Flirting with Eternity

New Address...

2011-10-19T16:21:00.000-07:00

I'm moving...
Due to ongoing issue in Blogger, I'm moving Flirting with Eternity to WordPress. Won't you please follow me there? The new address is:
http://flirtingwitheternity.wordpress.com/

Question...

2011-10-04T06:22:00.000-07:00

Last week I stumbled upon the singer/songwriter JJ Heller. After listening to bits of a few songs, I downloaded the entire set. This morning one of the lines struck me:

Falling in love with you was easy
You were always meant to have my heart

The song is obviously about her relationship with God. I believe God did create us with a "God shaped vacuum" as Pascal (or someone-it's origin is debated) wrote. So I do believe He was meant to have my heart.

But is falling in love with God easy?

For the few who read this blog, I'd really like to hear what you have to say...don't be afraid...there's no right answer. And honestly, this strikes me this morning because, although I feel guilty and somehow wrong saying it, falling in love with God doesn't feel easy or even natural. So, tell me, what do you think? What's your story? I'd love for you to post it here, but if you're more comfortable emailing me, that's fine too.

p.horstman@hotmail.com

Closet Cleaning...

2011-09-24T08:03:00.000-07:00

Cleaning the closet.
I just wanted to make space for my vacuum.
Who knew a simple task would eventually lead to tears.
On a mission, sorting and chucking, I didn't think I just did. But, as I dug deeper into the closet, the magnitude of my task struck me. I pulled out box after box bearing scribbled labels like: army guys, Playmobile, Lego's, blocks, Lincoln Logs, Play Dough, beads, and Lord of the Rings. That's when it really hit me. I remember buying the Helm's Deep playset for the boys oh-so many years ago. I remember the unabashed look of pure delight and disbelief on their faces Christmas morning. How can I give this away? How can I simply throw it in a box, drive it to the donation center and leave it? I know it's just plastic, but...
All these memories wrapped up in all these toys...my heart hurts...there's a lump in my throat. I'm saying goodbye to an era in the simple act of cleaning out this closet.
Good bye to marathon sessions of building make believe towns and communities that eventually pushed out beyond the playroom doors and spilled over into the rest of the house.
Goodbye to Polly Pockets and Littlest Pet shops and American Girl dolls.
Good bye to epic battles fought and re fought over mountains of furniture and in valleys of carpeting.
Good bye to the time when simple kisses made the hurts all go away.
Good bye to cuddling and sipping hot chocolate curled up together in a comfy chair. Good bye to this home, these toys, these memories being the center of their universe.
In reality, these boxes sit untouched in the closet. They haven't played like that in a long time. Yet somehow keeping them felt like holding back time for a while. Who's foolish enough to try that?
I'm surprised at myself. I just told a woman yesterday how much I loved this stage right now and how I didn't really miss when the kids were younger. They get my jokes now. They make me laugh now. They have original thoughts and ideas and opinions of their own now and I love it. I see each of them reaching out for God and faith and finding it. I'm proud of who they are and what they're becoming.
And honestly, until this moment, didn't pine for earlier days.

But there it is again, the tears welling in my eyes and my heart tearing just a little.

I wish I could tie this all up with a profound quote, Bible verse or life lesson. But the closet is calling and if Brad walks in a finds me typing and crying instead of sorting, it might be a long day.
I know I'll be ok.
I know the tears will stop and my heart will go back to normal and that I'll be happy when my vacuum takes it's new spot.

beautiful

2011-09-04T07:09:00.000-07:00

Winding and twisting my old beat up van through the city, I drove as if on auto pilot. The gray streets and monochromatic urban scape left me dull. Heart weary and questioning the future, thoughts bounced around hitting the corners of my brain like it was the concrete sound barrier lining the beltway. A song started to play on the radio. Half listening, the words "You're beautiful. You are made for so much more than all of this." intrigued me. Beautiful was not the first descriptor that came to my mind as I thought of myself or anything around me. As the melody continued, the lyrics gripped my heart and mind. The phrases reverberated...you were made for more than this...more than asphalt roads and concrete walls...more than old vans and new cars...more than the sum of what you do...more than the worries of the future...more than the regrets of the past...more than the pressures of this day...you are treasured. you are sacred. you are His.You're beautiful.
Stirred in spirit the immediate question sprang to mind: For what, then, was I meant?
St. Irenaeus said: "The glory of God is man fully alive, and the life of man is the vision of God." But what does it look like when I'm fully alive? When you're fully alive? When God's glory manifests itself through us? Will we shoot little moonbeams from our fingertips? Will we feel something different? Does it happen once then stay that way all the time or is it rare? Do we always know when we're fully alive?
Pondering my life, there are a few instances when all my senses were heightened, my purpose seemed clear and the promise of eternity permeated my being. Like lazing in the heat of a fully exposed south window on a cold winters day, His glory-His Life radiates from the inside out. It's moments when clarity, peace and a deep sense of rightness rule my being. You'd think those would all be associated with positive, happy feelings. But I'm pretty sure the point isn't the feelings. As I think about those fully alive moments, they're not always particularly good times surrounded with warm fuzzies. Some moments are delightful like Megan's wedding or a friends surprise party just a few weeks ago. But others came in the midst of deep suffering and intense pain during times of great loss. One moment in particular, I wasn't even actually involved but witnessed the Holy Spirit work through someone else in a way plain, clear and powerful yet so intimate that I felt voyeuristic being there. Even though it wasn't pleasant, it was sacred, infused with the Holy.
We're meant for Holy moments. Moments of personal surrender. Moments of a usefulness beyond our ability. Moments in the midst of both the mundane and the spectacular. Moments of the sacred cutting through the secular like a knife through butter. Not always grand or happy or even noticeable. But in those moments God's glory and power seems revealed through His not-so-holy created ones. And we see His beauty and sense our own beauty in ways intangible and at times unimaginable and see that we are treasured...sacred...beautiful.
Psalm 27:4
One thing I ask from the LORD,
this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.

Will you take a minute and listen to Beautiful by Mercyme?

Insecurity Check.

2011-08-30T08:35:00.000-07:00

I did it again. Hitting the reply to all button I voiced only half my opinion and said it in a wishy washy way even though I actually had a strong argument. Why do I do that? Why am I so afraid of offending? Of disagreeing with others? It's ridiculous. Some of it's insecurity. And some of it is genuinely not wanting to put people off in a way that would keep them from God. But really, it's mostly because I'm a relationship person and if relationships aren't ok then nothing feels ok. Take today for example. There's a good chance I'm going to run into someone I know from my past at the cross country meet. The last time I saw her, the reception was chilly at best. It's all I can do to not obsess about seeing her again. Will she ignore me this time? Will she be civil? Why do I care so much? If she doesn't like me she doesn't like me. All I can do is be kind and be myself. I can't control her response any more than I can control the weather so why spend so much brain energy on it?

Arghhh.

That's it. Next time I'm asked for an opinion, I'm giving it in full.

Maybe.

Unless is controversial.

Or I feel like I do today.

And at the meet today?

I will not obsess I will not obsess I will not obsess I will not obsess I will not obsess I will not obsess I will not obsess

Knowing

2011-08-29T08:47:00.000-07:00

To know and be known.
I've written on it, prayed about it, and spent countless hours thinking about it. Simultaneously I've both longed for it and pushed it away.
We all want to know someone intimately and with certainty.
And we all want to be known both intimately and with certainty.
To have someone anticipate our words or pick the perfect gift not because we told them but because they know us that well, proves rare and elusive. Even as spouses it's difficult to achieve then maintain that sort of intimacy.

But whether we realize it or not, we desire it and seek it.

I can't help but wonder why.

Why do we care? Especially if we're Christians and believe in an all sufficient God, why do we care if others know us? Isn't the Creator of the Universe knowing us enough?

Apparently not or we wouldn't feel so desperate for human love, companionship and belonging.

Saying it and feeling it are fine, but living "I love you" matters for eternity. It matters because it expresses knowing and being known. It's more than hoping to be known. When you live love for someone they are known. I'm afraid I'm not articulating what I mean very well. I'll have to think some more...

The Long and Winding Road

2011-08-26T01:02:00.000-07:00

You can see for miles. Roads stretch out before you with very little to obstruct the view. Over the open prairie, the sky's big and the earth gently heaves and sighs. It's beautiful and I've grown to love it.

On our way to Gavin's Point Dam over the July 4th weekend, we drove over hills and through dales that actually twist and turn so you can't always see where the road leads. I found myself looking down the byways and wondering what was around the bend. One little road, for some reason, seemed magical. It looked lovely and mysterious and like it could only hold treasures.

