a deal the other day that if I found another broken toy, he would lose that toy for good to someone else or to the trash can. He agreed to this and vowed to do a better job of being careful and respectful of his things.

Tonight as I tucked him into bed I noticed two toys broken on the floor. I asked him about it, and he knew where the conversation was heading. He confessed to throwing them and then began to sob. Between gasps for breath as he dramatically waved good-bye to a trick-track robot he said, "Mommy! My heart wants to be good! My heart is so good! My body, though. It messed up! It's bad, Mommy, but my heart is good! Really it is!" I stopped in my tracks.

My sweet son's middle name is Paul. Immediately, it was my good friend Paul, the apostle, that came to my mind again.

"I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate." Romans 7:15

"For I know nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing." Romans 7:18 

I run. Every morning I run on a treadmill. I hate it, but I need to do it. I know it is good for me. Those endorphins give me energy and mood boost, and so I begrudgingly do it. This very morning as I sweat through the first half of mile 2, I just stopped. I gave up. While gasping for air and dragging myself over to my water bottle, I started telling myself how stupid it is to run on a treadmill. You never get anywhere (especially when you keep stopping before finishing your two mile goal). Suddenly, I began thinking about my life. I began to dwell on where I wanted to be by now.

I wanted to run a 5 K. Clearly, I'm not ready.
I wanted to weigh 20 pounds less at this age. Again, clearly, not happening.
I wanted to be kinder to my husband.
I wanted to publish a book.
I wanted to have a regular prayer life.
I wanted to finally organize my closet.
I wanted to have read through the Bible X amount of times...by now.

The list goes on and on. I think our Savior sums it up nicely for us when he said, "The spirit is indeed willing, but the flesh is weak." Matthew 26:41.

I climbed up to the top bunk to hug away my son's frustration and tears tonight. We talked about Paul. We talked about how hard it is to make good choices when everything around us tells us otherwise. I confessed to him that I mess up everyday. (He didn't seem as surprised at my fallibleness, or imperfection, as I had expected. I guess my kids notice more than I thought.) We prayed together that God give us the strength to try even when it seems we are not getting anywhere.

My good friend Paul, also apparently frustrated by this treadmill life, doesn't leave us alone on our worn conveyor belts hurdling our broken toys. He reveals that there is an end in sight. Praise God!

"There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of LIFE  has set your FREE from the law of sin and death." Romans 8:1

Friends, bad days come. Horrible decisions happen. The attempt to try is what we cannot give up. We may lose battle after battle after horrifying battle, but our Savior has won the war. When we couldn't, he did, and I'm so very thankful we can share in the victory.

"..in all these things we are more than conquerors through HIM who loved us." Romans 8:37

Trampoline Anticipation and Easter.

Last summer we bought a trampoline for the backyard. I can’t describe the joy and laughter that came with the addition of this bouncy death trap. We all, yes myself included, bounced our way through the summer and learned all sorts of tricks that our ogling neighbor witnessed. I'm sure we gave him more dinner conversation than he'd like. We dismantled our new toy in late fall to keep it in good condition for the next year.

Almost daily since February my daughter has asked her daddy when he would put the trampoline back up. I'm not going to mince words here, he's sick of hearing about the trampoline. If my daughter forgets to ask, then one of the boys dutifully fill in for her. It has nearly driven my sweet husband crazy. He finally set a date to put the thing up thinking the questions would stop. (Are all the mothers out there laughing?) Now, like any other normal child, they ask him every morning while he is pouring his first cup of coffee..."Daddy how much longer till the day we put up the trampoline?" I can tell you that the day that broken-leg-waiting-to-happen goes up there will be so much rejoicing from both parties that the neighborhood will undoubtedly hear cheers and shrieks of joy. My husband may shed tears as he walks in relieved of his duties.

This same man that my children harass daily about the trampoline is also the man they eagerly wait to see everyday. Every day I hear the question, "When is daddy going to be home?" Every day I watch my six year old son sit in the window and wait with anticipation for his “best friend daddy” to come home. And when daddy gets home it is always as if he's been gone for weeks; six little feet run to hug him...and to ask about the trampoline.