In my younger years, I'm quite sure I saw my future through those same curious, hopeful eyes; anticipating the best kind of magic. But at some point in my life, I'm not even sure when or how it happened, my view changed. What lay beyond the bend became something I feared. Instead of hopefully trusting that life (or more aptly the Giver of Life) would be full of ups and downs and twists and turns that eventually always lead to someplace lovely, I started believing that danger lurked in the unknown places.

Maybe it's because not knowing what's next makes life not only unpredictable but messy. When Brad's feeling out of control over something in his life, he quotes Steve Martin from Parenthood: "I don't like messy." I don't know if any of us like messy, but at some point we all have to accept that it's part of life and we can either 1) live with it begrudgingly, 2) keep trying to manage and contrive and control and drive everyone-including ourselves- crazy or C) Look beyond the mess and enjoy the journey despite the uncertainty.

Learning to Kneel

2011-07-25T05:18:00.000-07:00

Two and a half hours of sheer, unadulterated happiness.

Dancing and singing under the Minnesota night sky with 60,000 others, my heart overflowed. Song after familiar song rang out into the sky and sank deep into my soul. Even in the driving rain*, the spirit remained undiminished and the energy level ramped up. I soaked up every second of my once in a lifetime concert and each time I raised my hands and voice to heaven, the cross on the soaring spire of our unconventional church (aka "the claw") reminded me of even more.

Moment Of Surrender

I tied myself with wire
To let the horses roam free
Playing with the fire
Until the fire played with me

The stone was semi-precious
We were barely conscious
Two souls too smart to be
In the realm of certainty
Even on our wedding day

We set ourselves on fire
Oh God, do not deny her
It’s not if I believe in love
If love believes in me
Oh, believe in me

At the moment of surrender
I folded to my knees
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

I’ve been in every black hole
At the altar of the dark star
My body’s now a begging bowl
That’s begging to get back, begging to get back
To my heart
To the rhythm of my soul
To the rhythm of my unconsciousness
To the rhythm that yearns
To be released from control

I was punching in the numbers at the ATM machine
I could see in the reflection
A face staring back at me
At the moment of surrender
Of vision over visibility
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

I was speeding on the subway
Through the stations of the cross
Every eye looking every other way
Counting down ’til the pain would stop

At the moment of surrender
Of vision over visibility
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

*It rained for over an hour. Not sprinkles. Not gentle summer rain. Pouring, torrential, all clothes including underwear drenched and wringing wet rain. Memorable and awesome.

More than you could ask.

2011-07-22T18:06:00.000-07:00

A concert of monumental* proportions takes place in less than 24 hours. For me, it's the concert of a lifetime. And I realized today that I've hardly talked about it and only mentioned it in passing on facebook and in this blog. I think it seems so unbelievable to me that I actually get to go that I haven't wanted to share it for fear of it not happening. I also really didn't want to see and hear people's reactions or have to explain who they are or what their music means to me.
But as I sat on my deck I realized I've been afraid to be excited, afraid to enjoy it, afraid to anticipate. Little by little satan's been eroding my joy of something that's not only a gift from my husband and friend, but a gift from God.

As I sat mulling it over, God brought this verse to mind: Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Immeasurably more than I could ask...

Yep, it's gonna be good.

*well, monumental to me ;)

Called to love

2011-06-23T08:43:00.000-07:00

It's under "favorites" on my laptop. And when you click on the link on our pc at home and begin typing letters, all the names of pages visited pop up. Caringbridge.org provides free online pages for people struggling with illnesses. Preemies, cancer patients, victims of accidents and those with ongoing health issues share updates and reflections on personalized sites. It's a beautiful, practical way not only to share information, but also for the patients and families to receive support and encouragement as they face their battles. It makes it "easy" to bless others with words and prayers.

But reaching out, supporting the sick and hurting isn't always so easy or convenient. Sometimes because you're afraid. Like the other day when I hugged the young soul who just shared with me their fight against bed bugs in their home. I gave the hug but immediately worried, brain racing can you get bed bugs from a hug? (I don't think so). But regardless of my fear, the hug was necessary. At times, reaching out, meeting needs, and caring for those hurting is difficult because so many suffer in silence. Mental illness, addictions, abuse, wayward children, marital conflicts, and money issues all exhaust and drain those encountering them. But often out of embarrassment, shame, guilt or simply hurt, they don't tell anyone.

There's no Caringbridge for parents struggling with kids making life-altering, dangerous decisions. There's no website (that I know of) for those suffering from depression, bi-polar disorder or other mental illness to share their pain and receive encouragement. People facing financial ruin, lawsuits, addictions or marital issues rarely share their pain publicly. I'm not blaming anyone for this. I've been there and if no one pursues or acts like they care, it's seems easier to deal with the pain alone.

However, Jesus never meant for life to be handled alone. My point is simply that then the only way to build up and encourage these suffering in silence is to be in their lives enough so that they either trust enough to share, or you're close to pick up on cues.

It's not easy to hug the kids with bed bugs or lice. It's not easy to get close to someone hurting; they're sometimes prickly as a self defense. It's not east to love and share someones pain when your own feels overwhelming. But, if you claim to follow Christ, you're called to a life of service to others...a life of loving the unlovable...a life of being close enough to know and see the hurt...a life of non-judgemental unconditional love for those in pain.

Called to love.

Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work.
~Mother Teresa

Lasting Legacy

2011-06-19T07:18:00.000-07:00

"...a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is better than learning, the charity which calls all mankind `brother', the piety that blossoms into character, making it august and lovely.
Earnest young men found the gray-headed scholar as young at heart as they, thoughtful
or troubled women instinctively brought their doubts to him, sure of finding the gentlest sympathy, the wisest counsel. Sinners told their sins to the pure-hearted old man and were both rebuked and saved. Gifted men found a companion in him. Ambitious men caught glimpses of nobler ambitions than their own, and even worldlings confessed that his beliefs were beautiful and true, although `they wouldn't pay'.

To outsiders the...energetic women seemed to rule the house,and so they did in many things, but the quiet scholar, sitting among his books, was still the head of the family, the household conscience, anchor, and comforter, for to him the busy,anxious women always turned in troublous times, finding him, in the truest sense of those sacred words, husband and father.

The girls gave their hearts into their mother's keeping, their souls into their father's, and to both parents, who lived and labored so faithfully for them, they gave a love that grew with their growth and bound them tenderly together by the sweetest tie which blesses
life and outlives death.

~Louisa May Alcott Little Women

I love you Dad and am blessed daily be your influence. Happy Father's Day.

Love, Patty

Storytellers

2011-06-16T04:12:00.000-07:00

In no place emotionally to make small talk, I remember sitting in silence.
She didn't seem to care.
Every once in a while she asked me a question and smiled kindly at my brief, barely alive response. As we approached the end of the meal she started telling me her story. My mind racing but my face stolid, I listened.
I heard as she shared her story of addiction, depression, broken relationships and God's healing power experienced in her life.
The memory of her gentle voice but strong words comes back to me as I think about my own story.
At the request of a very worried mutual friend, she came, vulnerable and ready to risk for the sake of helping a struggling soul.
She didn't know me. Yet she spoke with transparency, honesty, authenticity and tenderness. She didn't ask for a response from me or expect anything from me.
And I didn't offer.
Out of a deep love for God, she reached out in obedience expecting nothing. And nothing was what she got. Well, from me at least.
What she didn't know or couldn't anticipate was the profound impact that hour long lunch around a mutual friends table had on me. I sought help and I stopped beating myself up mentally. Those were some of the deepest darkest days of my life, and she brought a glimmer of light into my dark tunnel to show me where to walk next.
She's a customer of mine now. She comes into my shop and we periodically have the opportunity to share joys, sorrows and prayer requests. But I don't think I've ever actually thanked her.
So, dear friend, thank you for being real. Thank you for being vulnerable. Thank you for being honest. Thank you for sharing your life with me when I had nothing to offer in return. God used you. You were His words to me that day.
Is there someone who needs to hear your story? Who needs to see a real person? Risk it--offer without expecting.

Windows

2011-06-15T06:58:00.001-07:00

I washed the windows Saturday. I hardly ever wash the windows. Not because I don't want to look out of clean windows, but because our house is old and the combination storms that the previous owner put on are a pain in the neck. Anyway, I washed the windows. And they looked beautiful. Sparkly and clean the sun shined brighter through them. Then, it rained. And it's been raining off and on for the last four days. I didn't think of it at first. Then, Sunday afternoon it dawned on me that surely my clean windows were no longer clean. I checked, and it's true, all my work and broken finger nails and risky ladder climbing was in vain. Every window was splattered with rain drops.
So why do it I bemoaned.
Why spend the time and energy washing the windows if all you get is a few stolen moments of sparkling beauty?
Spiritual life feels like that sometimes. You toil and sweat and sacrifice for a few stolen moments of beauty...
like when you have heart level conversation that clearly makes a difference
like when you're able to help, truly help someone in their need
like when the sunset takes your breath away
or when you sense God's love and know for that moment in earth time He's smiling on you.
This post is rambly and doesn't have a point accept that even though I hate cleaning in general and washing windows specifically, I'll keep doing it if only for those few moments of sparkle.