On Sunday some wonderful soul had the notion to put a countdown on the screen to let us know when worship was to begin. My daughter and her close friend counted down with the timer. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2…

Every Sunday we have the opportunity to worship our Father, our awe inspiring Creator. I wish I had the sweet eagerness, expectancy, and anticipation of my children. I wish every day closer to Sunday was full of more excitement and thrill. I wish everyone who professed Christ had the keen conviction that one day a week for one small hour we have the blessing to stand together before the Lord and say "Thank you, Glorious Father for setting us free from sin and death!"

I promise you, if we all shared this anticipation for worship there would no longer be discouraged worship ministers and preachers asking themselves what they are doing wrong. Meager, monotonous and thoughtless Sundays would be replaced with joyous momentous and memorable worship where God is praised and His people are edified.

Easter is upon us, dear ones.
Easter: the day we are reminded of our triumphant Savior, our generous Savior.
Easter: when the rest of the world recognizes a Christian day that proclaims the very gospel of our risen Lord.
Easter: the day that brings us to our knees in unworthiness and exalts us to an unfathomable redemption.

I am here to tell you, every day is Easter. I am here to tell you, every Sunday praise service is an opportunity to remember Easter. He is the reason we rejoice. He is the reason we sing. He is the reason we are.

We don’t just meet together to beat the Baptists to the IHOP, friends. We don’t come together on Sunday’s to share the latest iphone purchase or compare the latest shoe sale find. We are not there to proclaim us. We are there to proclaim Him. Forget you. Praise Him.

This Easter season, may you eagerly and with anticipation make time to come together with a body of believers and worship our Savior. Recognize the wonder and unfathomable greatness of an undeserved salvation through the perfect Lamb. Praise Him with all you have. Sing without shame. Experience and share the joy of our risen Lord. Worship. Anticipate the arrival of our King. He is risen.

A Month on a Deserted Island: Week 2.

The world has changed. A Facebook fast makes TV news not really relevant again, but a revived necessity, and I am not impressed. I miss my friends' commentaries and the timely posting of news and/or updates from friends. Thanks to social media all you have to do is sign in to that blue news wonder and voilà you know if your friend in Japan survived an earth-axis changing, island moving 8.9 earthquake (provided they can get to a computer). Why exactly would I choose to sit through our local traffic report when a friend across the ocean may or may not be in a life threatening situation? Internet news sources continue to threaten the populous' opportunities to improve patience.

Please continue to pray for the people of Japan.

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Come and see what the LORD has done,
the desolation he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
He says, "Be still, and know that I am God";
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”

The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

~Psalm 46

Love Letters.

When my husband and I were dating we had a long distance relationship

during the summer break. It stunk. Needless to say, absence did make the heart grow fonder and we wrote letter after letter after letter to each other. Clearly, this was pre-email. Yes, I am that old. At this point, my daughter would ask if a pony delivered our mail.

I cherished his letters. I still have them tucked away wrapped up with a ribbon. Sometimes he would write me during his breaks at work and only have a napkin to use as paper, but he would write a letter on that napkin and mail it anyway.

I think I drove our mailman nuts because I would wait for him to show up and then just stare at him as he stuffed our box. Then I would dash like a madwoman and tear through the mail discarding all my parents’ bills and junk mail all through the house till I found something addressed to me. I read those letters over and over and over during those long summer days. I would hang on every word and evaluate every sentence. I could almost hear Dave's voice through his pen especially when he was saying something funny. I like to believe that our letters kept our relationship alive during the long wait for the next semester to begin.

When my daughter started school and I began to make her sack lunch everyday, I would write on her napkin a little note telling her that I loved her or “Have a great day!” A month into school, I cleaned out her backpack to find every one of those napkins tucked away. I asked her why in the world she kept her napkins. She responded, “Because they were notes from you, mom.”

If you are anything like me, you struggle with throwing away your kids art work especially when it is something sentimental. My son loves to draw pictures of our family together, and in every picture we are all holding hands. One of these days, he will deny this so I’m writing it down and laminating the proof that he loved his parents and his sister so much.

All these ‘love letters’ are precious to me. There is something special about them.

I wish so much that I could treat scripture like my love letters because essentially that what scripture is. These letters, these compilations from believers of the past, are our connection to an experience that we will never witness physically.

Scripture shares with us the word of our God, yet we so quickly dismiss studying it or memorizing it. We even make fun of some believers for carrying bibles with them everywhere or even carrying bibles in to worship. We hesitate to quote it out of fear. We discount learning it. We don’t believe it applies to us. We don’t believe the authors understand us. We question it's relevance.