1994

2011-06-09T04:17:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I don't remember 1994. A toddler and an infant filled my days with diapers, midnight feedings, messy kisses, sweet giggles, and lots of firsts. The year blurs into the rest of the decade. But half a world away, for an entire country, 1994 looms like an ominous cloud in history. Beginning in April of 1994, and continuing for almost 100 days, over 500,000 Rwandan's suffered death and persecution at the hands of their former friends and neighbors.
While I tucked my babies in at night, other moms quieted their starving babies for fear of discovery.
While we moved into our home, others escaped theirs in the night.
While I read Good Night Moon to my three year old, recently orphaned Rwandan children huddled in the marshes night after night waiting for rescue.
While I enjoyed the safety, blessing and comfort of a loving husband, women on another continent suffered the cruelty and brutality of merciless men.
While we lived in relative harmony with our neighbors and in our community, villagers in Rwanda terrorized, tortured, and murdered their neighbors.

Reading as we forgive by Catherine Claire Larson, opened my eyes and heart not only to the pain these fellow humans endured during the Rwandan genocide of 1994, but also to the tremendous capacity for humans to forgive the unforgivable. The book relates several true stories of forgiveness between victim and offender. Unbelievable tales of reconciliation that demonstrate that healing for a war torn country is possible, each personal story inspires me to practice true forgiveness in my own life on a daily basis.

I'm thankful for my life and that, for whatever reason, I've been thus far spared the pain these people endured. But I never again want to be so consumed with my own small corner of this planet that I'm completely blind to another country's suffering.

Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done in earth,
as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glory,
for ever.
Amen.
Jesus prayer in Matthew 6
King James Version

Want to know more? Here's a few websites:

as we forgive

The Umuvumu Tree Project

The United State Holocaust Memorial Museum
Restorative Justice

*Please forgive the strange blogspot induced spacing.

Good Grief

2011-06-01T08:45:00.000-07:00

Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants. ~Psalm 116:15

The white haired organist played the old hymns. Flowers in shades of pink adorned the chapel. People spoke in hushed tones as they dabbed away tears. Friends and family gathered to say good bye and celebrate life.

It's a scene played out over and over again and yet, when it's your mother, father, brother or friend, it's no longer a common occurance because now...now it's personal.

She lived a long, full life. Sitting in the pew, listening to adoring sons and loving grandchildren, you might think it was a perfect life. But anyone who lives knows there's no such thing even for this lovely woman. Blessed, faith-filled and faithful yes; but not without hurt, tragedy and pain. And yet, through it all, she loved God and her family well. Passing on a legacy of strength, loyalty and trust in her Maker, her funeral honored her story but more importantly pointed everyone in the chapel to the Giver of that legacy.

Several thoughts struck me as I sat in the church during this sacred moment simultaneously mourning and celebrating.

What would she think of her own funeral?
What would my kids say about me when I die?
What would they laugh about?
Would memories spark hurt or anger about me or would love truly cover the multitude of my sins?
Would the funeral be more about me or the One to whom I belonged?

When I ordered flowers for the service, I told my talented florist friend that the most distinguishing trait about the deceased was her faith and trust in God. I couldn't think of hobbies she had or what she loved to do. I could only think of Who she loved (well, that and the fact that she regularly prayed for the Twins--yes, the baseball team--but I didn't want a Twinkies floral arrangment).

What would someone tell a florist about me?
At the graveside, the pastor asked the family to say just one word that described their mom and grandma.

Selfless.

Loving.

Faithful.

When I'm gone, what will those closest say about me? Will they struggle to find appropriate words or will the praises come out fast and furious like they did yesterday for this lovely, dearly loved woman?
What would I want them to say?

What do you want those nearest and dearest to you to say...

Marion R. Solfelt 6.27.1924~5.24.2011

Blank pages

2011-05-27T15:35:00.000-07:00

Type a sentence.

Delete the sentence.

Type another.

Delete.

Stare at the screen.

Start typing.

Stop typing.

Stare some more.

Delete everything.

Hit "New Post" button and repeat the process.

Walk away and let another day pass.

A million thoughts run through my mind. None seem to stay long enough to be put into actual ideas. Flitting through my brain like a drunken butterfly roaming from flower to flower they never stay long enough to grow and develop.

Posts about rebelliousness. Posts about cancer. Posts about weariness. Posts about hardships and trials. Posts about beauty. Posts about things that upset me. Posts about my family, my kids, my friends. Happy posts. Hopeful posts. Depressing posts. Post after post after post half completed sitting in my "drafts" folder.

My brain's been thrown into a whirlpool spinning endlessly around.

Unlike writing, avoidance comes easily.
I avoid conflict.
I avoid dairy.
I avoid work.
I avoid people.
I avoid talking. yes...I do...believe it or not....

There's too much. So much of life feels like it can't be shared right now. Not in a blog. And not in person. For so many reasons, right now, at least one major part of my existence remains wholly private.
What do I write about when I can't share the thing closest to my heart and foremost in my mind?

Quite Enough

2011-05-19T07:08:00.000-07:00

We Are Loved

David Crowder Band

Velvet black night
Pierced with white
Stars waiting quiet
Wide listening sky

Stillness of air
Life hanging there
Out of despair
Rises a prayer

Can we take in Your light
So we can shine like You?
With all this weariness
Can we shine like You?
With this weariness

O we are loved
We are loved
And it's quite enough that
We are loved

We are loved
We are loved
And it's quite enough that
We are loved

Up to my ankles

2011-05-17T04:16:00.000-07:00

"Some people are destined to be deep thinkers. I am not one of these people." ~Jen Lancaster

A few years ago, my sister looked at me and said I'm not deep... I've given up on trying to be or thinking I am.

If you know her, you know she's incredibly well read, intelligent, thoughtful and reflective. In her humility, though, she doesn't share that richness with everyone. I think she's "deep" as opposed to shallow. But I guess that's only measured against my own idea of depth.

The older I get, the more I realize when I naively assumed I was in the deep end of thought I was actually wading in the kiddie pool.

I know I still am. And I'm ok with that. I'm not intelligent enough to have completely original thoughts nor well read enough to grasp what's beyond a backyard pool's worth of ideas nor witty enough to banter with the best.

I'm slowly letting go of trying to impress or measure up to those who are either truly my superiors or those who think they are...slowly embracing my average-ness...slowly learing to enjoy being the happy little stick figure girl splashing in 6 inches of thought.

But sitting around a conference table last week with three Phd's, several Master's holders and a prominent, successful business person was enough to throw me off the deep end. Insecurity and fear gripped my heart and held my tongue captive. And when I did speak (which was near to inaudible) everything that came out of my mouth sounded (at least to my own ears) garbled and incoherent.

I still haven't recovered.

The day after

2011-04-25T05:53:00.000-07:00

The second I saw the kitchen I was angry. Not the sighing weary anger but real- from the gut want to commit acts of violence- anger. The remnants of a fun, late night of cards and food were enough to send me over the edge. This is what happens when your children grow up and stay up later than you. Add to that dirty and clean laundry all co-mingling on the floor, last nights dishes and a plugged toilet and it's a recipe for disaster.

Me stomping through the house...
NO one picks up after themselves *bang*
they treat me like a maid *slam*
no respect. I get absolutely zero respect *violently throwing clothes in the general direction of the laundry room*
Room and board. I'm going to start charging room and board *slam slam bang*
I have to go away to WORK now...where I cook and clean and WAIT on OTHER people *yelled as I grab my bag and slam my way out the door*

You get the picture.

Once at work I remember there's no milk. *slam* Oh yeah, nobody is here to hear me.
I make my list and run to get groceries and upon my return, I hit my head getting out of the car. *moan* I put the key in the shop lock and it won't go in.
What the what!?! This just worked-I just unlocked this 20 minutes ago *fuming*
Maybe if I push a little more *snap*
Oh crap *grumbled under my breath as the key breaks off in my hand*
The universe is against me *Tears well up*
I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry *huge lump in my throat*

Tears suppressed, I get in my van and tires squealing head back home for the other keys.

Note for the future: It would be a lot easier to ask for Brad's help if you haven't acted like such a jerk. But I have no choice; so I ask. He grabs his jacket and follows me in his truck (from a distance, mind you, I'm sure fearful of what I may do). Upon arriving back at work I look and hang my head in shame and humiliation; I put the key in the wrong lock...that's why it wouldn't go in and that's why it broke.