My mother made me carry my bible into worship every Sunday morning and Wednesday night starting as early as age three. It became another appendage to me. I am thankful for that. I want the same for my children.

I can already hear the naysayers saying, “Bible knowledge won’t get you into heaven.” You are right. It won’t. But I don’t want to stand before my creator and say, “Oh, I had your love letter. I just didn’t have time or care enough to learn about your sacrifice. You’ll forgive me, right?”

Furthermore, I refuse to teach my children that scripture is unimportant in their walk of faith and I find it alarming that so many parents disregard scripture in their children's spiritual education entirely. Shame on us.

If I knew that my sweet husband never read the letters I sent him it would crush me, even now, fifteen years later. If I knew that my daughter never cared about those napkins I sent to school with her, it would make me cry. If I thought for one second that my sentimental son didn’t know how much I cherish his drawings it would kill me.

Don’t I owe my Creator and my Savior and the men who walked before me some attention?

God help me to read your words. Help me to dive in and study every single letter, chapter, verse, and word. Help me to commit to know you. Help me to write your words on my heart and the hearts of my family. Father, speak to me through your love letters.

God at Work.

Over the last several days at dinner time I committed to asking my kids this question “How did you see God at work in your life today?”. Considering this is a deeply spiritual question for a three, five and nine year old, they’ve done remarkably well. Of course, their responses have been anywhere from “Well, you put candy in my lunch today!” to “I chose to be nice when the other kids were being mean.” Nevertheless, it is great to see their young minds think about God actively working in their lives.

This morning, just like every other morning, my nine year old daughter was stressing about the day ahead and rushing to get her shoes on about ten seconds after we should have been on our way to school. She began to rant about her planner and demanded me to sign it, a ritual we do every night when she comes home.

I said, “I am pretty sure I already signed that, Lil.” She immediately got angry and accused me of not doing it. She then began to accuse me of not making her lunch for the day. I told her it was done and waiting on the counter. She then accused me of never doing anything for her. This is an exact quote. “You never do anything for me.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Are you kidding? I’ve never done anything for you? Without going into the twenty plus hours of painful labor, I began to recount in my mind all the hours without sleep holding her when she cried, the last nine years of staying home abandoning my professional career for her, the hundreds of lunches, thousands of nail painting parties/tea parties, loads of laundry, piano lessons, and countless prayers for her safety. I just could not believe she had the audacity to say that to me!

Her dad heard this conversation. He immediately, and in no uncertain terms, explained that she was terribly wrong and owed me a big apology. Through tears she came into the kitchen and held out her little arms and said, “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

Instantly, as I wrapped my arms around my now sobbing daughter, I realized she is nine. She is a kid, a great kid who rarely does anything with hateful intentions. She is a child. Why would she remember all the countless hours of parenting? In her eyes, life is what it is, she has two parents who love her, an endless supply of food to eat and a warm place to snuggle in at night. She has no basis of comparison, yet. I hate that one day she will notice the atrocities and horrors in this world. I don’t want her to see what nightmares exist out there for some children. For now, she is a child that enjoys blessing without understanding how blessed she truly is.

I’m not much different than she in the eyes of God. So often I complain about life, and yet look how I am blessed! How dare I ever complain to the maker and provider of every breath I take when He has given so much!!!

On the way into the car for the trip to school she turned to me again and said, “Mom, I’ve already seen God at work today.”

I said, “Oh yeah, baby? How?”

She said, “Because you forgave me.”

Dear Father, thank you for my daughter! She teaches me so much everyday. She humbles me and touches my heart so deeply with her sweet spirit. Please help me to be the mommy she needs. Please don’t let her grow bitter because of my mistakes. Thank you for your endless blessings and your love. Thank you for forgiving me when I needed it so desperately! Amen.

Monkey Bars and Loyal Friends.

My daughter had a rough day last week. She and her three best friends decided to embark on a new journey to the top of the monkey bars. What may not seem like a big deal to you turned out to be a huge ordeal for my young lady and her loyal friends. You see, at Lily’s school the top of monkey bars is “reserved” for the cool kids. On this particular day, Lily and her friends decided to get into forbidden territory.

Now, for average people, climbing to the top of the circle monkey bars is easy. For my daughter (and her mother) this is no small feat. Unfortunately, we both lack a little in the coordination department. This lack of physical grace is not a big deal to us. We are not in denial and laugh it off on most days exchanging stories of when and where we tripped almost every day. We still are amazing prima donnas in the middle of the kitchen while making dinner, and we are sure God loves to watch us twirl and dance together.

Lily and her friends made it to the top of those monkey bars together that day. Once they made it, they were quickly informed by the monkey bars bouncers that they were in the wrong place and they needed to get down immediately. Easily intimidated by mean girls, the loyal four started down together.

If you are at all intimidated by heights the trip down monkey bars is much more taxing than the climb up, as the ground appears so far away and visions of falling become all too real in your head. I speak from experience.

As soon as the girls started back down, the crowd from the top began to hurl insults and ridicule the four trespassers. My daughter froze under the onslaught of the anxiety of the trip down and the layered stress thrown upon her by the onlookers.

That night as she told me how she made it down I was so touched. She shared that she could not have made down without her friends, and that every step she took they were there cheering her on. She said she kept breathing deep and trying to block out the verbal arrows from the mean kids and focused on the good awaiting her at the bottom: her three friends. She made it. That night she was so thankful to have friends who stood by her even when the popular crowd was above mocking and taunting. Those are exactly the kind of friends I want my daughter to have, and that night we thanked God together for those special girls.

In my own life I see the rich blessings that come from friendship and how completely necessary it is to have loyal friends. When things are rough the last thing you need is a fair-weather friend! I am abundantly blessed with amazing friends who don’t just tickle my ears, but who love me enough to pray for and with me, to tell me when I am absolutely in the wrong, and to walk with me through the horrors of life holding my hand and cheering me onward.

I believe that the necessity of relationship for healthy living is one of the best arguments for being a committed part of a congregation of believers. In a culture that is quickly becoming more individualistic and isolated in our means of communication, in acceptance of pluralism, and in a disregard for living a moral life, a community of believers encourages us to press on ignoring the insults that may come. A community of believers reminds us we are not alone. Churches must be a soft place for believers to come for love, discipleship, and friendship. We must lean on each other and trust in each other.

Today I am thankful for my dear friends! May I always strive to be a better friend to them every day.

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work; If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Follow Your Heart or Run like your Pants are on Fire.

Every once in a while I stumble across a verse in scripture that blows my mind. Yesterday, I had one of those mind blowing experiences.

How often have you heard a well-meaning parent, teacher, coach, mentor, or even a counselor offer the soundest of wisdom by saying, "Just follow your heart." Yep, me too. Billions of times, right? Following our hearts seems to be the answer to every dilemma if you watch afternoon TV, see a chick-click, or hear a commencement address. Read this verse that God lead me to this week while studying for my ladies bible class...

"The heart is deceitful above all things,
and desperately sick; who can understand it?
I the LORD search the heart and test the mind,
to give every man according to his ways,
according to the fruit of his deed." ~Jeremiah 17:9-10

Whoa whoa whoa! So all those "wise" words from "wise" folks about following your heart to be truly happy...nonsense, complete and utter nonsense.  According to Jeremiah our hearts can lead us astray. Our hearts can be desperately sick. Our feelings can lead us down a path that is not only unhealthy, but is wrought with sin which inevitably leads to death.

This verse explains that God searches the heart and tests the mind to reveal the fruit of the deeds of man. Now tell me, if we follow our hearts straight into disobedience, what is the fruit of those disobedient acts?

Think about it. How many folks do you know who "follow their hearts" right out of their marriage vows? Or "follow their hearts" into some pretty sticky, if not horrible, consequences? I know plenty. I'm certain you do too.

I think this "follow your heart" regime all goes back to one of the biggest lies satan ever told, which is God only desires our happiness and the filling of our stomachs with the simple bite of a delicious fruit. I'm sorry to disappoint everyone out in internet land, but I don't buy that. Our all-powerful creator, God, calls us to obedience. Frankly, obedience sometimes really stinks. If you don't believe me, ask my three-year-old cookie eating machine. In the end though, I know what is best for my son, and God knows what is best for us even if we are not happy following His will at the time.

From here on I think I'll be even more careful of my feelings. Feelings, although relevant, do not always speak truth. Feelings can mislead and manipulate. From here on I'll listen to the brain God gave me and pray for wisdom to discern my steps. From here on I'm going to run in the opposite direction if my heart attempts to lead me astray. I hope you do, too.