User error. My user error. What's wrong with me! I've been opening this door for 6 years *no tears now just more anger*
As Brad pulls up, I hastily tell him the news and retreat into my shop kitchen. I assume he retrieved the broken key, I didn't stick around to find out.

In my kitchen, listening to Beethoven (which, incidentally is good, socially acceptable, appropriate for the work place anger music) I continue slamming and fuming partly wishing someone was around to care that my day's crappy and it's only 7:15 and mostly grateful no one's witnessing my hissy fit.

After I get everything going, I check my emails and facebook and finally this blog. And what do I see? Living on Sunday. What an idiot I am. Why did I ever post that? Now I have to own up to it. Wasn't yesterday Resurrection Sunday? The day we're reminded of the fact that not only did Jesus die for our sins (which should have been enough) but He rose again so that we "may have life and have it to the full".

So far my Monday living was full. Full. Of. Crap.

Legitimate frustration with my family for not picking up after themselves spiraled within seconds to full blown anger, resentment, bitterness and more anger. But I was at work now.

It was a busy day at the shop. 20+ women came in and I was friendly and charming and served them with a smile. None of them would have guessed that I still harbored malicious thoughts towards my own flesh and blood.

I'd love to end this post by telling you that when I got home the kids apologized and I apologized and we all made up and had a big family hug. But the reality is, although I'm letting it go, I'm still a little miffed and trying to get over my pity party.

Will living on Sunday ever be easy?*

*that's a rhetorical question.
**both photos are Lois (Jane Kaczmarek) from Malcolm in the Middle

Living on Sunday.

2011-04-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

Both videos are sermon exerpts from Dr. S.M. Lockridge.

It's not just the big things like disease and heartache, betrayal and loss that throw my heart and mind into a tailspin. It's small things like jealousy and envy and discontent.

It's Friday but Sunday's coming.
But why, oh why do we(read me) so often live in Friday, at times completely forgetting about Sunday?
I do. I camp out there, in Jesus death, in the darkness and seeming defeat of Friday and cry out with the Psalmist How long o, Lord? Will you forget us forever?

I stay there...in my frustration, anger and discontent.
But the story didn't end on Friday. And my life doesn't have to be lived on Friday.
I believe I Corinthians 15: “'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain."
You don't have to live in the Friday of life...in the jealousy, anger, bitterness and selfishness.

I want to, no matter my circumstances or surroundings, live on Sunday.

Ransomed.

Healed.

Forgiven.

Free.

To live on Sunday for My King.

New Song part b

2011-04-20T06:09:00.000-07:00

It's amazing to me what some individuals and families are asked to endure.

a chronically ill child.

a terminally ill loved one.

perpetual financial issues.

the fallout of abuse.

addictions.

lifelong mental illness.

betrayals in marriage, work, family, ministries.

My heart breaks for people I know facing the day to day, exhausting grind of job loss, faithless spouses, wayward children, loneliness, addictions and despair. Like the Psalmist, I cry out How long to sing this song? How long? Yet, like Jeremiah I'm reminded that because of God's deep love for us, His mercies are new every day and His faithfulness is indeed great. And with Paul I can confess and cling to the fact that because Jesus became a sacrificial lamb for me, nothing can separate me from God's love. Nothing.

May you, who are exhausted, despairing and feel like darkness is winning and you can barely hold on, may you know the Truth that God's love never fails.

And if you're not sure, I'd love to talk to you about it...p.horstman@hotmail.com

New Song

2011-04-19T06:35:00.000-07:00

Driving to work, I questioned my ability to make it through the day. Whatever I need to get through this day, God, I'm sure I don't have it. Whatever I need has to come from you. I made it through the day. Moment by grace filled moment every need supplied until I laid my head on the pillow. God of mercy, God of grace thank you for your saving sustaining moment by moment love.

Find a Happy Place

2011-04-11T14:18:00.000-07:00

By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class.

~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Feeling like I *need* something today that's not possible.

trying to trust...

Anything that hinders....

2011-04-07T05:01:00.000-07:00

Obsessing. When something upsets me, usually relationally, I obsess. I stew. I ruminate. I can't stop thinking about it.

The other day I had a disturbing call. No, it wasn't one of those life changing, earth shattering calls. It was just a garden variety sucky call. Feeling defeated, attacked and generally harassed by life, it took all my mental and spiritual energy to stop replaying the call over and over in my head. The same thing happened on Facebook the other day. I'm not even positive the person was being mean, but it felt cutting and if I think about it for more than .5 seconds, I'm stuck there. Again consumed in a silly cycle of self deprecation and prideful blaming.

Thankfully, I've pretty much gotten over the adolescent notion that if someone is upset it usually has something to do with me. I know that most of the time when someone's not ok, even if they lash out at me, there's something deeper behind it. I'm merely the recipient of the emotional vomit.

So, I can know this and yet, I still obsess.

The apostle Paul encouraged the people of Corinth to ..."take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ...". Capturing thoughts tonight feels like an impossible task; they come so fast and furious. How can they be reigned in? Tamed?

And yet I'm promised that God, who started this good work of salvation and new life in me back when I was just 7 years old, will be faithful and steadfast to complete it.

So, even though it feels like I'm chasing the fluffy seeds from a dandelion while they float ever higher in the air, I keep rounding up the thoughts giving them back to the One who started all this good work.

flashes

2011-03-30T03:39:00.000-07:00

Flashes of lightening and rumbling thunder break through the silent dark night. Listening to the icy rain hit the window I'm reminded again of my smallness. Our smallness. For all our knowledge and technology we can't, with %100 accuracy, predict, plan or direct the path of a storm.

There's general calm in our home right now. Aside from a nasty flu bug, the sky's are blue. But even here in the mostly sunny spot, gray clouds threaten. They take the form of thoughts; my thoughts. Accusations form a menacing and dark and low hanging wall cloud. Some of the blaming words fall on me: what's wrong with you? why can't you be more thankful? you're not doing enough. you're not enough. And when my brain's ready to explode just to expel the stinging words, they shift from myself to others: you deserve more. what was she thinking treating you that way? they always have to be right. you've been wronged. Pride plays a ridiculous game with our emotions making us the victim and victimizer at the same time.

Then, when I step back and observe my thoughts instead of participate in them, there's another voice. No blame. No accusations. Only Grace offered up freely to this broken woman. And forgiveness breaks through and I'm off the hook and others are off the hook and the calm returns.

Life whispered to this weather beaten soul Be still and Know that I AM God.

**my daughter took this photo on her way to school last year**

Charmed

2011-03-29T05:51:00.000-07:00

Big round eyes with long lashes, flashing a toothless grin stretching from ear to ear, our hearts were charmed. Even a stranger's gaze turned upon you and you generously, gratuitously broke into an eye sparkling smile. Happy, beguiling and strong, we dubbed you our Charming Child.

Fifteen.

School, drivers ed, football, basketball, soccer, and friends fill your days. Active, never passive, you're determined, funny, noisy, loving and aware. Soon, so soon, 15 will be a distant memory and you'll be called into adulthood and all it's joys and responsibilities.

So right now, as you stand on the edge of the rest of your life, I pray you embrace who you are: strong, passionate, energetic, hardworking and brave and enjoy all God is giving you in this moment.

I know it's tempting to look back and define yourself by events in your past, both good and bad. But I pray you see them as molding, shaping circumstances-no more and no less- and let God be your definer. He loves you oh, so much. He knows every scrape, broken limb, disease, close call, and heart wound you've suffered. He's also rejoiced with every joy experienced. He's your Healer, Savior, Strength, Comforter, and Counselor and is calling you now, on the cusp on adulthood to an even deeper relationship with Himself.

.We love you and all that you are and we pray and ask God to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but an amazing inner strength—that Christ will live in you as you open the door and invite him in. And we ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you'll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ's love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live a full life, full in the fullness of God.*

Happy 15th birthday, son. Love, Mom & Dad

*adapted from Paul's prayer for the Ephesians in The Message

Bucket List

2011-03-22T10:30:00.000-07:00

If I were the kind of person who made lists and had a bucket list* then I'm sure in my top 10 would be to see U2 in person. And as of July 23 2011, I could cross that off my list. :) Yea me yea me yea me.

*you know, from that movie...it's a list of stuff you want to do before you die...it's all about embracing life...carpe diem...

Brand New Clothes

2011-03-16T06:14:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend laughing, talking, eating, shopping, laughing, crying, more talking, more eating, and more laughing with three of my favorite people: my mom and two sisters. We had a lovely time celebrating K's 50th birthday and I'll probably write more on that later. But my search for the perfect ensemble is on my mind right now.

My niece's wedding is coming up and I wanted a new outfit to wear. I don't know about you, but the older I get, the harder it is to pick out clothes. I used to be so confident. Now I'm never sure if something looks right or is too old or too young. So, while I had my sissy's with me, I made them play Clinton & Stacy for me. After a series of try ons and errors, I'm happy to say I did find an outfit and it's not black (a big thing for me since every dressy thing I own has vast amounts of black).