All the way, My Savior Leads Me

This morning was the first ladies class of the fall semester for our congregation. I’ve missed it. Truth be told, I’ve been in denial about missing it. Actually, all summer long I kept telling myself that I don’t have time for it. But, as I sat there this morning amidst friends who encourage me, I realized it is right where I need to be. Honestly, it is hard to make it, having two small people to get ready for school each day, and one following me around asking for “meeeelk” every five seconds, and one big person who grumpily requires coffee before gracing the world with his beautiful blue eyes, and to top it off having the blessing of a new job to work into the mix..and all this happens before I can look in the mirror or brush my teeth. I barely make it, and most of the time I’m late.

The truth is I like to tell myself and others how busy I am. I AM busy. So is everyone else. Sometimes I wonder if we all attempt to comfort each other with pats on our busy backs. “I’m busy. You’re busy. We’re all busy together.” I’ll be the one to jump out there and say, there are some things that I make a priority and other things that I don’t. What I’ve noticed working with congregations is that a lot of times it’s the “church things” that get cut out when life gets busy. It is the personal spiritual growth disciplines that no outsiders witness that get cut out when the grind really gets in the way.

I had a weird conversation with my best friends the other day. Laugh if you must, but I honestly was concerned that the only time I have to talk to God lately is when I’m in the bathroom. My friends and I discussed the daily craziness associated with life and how little time is left for spirituality. I sincerely am worried that I’m offending the maker of heaven and earth that I only give him my potty break. How horrible is that?!? I don’t want more grace here. I don’t want anyone to tell me that I should not feel bad about that. It is a problem, and I can do better than a bathroom prayer session. I owe more to my creator and savior.

No matter how much I’d like to believe that I am steered around at the mercy of my militant pocket calendar. I set the dates. I write them down. I am completely capable of saying no. I can contest; it’s easiest to say no to God, the unseen. It is easiest to make a priority of what the world deems a priority. The tangible requirements are easiest to remember. I know this. I live this, too. My question is this, where's the faith behind saying yes to all the tangibles and leaving our unseen God out in the cold for another day when there's time? There may never come another day with more time.

This is what happens to me when I push prayer to the last of my agenda. I justifiably put my rigid schedule in control. Ironically, I start to control MY life. I start to panic about paying bills, putting food on the table, the education of my children, a PhD for my husband, and anything else that can squeeze its way into my self-inflicted anxiety attack. The provisions of God slip out of view, and before I know it, I’m meeting Him in the bathroom for seconds at a time. That’s when I have to look myself in the mirror as I wash my hands and see that His own creation only offers Him potty time conversation. And that, my friends, that’s when I realize my priorities are out of whack because I’ve pushed my God into the last available space on my calendar removing Him from God-status to second place, maybe third.

As I sat down to work this afternoon, the melody of an old hymn popped in my head. I heard this melody over and over as I waited for everything to boot up. This has happened to me before. I can’t figure out what hymn it is, and I have to run to the bookshelf to grab our ancient hymnal before I can let it go. Then when I read the words, I realize it is God again trying to reach me. I have to sit and absorb what God wants me to learn through a hymn that I haven’t sung in years. Yes, I unyieldingly and sincerely believe He reminds me of His truths through song.

Here is the song that came to me today. I hope it encourages you because it slapped me in the face. You see, as long as I let Him lead, and unfailingly put Him first, springs of joy will abound because He, not I, doeth all things well.

All the way my Savior leads me

All the way my Savior leads me;
What have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy,
Who through life has been my Guide?
Heav’nly peace, divinest comfort,
Here by faith in Him to dwell!
For I know, whate’er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well;
For I know, whate’er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well.

All the way my Savior leads me,
Cheers each winding path I tread;
Gives me grace for every trial,
Feeds me with the living Bread.
Though my weary steps may falter,
And my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! A spring of joy I see;
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! A spring of joy I see.

All the way my Savior leads me
O the fullness of His love!
Perfect rest to me is promised
In my Father’s house above.
When my spirit, clothed immortal,
Wings its flight to realms of day
This my song through endless ages—
Jesus led me all the way;
This my song through endless ages—
Jesus led me all the way. ~Fanny Crosby

A note about this hymn:

This beloved hymn came to Fanny Crosby as a result of a prayer. Struggling financially, she desperately needed some money. As her usual custom, Fanny began to pray. A few minutes later, a gentleman offered her five dollars, the exact amount she needed. Later recalling the incident, she said, “I have no way of accounting for this except to believe that God put it into the heart of this good man to bring the money.” The poem she wrote afterward became “All The Way My Savior Leads Me.” As both a songwriter and a woman of faith, Fanny Crosby serves as an example to all.