I came home and tried on my new digs for Brad and he loved it. A departure in style yet flattering, comfortable and I think classy, I'm thrilled and can't wait to wear the outfit.

While reminiscing with my sisters this weekend, I thought about how throughout our lives we try things on like outfits. We try on personalities when we're teenagers, we can try on people when we're dating, we try on parenting styles, methods for running a household, careers, and even religions. I'm not saying we should do this, I'm saying most of us do try things on without even knowing it. It's not always bad. It can help us sort out who we really are, where we belong and most importantly, to Whom we belong.

So this morning when I read this verse from Colossians 3 "Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." I couldn't help but think of my shopping trip. It felt more comfortable to me to stick with a basic black sheath dress and then accessorize. But I knew I couldn't do it. I needed color. I needed style. I needed something more reflective of who I am.

We settle so often in our lives for comfort. For a basic black sheath and some cheap costume jewelery.

We've tried on the world's way for dealing with life and accepted it.

We settle for the convention of "nice" instead of the radical idea of "grace".

We offer civility instead of true kindness to people.

We offer politeness instead of patience.

We give condescension instead of humility.

It's so much easier that way. People don't question us...our sanity or motives when we conform to the world's standards of what's decent behavior to our fellow humans. But when you love and live like Jesus did... when you realize how dearly loved you are and choose to live a reflection of that love...well, then, you can appear foolish, radical, and just simply too much. It's easier to blend. To wear our black sheath dresses and fit in.

But that's not the end to which we're called and it's also not reflective of who we truly are. If we belong to Christ, we're a new creation. The old is gone. No more black sheath's for us. We're called to grace, mercy, kindness, compassion, justice and peace...reflecting Christ in us.

He has shown you, o man. And what does God require of you? To act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. ~The Prophet Micah

Never Satisfied.

2011-03-10T05:28:00.000-08:00

The first time I heard U2's I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, way back in 1987, I arrogantly thought oh, those poor guys. So close to Truth, yet missing it. Still looking when God is right there. As if God's something you find or stumble upon or that once you "find" Him, that's it. Over the years it's increasingly clear that they're not the ones who missed it, I was. I misunderstood the song and the sentiment. I think I understand it better now.

My adult life I've longed for satisfaction.
Constantly fighting against discontent, I seek to practice contentedness.
Not wanting to be a negative, complaining, never enough kind of girl, I've looked for fulfillment often confusing it with peace.
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
In my middle age, I realize that's a good thing
God wants me never satisfied.
He wants my heart longing.
He wants me seeking and searching and fervently looking; desperate for more.
There's purpose in the pursuit.
He wants me seeking more Him.
He wants me never satisfied with the status quo.
Good enough isn't enough when it comes to God.
More and more and more and forever more God.

Looking and seeking and searching until Kingdom Come.

You, God, are my God,
earnestly I seek you;
I thirst for you,
my whole being longs for you,
in a dry and parched land
where there is no water. ~David

Dream Weaver

2011-03-08T06:44:00.000-08:00

I had the oddest dream the other night. Well, morning really.
I haven't been sleeping well. I wake in the wee hours drenched in sweat, feeling like my insides are a radiator...ahhh the beauty of middle age. Anyway, I usually get up, walk around a little then end up on the couch where I can fall asleep for an hour or two.
The other morning, as I restlessly slept on the couch, I dreamt I was being pursued. By a man. Not creepy- pursued: romantically- pursued.
And not by my husband.
I told Brad he must have died or something because he was nowhere in the dream. But the kids were there, encouraging me.
And my pursuer? Jay Leno.
I know. Weird. I don't watch the late Show and haven't seen or heard anything of Leno in several months, yet there he was, in my dream, declaring his undying love for me.

As you can imagine, it was strange. But the strange (and I have to admit shocking) thing to me was my response.
I thought in my dream Well, he's not that good looking...he's not a christian...but he is really funny and has lots of money...so.... sure, I'll go with it.
I threw away my scruples about dating someone of the same faith pretty fast in the light of humor and money.
I'm not sure what it says about me.
Hopelessly shallow...worried about finances...needing a laugh...who knows.
I'm trying not to over analyze it or feel guilty...it was a dream for crying out loud.
But really...very strange.
Tell me your weird dreams so I don't feel so ridiculous.

Loved

2011-02-21T04:18:00.000-08:00

"I am somebody cause God don't make no junk" ~Ethel Waters

The way he said it made me smile (well, smirk). Telling a story about high school he made sure to include the term "varsity" before the word basketball. Whether or not he played varsity ball in high school had zero bearing on the story he was telling. So why include it? I've done it a million times: feeling insecure for one reason or another, I name drop or include useless facts that somehow might impress someone. It's ridiculous. A group a adults turn into insecure 17 year olds trying to be accepted or noticed or one up someone else.
When we first moved here, to Iowa, I was 24. New baby, first time as a stay at home mom, only four years of marriage under my belt, I struggled with my identity. I tried to fit in to my little community but every time I opened my mouth about anything from politics to religion, music to decorating, faith to movies, I received either blank or incredulous stares. That's how I perceived them, anyway.

Then, as more babies came and I continued to struggle with everything in life, the realization dawned that I was depressed.

I read my Bible fervently, endlessly.

I prayed, begging God for relief and healing.

I sought counselling.

I learned coping skills.

I trained my thoughts so I was telling myself Truth.

I took meds.

All of it helped. A little.

After years of struggling with the ups and downs of both major and chronic depression,there's countless times I feel like God made a mistake. I was a mistake. He didn't want me this way. I didn't want to be this way. But try as I might, I couldn't/can't change it.

"I" couldn't...can't change it.
I can do what I'm called to do and responsible to do (basically the above "list") but only God can bring healing or change.
Only God.
And although He's granted times of reprieve, there's not been healing to this point.

He's also began to teach me that things I've seen as a result of depression, or things I hate about myself are simply part of who I am. They're not always good or bad, they just are. They're part of the personality He gave me.
We walk around (especially as Christians) and make value judgements about things that we have no business judging. Happy people=good people. Sad people=bad people. Happy, positive=faithful. Sad, melancholy=faithless. The thought process goes something like: If you're trusting God (reeeally trusting God) then you'll be happy (joy filled, positive, and probably quoting lots of scripture). If you're doubting, sad or depressed then you must not be trusting enough.
Yes, I've over simplified it, but there it is.

So what do you do? When you think God's made a mistake with you--at the core? What do you do? Keep trying to change it? Give up and give in? Accept it?

God doesn't make mistakes. I'm sure of that.

He also wants to keep stretching and growing us for His purposes. I'm also sure of that.

But beyond those two things, the only thing I'm sure of is Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so.

Don't let the sun...

2011-02-14T04:03:00.000-08:00

I've read Little Women so many times, the back is worn and many of the pages dog-eared. But no matter how familiar the story, I'm stilled moved, convicted and touched by it. One time, reading in bed late at night, I started sobbing. Brad asked what was wrong and I slobbered through tears Beth died!
But, you've read it before, you know she dies came the quizzical response. I had no answer, just more tears as I continued reading. That's what it does to me.

As I cozied up with my fuzzy blanket, hot chocolate and a storm raging outside, the touching story of the four dear sisters carried me to tears again. No, it wasn't Beth's untimely death that provoked the flood. It was Jo's unforgiveness towards Amy after the younger sibling burns her prized possession: her manuscript. After the incident, Marmee (their mom) admonishes Jo to forgive her sister and "not let the sun go down on your anger". Jo dismisses her mother's wise advice and allows the anger to fester. Later, when they go ice skating, Jo knows that Amy didn't hear the warning about the thin ice and doesn't inform her or even stop her as she glides out toward danger. If you haven't read the book (which is a shame and you really should read it even if you're a guy) I have to tell you that Amy falls through the ice but is saved (thank you Lauri) and there is sweet reconciliation between sisters. Jo, though still prone to rash behavior, never again lets the sun go down without forgiving.

That's when I started crying.
No one else knows the anger, bitterness, envy or secret grievances we carry around with us.
No one knows when we go to bed, night after night, angry for real or perceived wrongs.
Sometimes, people can guess by words we say or how we respond to certain situations, but no one really knows.
Yet, that anger or unforgiveness or envy or jealousy or whatever we harbor, festers like an infected wound.
Sometimes those around us are hurt by it, but most often, we're the ones who suffer the most from our unforgiveness.

Friday, a beautiful young soul was lost in a tragic car accident. There was no warning. No time to say goodbye or one last I love you or please forgive me. One moment she breathed oxygen, the next she stood with her Savior in another world.

The older we get the more obvious it is that life is short and unpredictable. Each day begins and you have no idea how it will end...sitting together in front of another episode of Mythbusters or mourning over a casket.