Fights, Screaming, and the local Cold War.

Ah the joys of summer, sunny days with Slip n’ Slides, bike rides, ice cream cones and the knock-down-drag-out WWF in the back yard. I love having my kids at home for summer break. I try to create opportunities for memories and fun times with family, but around this time every year I begin to look forward to fall as their ability to get along with each other grows more and more tumultuous as the days go by.

Let me start by saying two things:

1. I have great kids. Most of the time they are sweet and loving. Most of the time they amaze me with their generosity and concern for their fellow man.
2. I don’t tolerate hitting, kicking, biting or screaming in my house. I have one girl and two boys and, regardless of gender, I try to teach my kids to use their brain when in a conflict, not their sometimes-instinctive response to gut-punch their adversary.

There are days when I truly believe some sort of hormone in our water transforms my sweet kids into Genghis Kahn, Al Capone and Calamity Jane. One second everyone is playing nicely. The next second our once peaceful house is rattled with slamming doors, screams of accusations, thrown toys and a terrified pug dog running to her crate for shelter from the latest firestorm. It is really quite amazing to watch the tide turn from happy Hallmark moment to survival of the fittest.

The most difficult thing for me to handle when my kids face conflict is the constant tattling. “He did this.” “She said that.” My personal favorite is when my daughter decided to tell her brother that he could not possibly be related to her and that he must be adopted. Can you feel the familial love?

Most of the time, I encourage my kids to work out their problems between each other using words and without getting physical. Sometimes the “solve it yourself” tactic works. Other times, not so much. My best effort is to sit down with the kids and help them talk it out. I encourage them to do the talking which is really hard, and let me tell you, the past two years of conflict resolution grad studies are really put to the test. Clear communication is especially difficult when you are trying to sort out how a three year old truly feels when someone beats up his Elmo with GI Joe. Since my daughter is getting older her new war tactic is to completely ignore her brothers altogether. Some days she refuses to be in the same room with them or even eat at the same table. This makes mediating between the parties nearly impossible when one party refuses to talk to the other on principle.

Today I witnessed adults amidst conflict and was reminded that these fights between my kids are mere practice sessions for their future. If I don’t train them how to get along with each other now then they will surely have relational struggles as adults. Too often I come across grown-ups who simply cannot face someone of whom they disagree regardless of topic. They simply stop talking to the other person. Other times I visit with adults who spend more time talking over their adversary rather than listening to gain a better understanding of their dissonance. The noise of their “conversation” simply creates a deeper chasm between them.

One would hope that in the church these relational problems would not exist. However, within the church the battles rage onward over trivial matters, and adults unfortunately reenact childish behaviors rather than discussing conflictual issues, as brothers should. Christ knew this would be our struggle. In fact, some of his last words were for believers to be united, to be “one”.

“I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” ~John 17:20-23

This is my prayer for my children: unity among them. This is also the example that I want to set for my children: unity in the church. When push comes to shove and I’m in the tumultuous relationship the healthiest lesson for my kids is to witness is me working it out by facing difficult conversations rather than avoiding them, by my example of calmly listening to others in order to understand their perspective instead of loudly expressing my own opinions, by recognizing my own inadequacies and taking responsibility for them, and above all remembering Christ’s plea for unity among us.

Today I’m thankful for moments when I am encouraged to hold kitchen table mediations regarding Popsicle inequality and the ill treatment of stuffed animals. I am thankful for moments that remind me to work toward the unity of the future.

This Grand Illusion.

Last night during a family bike ride I experienced that deep sense of contentment following a deep breath and gratitude for peaceful moments. It doesn’t happen often. The weather was absolutely beautiful and all around us was green and growing or flowering. I had two sleepy boys riding in their trailer behind my bike. My daughter was following close behind with my husband pulling up the rear of our little caravan. This perfect ride was followed up by ice cream drumsticks on our front porch while we waited for the lighting bugs to appear. Times like these I realize how truly blessed some moments in time are and how little of anything it takes to make moments special.