Forgive while you can.
Say I love you while you're able.
Don't let the sun go down on your anger.

Feasting

2011-02-10T06:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I turned 44.
Gray hair, creaky bones, failing eyesight and now a harsh reaction to rich dairy products round out all the reasons to despise getting older. Not being able to eat cheese is the newest issue and it completely sucks. If you know me, you know I love cheese and use it in and on everything. Well, not anymore. I get sick now every time I eat it...even small amounts. How sad... tragic really that as you grow mature enough to fully appreciate things, you can't have them. Just another evil twist of fate.
Anyway, despite the slow deterioration of my body, I still love cooking. And eating. Brad knows this and offered to take me out for my birthday dinner, but I wanted the whole family to go. Taking all six of us out is cost prohibitive (unless we go to McD's which is not an option), so I opted to make my own meal.
And make it I did...all my favorites and some new ones.

Menu:
Crostini with tomato bruschetta
Homemade goat cheese
Prime rib
Sauteed green beans with pearl onions
Baked potatoes
Fresh Italian whey bread
Triple layer chocolate peanut butter cake

The homemade goat cheese (flavored with fresh rosemary, garlic, olive oil, salt & pepper) lusciously spread on the bruschetta and whey bread tasted amazing with everything. A wonderful alternative to give me my cheese fix. Definitely something I'll be making often.
Prime rib is my favorite and frankly one of the main reasons (besides bacon) that I'm a carnivore. Roasted to perfection, every savory bite melted in my mouth.
Italian whey bread was another new recipe. As I researched the goat cheese I found several potential uses for the leftover whey created when the cheese separates. The best option to me was the bread. It was sooo yummy. Dense in texture with a subtle flavor is complimented the rest of the meal perfectly.
The dessert...well, for someone who makes cakes for a living, this wasn't my best. The recipe is great. That's not the problem. The issue was me on the phone while I was making it. I lost track of measurements twice and while it didn't effect the flavor, it most certainly effected the consistency. The end result was not bad...but not great either.
So, the winner in the birthday meal menu?
The homemade goat cheese.

Sorry, I realize this post is uninspiring and I don't even have pictures of the creations...I just wasn't on top of it...maybe next time.

Prime Rib
I had a 6.5 pound prime rib roast and rubbed it with a paste of olive oil, thyme, garlic (10 cloves), coarse salt & pepper. I let it sit at room temp for about an hour.
I roasted it on 500* for about 30 minutes (your house will probably get smokey because of the drippings so be prepared). Then turned the oven down to 300* and cooked it until the middle internal temp was 140*--about another hour and a half. I then removed it and let it rest for about 30 minutes. Prime rib is supposed to be medium rare so don't freak out about the red--just enjoy the melt in your mouth texture of perfect meat!

Goat Cheese
This was so easy it's ridiculous.
*Heat 1 qt goats milk til it reaches 180*
*Add 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
*Gently stir and it will curdle--slightly--it's not chunky.
*Have 4 layers cheesecloth ready in a colander set in a deep bowl and gently ladle the liquid into it. Tie up the cheese cloth and hang on a spoon traversing the bowl and let it drip and separate.
*The whey ends up in the bottom and the cheese is in the cloth.
*Let it drain about 11/2 hours then gently fold in whatever flavors** you want and serve.
*I used the whey to make bread...just google "Italian Whey Bread" if you're interested.
**I used garlic, rosemary, salt, pepper & a touch olive oil. Next time I'm going to go sweet and add clover honey and maybe a little cinnamon. I'm telling you this is rich, delicious, mellow cheese with the consistency of ricotta. Yum! My kids even loved it!

Cold Cold Heart

2011-02-08T06:27:00.000-08:00

Crystal clear blue skies provide a beautiful backdrop to the naked trees. The bright white snow sparkles in the sun. It's a beautiful day.
Sitting in my newly remodeled dining room, enjoying my hot black coffee the view out my window is lovely and you would never guess that if you stepped outside the blast of Arctic air hits you in the face like a two by four.
It's cold.
No, you don't understand.
It's not ordinary winter cold.
It's frigid cold.
18 degrees below zero cold.

It's wind chills of -35 degrees cold.
My fingers clumsily trip over the keyboard because they're cold. And I'm inside.
I hate cold.
From the safety of my home the day is still beautiful despite the bone chilling winds.

But the thermometer tells the truth.

That's how my heart feels at times.
Frosty.
Immune to the hurt and pain around me.
Desensitized by life and reacting to hurts, I erect ice walls brick by brick. Layer upon layer of anger, pride, annoyance, judgement, greed...fill in the blank.
The result?

A holed up, impenetrable icy heart impervious to warmth.
And I see it all around me too-- this cold cold heart. Sometimes it comes out in cutting humor, a critical negative attitude or just a jaded, cynical view of life and people and God. Cold hearts don't discriminate based on race, age, socioeconomic status, intelligence, religion or politics.
Everyone is at risk. No one's immune.

But I don't want to be an ice princess.*

I see a hurting world and I want to respond.

What can melt these icy walls?

What can melt my soul to love?

Melt My Soul to Love by Joseph Swain

Hark! From the cross a gracious voice,
Salutes my ravished ears;
Rejoice, thou ransomed souls, rejoice!
And dry those falling tears!

Amazed, I turn, grown strangely bold;
This wondrous thing to see;
And there the dying Lord behold,
Stretched on the bloody tree.

‘Sinners’, he cried, ‘behold the head,
This thorny wreath entwines;
Look on those wounded hands and read
Thy name in crimson lines.’

The power, the sweetness of that voice
My stony heart does move;
Makes me in Christ my Lord rejoice
And melts my soul to love.

*yes, I am writing that with Seinfeld in mind

Suspended Time

2011-02-03T04:12:00.000-08:00

Snow falling, tiny flakes blowing horizontally out my window I contemplate another week. Five to eight inches expected with high winds today and tomorrow. Gray, cloudy skies, every object covered in white, this monochromatic world stirs a longing deep within and makes me both sleepy and fully awake...time suspended.

Playing under the eaves in the attic, I'd don dress up clothes and create my imaginary home. Complete with invisible husband and child I'd play house. Arranging furniture, cooking, speaking with a foreign accent, creating both crisis and resolutions, whiling away hours in my own world I lived contently.

All grown up and on the cusp of my 44th birthday I long for the days under the eaves. And yet, I wouldn't go back if I could.

So what do I pine for from my youth?

Certainly I'd love the energy, stamina and smooth soft skin again.

I'm glad I know more and have experienced more-both the good and the bad.

Perhaps it's the magic and wonder.

Or maybe simply the time to explore and get lost in my own imagination.

Or the daily discovery of life.

But that's still all right here, right at my fingertips.

It's not chronological age that hampers me.

My dad never stops learning and digging and wondering.

And I often see my mom filled with awe.

Tears sting my eyes when I'm lost in a moment with beautiful music or walk through trees covered in hoar frost or contemplate the deep lasting true love of my husband or connect on a heart level with one of my kids or experience the joy of seeing God at work.

All that beauty that stirs my heart points me to a different kind of grown-up life... one that will never end.

"I have seen the burden God has placed on us all. Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. So I concluded there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can." Ecclesiastes 3

**Under the Eaves by Henri Matisse**

Perpetual Adolescent

2011-01-25T09:40:00.000-08:00

Well...I....it's not-uhh bad...well...uhh... not the uhh ...north umm...roads...umm...well....
My brain was screaming Shut up! Stop Talking! What's wrong with you???!!!

It took a while to recover. To make myself feel better in the wake of my social suicide, I was self talking like Stuart Smalley in the SNL sketch's: "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!"
Why did I stumble and fumble over my words and act all goofy? It was a question about the weather for cryin' out loud!

No, it wasn't the question that left me verbally tripping and looking like a schmuck. It was the day and the situation...I blame it on my perpetual adolescence.

After a ball game, a group of parents stood in the hall. I was decidedly the outsider but I was with one of the "cool kids" so the others felt it might be safe to talk to me. Who knew that a simple query about the wind on the roads would unleash my inner awkward adolescent self.

But it didn't start at the game. The whole day was characterized by a massive identity crisis which in turn led to insecurity. If I wasn't inarticulate about the weather I was second guessing my words to a friend or feeling like a poser talking to the savvy woman about her upcoming Italian adventure or rethinking my vocation or obsessing about the alarming number of gray hairs adorning my head. Overloaded, I felt like my brain was on the verge of exploding--or imploding. Either way, it would have been nasty.

Calm, cool, collected on the outside no one would guess I heard "fail" in my ear every time I said something or wrote something or spoke to anyone.