So often my thoughts are invaded by this sense of longing for something better, something bigger, and something material to make me content. When I cave to those temptations and go out to purchase my contentment, the satisfaction quickly wanes and I discover something else that would make my life complete. Before I know it I’m on purchase number thirty five and I’m still not content with my wares. There is always something else on the store’s shelf that I don’t have and someone else does. It is odd how we deny attempting to keep up with the Jones’s, and yet it happens. I rarely ask myself, are the Jones’s really happy? Does their wealth or abundance truly make them content? What are they missing in their life as they try to fill it with things? Are they looking at my life with the same sense of self-malcontent?

In the end this is a grand illusion. Our ownership is a farce. Nothing I purchase will ever provide contentment. It won’t offer me happiness or a better chance at friendships. It definitely will not bless my children to train them to swim in an ocean of material goods all the while they drown alongside their parents in a sea of discontentment seeking for what really matters in life. We oftentimes raise our children like little kings and queens offering bits of plastic for a short lived high, don’t we? We treat ourselves like that too, I fear. I think I would rather live to deserve little simple moments of peace than live to glue together another bit of nothing when it breaks. I hope I can raise my children to feel this way as well.

We don’t own what we think we own. In an instant all that we spend our lives pursuing can go up in flames. In a second we are reminded of our creator when all we thought we owned is gone with one severe storm. If all we declare ownership of is swept away by the wind, we truly experience devastation. This illusion of ownership detracts from our purpose. It enslaves us. It owns us.

We don’t need what we think we need. We want. This illusion lies to us and trains us to be a slave to the world, a slave to all things material. It brainwashes us into believing that our children must have more things to be good or successful. It trains families to build their lives and happiness and worth in things. It creates competitors for enslavement. Who can be owned more than the other?

Last night I had that moment when I didn’t really need anything. My family was together. Contentment lives in simple moments. I want to be owned by the creator and nothing else. I do not want to be tied or enslaved to a grand illusion or train my children that ownership of this earth is real or good. There is one who owns and it is not us. In truth, the children and husband I lay claim are not mine, but His. All is His. All is to be used for Him. All we have is a blessing from Him. Loving the blessing more than The Bless-er is backward, isn’t it?

To be truly blessed is to understand that nothing creates contentment like gratitude for simple moments. Praise to the God of all creation. It is through Him and only Him that I am abundantly blessed.

Room for Improvement.

One of the qualities I love about my husband is his ability to see the potential in people. Everyday, through his eyes, he sees the potential of what could be and what steps need to be taken to achieve this potential. If you want to really discourage him then simply ignore potential and maintain the status quo. I will confess to you that it is sometimes tiring to live with someone like this because you easily recognize his discontent with the mediocre, and you are pushed to a level of trying very hard to constantly work toward improvement. To some people of a laissez faire nature this may sound like a nightmare, but it is not. I would rather be with someone who sees the best in me, sees where we both can improve, and who wants to make things better instead of becoming complacent in our relationship. We are blessed with an amazing marriage. After fourteen years I am barely at the cusp of understanding this man, but this one part of his personality I get. I truly love him for it.

It is especially difficult to look at oneself and ask the question…”what can I improve?” This means that you must recognize what is not working or what is not going so well. Those questions hurt. Those moments hurt when you see that there is a lot of room for improvement in your life. Myself, being of a somewhat obstinate nature, I love to justify my behaviors. I have even been known to place blame on others for choices I make. My biggest struggle and temptation is to blame the past for the present. Sadly, if I had to guess, I would say I am not the only person who struggles with the blame game.

When I consider my spiritual life and what I can improve I see a long ladder to climb to get where I want to be. Thankfully, my God allows grace to his people requiring no specific ladder rung level of accomplishment.

Lately, however, I have noticed a tendency for spiritual complacency using God’s overwhelming gift of grace as an excuse. I fear that we neglect our first love of Christ for a couple of reasons. I can share the one that impacts and reflects me the most.

Legalism of the past has created a tremendous bitterness toward any commitment of worship attendance or habitual spiritual behavior. Some of us grew up in congregations that would eternally damn you if you missed a Sunday service, neglected to wear a tie during communion, and/or read from any translation of the bible other than the King James. There are still congregations out there who tout this mantra, and sadly the media has a tendency to paint Christians as illiterate uneducated warmongering haters. Unfortunately, this ill-treatment and utter ignorance of spirituality leaves a bitter taste in our mouths still, and any hint of legalism causes the hair on the back of our necks to stand up as we shudder in a cumulative and often audible shriek of defiance. Some of us vow to never ever raise our children in an environment remotely close to that of the legalists.

Let me suggest that this sense of defiance, whether justifiable or not, sometimes leads us to a place of neglect of our Savior. Out of fear of repeating the past or appearing like a caricature, we require nothing of ourselves and nothing of our children in regards to spiritual growth. Out of fear of our children’s rebellion, similar to our own maybe, we neglect to even share our faith with them and allow them to make their own spiritual decisions at an tender young age where they are instead filled with a worldview in schools and through media that demolishes faith and morality rather than encourage it.

Loving Christ means that we do not fear commitment to Him. In the same way we commit to our spouses and our closest friends, we should not fear a life of an active choice to attend worship, an active choice to learn His word or require our children to learn his word. We do not make this choice, this decision to love, out of fear of damnation. We do this because we believe in the one who sacrificed for us. We love Him so much, that we want to improve. We try to demonstrate to the world our integrity of our faith choice in this way. Otherwise, it is not what it seems at all. Otherwise, we are merely habitual social club attendees, not Christians.

Here’s the deal: I don’t want to be a fair-weather friend. I want to treat Jesus like he is the most important thing in my life. I don’t want the savior of myself, my children, and my spouse to be my last priority. I don’t want to fear the past, present, or future so much that I neglect what is truly important. The past won't embarrass me because it does not define me. The present won't discourage me because it does not forbid me to act in love for the sake of my Savior.

I truly believe He lives, and if that is true then I will commit; I will want to worship; I will want to share His truths with my children. If I truly believe, then my top priority will be to share this gift with others because I love Him and I love them.

In an age where commitment to marriage is laughable I guess I am not surprised to see the same response toward the Savior. Both relationships are born out of love, or should be. Both relationships require commitment even when it is hard, even when mistakes are obvious. I am not the first person to liken marriage to a relationship with Christ. At least in our relationship with Christ one of us won't be guilty of walking away. He will always be there.

I am just not willing to walk away and pretend Jesus never existed for my own comfort. Everyday I hope I am one step closer to understanding Him. Everyday I hope I please Him more, rather than less. I fully understand my failures. I get that. So does He.

I do not want His abundant grace to become my excuse to commit less.

Dinnertime discovery has children begging to eat veggies.

Several weeks ago I found some beautiful asparagus at the grocery store. Asparagus is one of my personal favorites. Much to my chagrin, my children did not share my delight in the green spring veggie.

My husband, Dave, irritated with our children's picky behavior, discovered a brilliant way to convince, at least the boys, to chow down regardless of their opinionated disdain for the healthy side dish. Out of sheer genius and comedic value I thought I'd share this discovery with you. Apparently, if you personify the vegetable and give it a voice, per se, your dining experience alters exponentially. Here's what you do...

Take asparagus, or any other discarded veggie, stab it with your fork and scream, "Don't eat me! Don't eat me! Please NOOOOOO!" At this point you bite off the end of the veggie and say, "Oooooh, I bit off his head." Continue killing off the veggies in such a way until the entire veggie clan is annihilated.

I guarantee that it will work. Your kids will undoubtedly be murdering innocent vegetables for the rest of dinner time. Of course, ketchup adds to the fun and gore, but only use if you don't mind PG-13 slaughterings.

Boogers on the light switch and other catastrophes.

Yesterday may win the award for worst day of my life. As I write this I'm trying to decipher who or what is to blame the nightmare that is innocently referred to as the stomach flu. It's really miserable when one child is puking violently all night long, but when two are that is a fate close to purgatory. It gets worse though. As if I didn't need any more encouragement to live a faithful life as to avoid eternal damnation...

Two nights after racing the boys to the toilet all night long (some times making it)our entire family suffered through the mess, and all I had to thankful for during the whole horrid incident was having two bathrooms. -Oh and the sweet person who brought us ginger ale and saltines just when I thought we would all die from dehydration. Right now you're thinking..."wow she's being a bit dramatic".

No my dear friends, no. Just go wash your hands and avoid anyone who is pale because I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy (a thought I actually considered while caressing my bathroom floor yesterday).

I wish I could purchase stock in bleach.

And now the clean up begins. As I walk around my house and see what occurs when a five year old and his kid brother are left to their own devices I still do not wish for yesterday to ever return. Rest assured when I finish bleaching the bathrooms, I'll start on the light switches, and hopefully I'll get to the half eaten apples that await me in the freezer.