I'm beyond being someone I'm not. I can't help but be me. But what about when me falls flat on me's face? I'd love to don an alter ego and escape from me once in a while. But alas, I've tried and it doesn't work. So I'm left with me. And most days it's ok. In fact I've learned that I like me. I've learned that as I grow and change and struggle and trust that God doesn't make mistakes, I see glimpses of the me He intends. But that fact doesn't make the identity crisis or insecurities any less a reality.

A few weeks ago someone near and dear to my heart wrote "Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Is this what life becomes?" I consider this young man a kindred spirit: pensive, reflective, analytical, searching, spiritual and discontent with good enough.

Eat sleep work repeat...

Is what we do who we are? work, cook, clean, eat, sleep, work

Are we what we feel? happy, sad, angry, jealous

Are we simply the sum of our roles? mother, daughter, wife, friend

Why am I a 44 year old who still feels like a teenager when I lose who I am and become insecure?

We all want to be liked. We all want to be important to somebody. We all want purpose. But you don't have to live long before eat, sleep, work, repeat takes over and you have no idea who you are.
Is this the life God intends? Or do we fall into identity issues and insecurities because of pride--because we don't think we're getting what we deserve from life or work or those near to us? I know that's at least partially true for me. Somehow I'm fooled into thinking I got gypped along the way.

Then I read this quote by Oswald Chambers and a light begins to dawn on the horizon and I see my pride and futility. "The tendency is to look for the marvellous in our experience; we mistakethe sense of the heroic for being heroes. It is one thing to go through a crisis grandly, but another thing to go through every day glorifying God when there is no witness, no limelight, no one paying the remotest attention to us...The test of the life of a saint is not success, but faithfulness in human life as it actually is...Our human relationships are the actual conditions in which the ideal life of God is to be exhibited."

Paul says to the Ephesians "God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago."

So, we're His, our identity is His and our purpose is His... awkward adolescent moments and severe insecurities included.

**Photo: yes, that's a young Sarah Jessica Parker in "Square Pegs"**

Ain't too proud to beg...

2011-01-20T05:47:00.000-08:00

In my Wednesday night Bible study, we've been meandering our way through the book of Mark. No study guide. No commentaries. No predetermined questions. We read, pray and talk. After over a year, we're up to chapter 7. Obviously, bulldozing through it is not our goal. Anyway, last night we discussed the part of chapter 6 where Jesus calms the winds when his friends are in their boat. My friend shared a story about her son and how God provided a "calming the winds" moment for her. He was not just restless, but screaming. She did all she could humanly do in the situation to calm him but nothing helped. She finally cried out to God saying "I can't do anything else for him, but you can. Please help him sleep." Within seconds, her sweet little autistic boy stopped screaming and fell fast asleep.
Coincidence? I think not.
This wasn't the first time she prayed for her little boy to rest and be calm but it is the first time they experienced an immediate response .
Did she pray differently this time? I don't know, but I don't think so.
I watched the movie Big the other day. Tom Hanks was and is one of my favorite actors. This was the first roles of his that I really noticed and loved. Funny, poignant, simultaneously light and deep, it's a coming of age story like none other. Josh, a 12 year old, frustrated with being short and pushed around and told what to do, puts a quarter into Zoltar, a game at a carnival, and wishes to be big. Zoltar grants his wish and you'll have to watch the rest of the movie to get the end of the story.

Anyway, God isn't a Zoltar. We don't put in a prayer request and get our wishes granted.

Christians talk about prayer all the time.

It's a conversation...It's a dialogue...It's listening...It's presenting requests...It's mainly for praise...It's communion with the Holy...It's for God not us...It's for us not God...

Countless books on how to pray, when to pray, why pray...

Somehow we think you have to do it right or God won't hear--as if if our actions spark some sort of obligatory response from God, the Maker of the universe.

No, He's not obligated to respond any certain way.

So, why pray? To make ourselves feel better? To appease a glory-seeking ego centric puppet-master God? Because He commands us to pray?

Well, God does tell us to pray.

And it's clear, as you study the Bible that He wants us to pray.

But again, why? Again, as you study you'll find all sorts of reasons, but I guess that is not my point.

If you keep reading Mark to the end of chapter 6 it explains how Jesus and his followers travelled to towns "And wherever he went—into villages, towns or countryside—they placed the sick in the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch even the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed."

They begged him...

Desperate, needy, humble...they begged him.

The last several weeks, I've felt desperate before God. My whole life, I've been learning what it means to truly trust a huge, mysterious, perplexing God and say "Your will be done" all the while throwing myself on His mercy and begging for His healing and intervention not only for myself, but for others. Trusting and begging can coexist. Look at those in the marketplace who touched his robe.

Beggar poor, I show up at Mercy's door. Nothing to offer, everything to gain. And He let's me touch His robe and I know there's healing. Not always an immediate calming of my storm, but a healing I can't explain. A Light that shines into the deepest darkest parts of this soul.

Yes

2011-01-14T13:32:00.000-08:00

Labeled a "drama" I knew what I was getting into. But I'd heard it was good and I could handle some drama.

Amid flashbacks and beautiful scenery, the first few minutes gave me an idea of the intensity level and quality of the film. I didn't want to, but 15 minutes in, I had to stop the movie. I turned it off and went to my meeting knowing I wouldn't get a chance to watch the rest until the next day.

Only 15 minutes of the movie made an impact. Last night, I dreamt of it. And it was a frightening dream. We were in danger; at the hands of evil men masquerading as friends. And in the dream fear gripped me and I didn't want to do what I knew I needed to do. But I thought (in the dream) this is the year of yes...ok...this will probably end in my death, but yes...I'll go with what I'm supposed to do and not succumb to the fear.

Well, I don't know the end of the dream because I made myself wake up.

Yes. I'm one of those people who seem to have some control over my dreams. It's inconvenient in this case because I'd like to know if I survived and how.

I finished the film today and loved it...all the gritty, sad, thrilling, redemptive, dark parts of it. It's one of those movies that seems strange to label as entertaining. Thought provoking is a more apt phrase.

But this post isn't actually supposed to be about the movie. It's about the yes. Just two short weeks after writing that post where I claimed yes as my word for the year and I feel like I'm right back where I started: motivated by fear rather than trust, struggling with the same thought patterns, saying yes when it's convenient or easy and running when it's hard.

Example: I sat in a long meeting yesterday and didn't contribute a thing. Partly because I didn't have a lot to add, but mostly because I didn't want to look like an idiot. I was out of my element. It was a large group. There were lots of scary men.* Everyone had a basic level of knowledge about the subject that was far beyond mine.

Insecurity.

Envy.

Discontent.
Fear.

Why do I say yes to these negative, counterproductive thoughts and no to risk and trust?

I've been beating myself up a little today** over it but then my dream came back to me. I said yes in my dream. The will and desire are there floating around in my subconscious. Now for the actions to be in the real world. That will be a happy day.

As I reread the above, apart from being annoyed by my ramb-ly writing and inability to articulate what I really mean, I feel I need to explain my yes year. I do and always have said yes when it comes to relationships. God's made it very clear that there's no saying no when He wants someone in my life. No matter how taxing, annoying, draining or needy they are, if He put them in my life it's for a reason. I guess what I mean by saying yes is that I naturally shy away(run) from anything that might bring conflict. I also know I'm prone to take the road of least resistance when it comes to life in general. And the life of least resistance becomes an ordinary, boring life where growth is difficult and stagnancy results. So, my quest of yes is a quest for greater trust. A quest to look for and see God's vision and willingly embrace it.

I'm curious, when is it hard for you to say yes in life?

*They weren't really scary or mean at all--it's just me and my issues.

**Don't worry, more like self-deprecating than beating.

Seek

2011-01-12T05:38:00.000-08:00

It's quiet.

After a busy weekend culminating with six college boys in the house, we spent two more days hunkered down in a snow storm. Our home and hearts full, we've enjoyed togetherness.

But now, now I need alone-ness.

At the moment I'm enjoying solitary reverie. But not for long. Even as I type I can hear Brad stirring.

Soon the quiet will be broken, the dim light of dawn will be swallowed up with bright daylight and my time for reflection will quickly take a back seat to last nights dishes and today's responsibilities.

Why do I revel in this early morning silence so much?

I crave it.

Is it simply the silence? Putting off responsibilities of the day?

I think not since the washing machines hums in the background.

Is it just wanting uninterrupted time alone?

As my kids get older, I have that...even at work I have that.

That community I so often write about desperately needing, that's what I crave...but it's community of a different kind.

Seeking communion, not with other humans, but with the Holy. I think that's what I love about my early morning self imposed sequesters.

Communion.

Planned but never scripted, I simply seek and wait for the Holy.

And He's here in the quiet.

And He's here in His Words.

And He's here in the pages of books by authors throughout history who loved Him and sought Him out just like me.

And He's here in music and art and the silence.

And He's here even in the interruptions.

I used to worry when I couldn't concentrate on mornings like this. When it's hard to focus and my minds wanders. I used to think that somehow I'd miss Him because my mind jumped back and forth between eternity and earth. What a silly thought.

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.*

I can't miss Him because of a wandering mind--only because of a wandering heart.

Prone to wander, Lord I feel it

Prone to leave the God I love.

Here's my heart, Lord

Take and seal it

Seal it for thy courts above.

~Robinson: Come thou Fount

*the prophet Jeremiah (29:13)

I'm a Needy Bleacher Sitter

2011-01-08T04:49:00.000-08:00

We've never had cable but for Christmas, we got a Wii and upgraded our Internet so we could enjoy Netflix through our tv. It's been great. We're loving marathon sessions of Dirty Jobs, The Cake Boss, and Man vs. Wild. And let's face it, one or two episodes of Hoarders and the need to purge and clean overtakes me--so all this tv is a good thing--really.

Anyway, the other day I watched the movie "About a Boy". As the movie started I questioned my decision to spend an hour and a half watching yet another shallow Hugh Grant film. But a few minutes in I realized there was more. The basics of the movie: completely shallow, lazy self-centered man who doesn't think he needs anyone meets a troubled, loved but needy boy who realizes he can't count on himself and his mother. "There has to be three." the boy states early in the film. This isn't a romantic comedy, so his crazy mother does not end up falling in love with Hugh Grant--thank goodness. But through some tragic events, everyone in the film eventually realizes that they are not islands. We need other people.

Even as a little girl relationships took center stage in my life. I'm wired to seek out meaningful relationships. I need them. And although I know the last statement is true to the core, it seems hard to admit. You see, I like to think of myself as independent. Not an island, exactly, but maybe a peninsula. Desiring friendships but needing no one.

Yeah. That doesn't work.

When I'm honest, which happens once in a while, I know that I'm in constant, desperate need of soul contact with other people. Without it I whither up. Case in point: last month for at least two weeks I was close to despair over my lack of connection with those near and dear to me. Life got busy, schedules got crazy and community took a back seat to every one's kids, husbands, and obligations.
Referring to what her busy life with teenagers had become, someone recently said to me "I don't have friends, I have people I sit with in the bleachers." It wasn't true; she has friends. Real friends and I'm one of them. But I knew exactly what she meant.
Wednesday night I met with a few dearly loved friends. We talked, laughed, ate & drank...and reconnected. Honesty and authenticity abounded as we caught up on each others lives. I went to bed refreshed (despite the late hour) and content.
The next day, the next day, at my sons basketball game I arrived early and sat in the bleachers, alone. And that's how it stayed all night. The bleachers filled up. But around me, there was a 5 foot bubble. I didn't grow up here. I didn't attend this high school. I don't have family here. I'm not known here--or at least by this set of parents. So, I don't think anyone was being mean--they don't know me. But as I sat there, smiling at people, trying to seem warm and friendly, wondering if I had a booger hanging out of my nose or garlic-y breath that was clearly repulsive, I realized yet again that I need people. Whether it's the close, dearly loved family and friends and fellowship I experienced Wednesday night or the seemingly shallow contact at a sporting event. I need people. Even cheering for your kids means more if you're cheering with others.
We all need people. And if you think you don't, you're wrong. If you think you can handle life alone--or mostly alone--you're wrong. You can't. If you've been burnt in relationships and disappointed by people and think it's better alone, you're wrong. And if you believe in God and think it can be just you and God, you're wrong. He's given us others for a reason and purpose so that we can show His love to each other so we don't get swallowed up.

So, how will I handle the next basketball game? I'm not sure; maybe come late and find another lonely needy bleacher sitter.

**my posts of late are ramble-y. i thinks it's age. You may have also noticed that I use larger and larger font. Also age.

Laughing at the days to come...

2010-12-31T10:01:00.000-08:00

If you read this blog with any regularity you know I'm always wanting more in this life...searching for deeper purpose and meaning...longing for more intimacy in relationships...striving to be everything God intends me to be.
Well, I'm not a New Years Resolutions kinda gal. Never have been and really don't know why. I just know I'm not. But when my friend Jennifer wrote about a "word for the year" my interest was sparked. Coming up with a single word for the year doesn't feel like a resolution to me but a focused call to more. Yeah, a focused call to more...I want that.
Thinking, praying, reading and trying to come up with the right word here are a few of the ideas traversed:

fearless
willing
kind
verbal
Integrity
silence

Reading through the book of Proverbs the other day, I inevitably came to the 31st chapter. The last part of the chapter is about "The Woman of Nobel Character". If you're not familiar with it, click here. Sometimes I read about this chick and I'm in awe. Sometimes envious. Sometimes convicted. But most of the time she completely annoys me. I mean, what's she doing making the rest of us look bad? She basically never sleeps, keeps a perfect home, is an amazing friend, savvy business woman and wise mother. Oh please. So, does the writer really have a wife like this? Maybe he combined all his different wives best traits and came up with this picture? Or was he observing someone elses spouse? Perhaps he's writing to one of his wives for some sort of ancient Mother's Day?

When I finally got over my annoyance with Little Miss. Perfect Proverbs, I started truly rereading the passage with an open mind. The phrase "she laughs at the days to come" struck me. Since turning 40 I don't laugh at all about the future. I worry about the days to come...that our society will collapse, that we'll be broke, that something will happen to my kids, that I'll experience pain unimaginable, that I'll have to work until I'm 80, that we as Christians will face growing persecution.
Why can she-this mythical, perfect, supermom/wife- laugh at the coming days and I cringe?
Because she won't lose her outward beauty? A few phrases later the writer says "charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting; no, wrinkles will crop up and everything else will drop down and she will, like the rest of us, succumb to the effects of gravity.
So why can she laugh?
Financial security? Maybe she's got enough in her 401K's to relax and travel in her old age?
The fact that both her husband and children love and respect her?
Does she throw her head back in abandon because she doesn't care what anyone else thinks anymore--is she an early version of a Red Hat--it says she's wearing purple.

The only indication of why she can laugh at the days to come* is implied in the phrase immediately prior: she's clothed with strength and dignity.

strength
physical power: the physical power to carry out demanding tasks
emotional toughness: the necessary qualities required to deal with stressful or painful situations source of support: a source of strength or support

dig·ni·ty [ dígnətee ]
self-respect: a proper sense of pride and self-respect
seriousness in behavior: seriousness, respectfulness, or formality in some body's behavior and bearing
worthiness: the condition of being worthy of respect, esteem, or honor

I know a lot of women who are clothed with strength and dignity as defined above but not all of them laugh at the days to come. Upon reflection, the ones who seem to face the future with a smile have two common denominators: they've accepted their age(or aging) and they're not worried about physical provision for the future.
That touches on something tough for me, something I have a hard time admitting and harder time writing. I feel so shallow. But somehow as I look at the future my fears boil down to aging and money. It's ridiculous, really. And I know it. All the money or physical vigor in the world doesn't ultimately lead to security. Just like more friends doesn't mean less loneliness.
When I dig a little deeper and get honest with myself, it's not really about looks and money, but security which in turn, for me, points to a serious lack of trust.
God's been with me before, but somehow I fear He won't be with me later or He'll be with me, but what He leads me through will be too much.

Ok, I'm starting to ramble.

Sorry. I guess I'm still sorting out more than I thought.

Back to the word for the year thing. I heard someone described once as being curious but not adventurous. That's an apt phrase for me, I believe. Curious? Yes. Adventurous, risk-taker? Ummm, not so much.

So, I think my word of the year will be "yes". To answer in the affirmative to whatever comes my way this year. To not just survive or put up with life, but embrace whatever Providence places in my path... without fear...in trust... in hopes that a smile or even a laugh might come along with it.

*The Message: "she faces each day with a smile."
New Living Translation: "she laughs without fear of the future."

artwork: Calvin & Hobbes by Bill Waterson

Waking up

2010-12-26T05:40:00.000-08:00

The cold gave me a quick slap when I shuffled out the door to get the water* for the coffee that I desperately needed. Brisk, bright and beautiful; a perfect albeit cold Christmas morning. Huddled in the freezing van, driving the few blocks to my shop, I started thinking about the houses I passed.

Young widow.

Guy who lives with his mom.

Grumpy couple.

Retired teacher on oxygen...I wonder why he needs it.

Sweet old lady.

Divorced.

Recently abandoned and divorced.

Single mom.

Troubled kids.

Alcoholic dad.

Young family, struck with cancer.

Nice old couple...whew, they're happy...I think.

As I continued on my very short way all I could think of was the song "Eleanor Rigby" by The Beetles:

All the lonely people,

where do they all come from.

All the lonely people,

where do they all belong.

We make a big deal of giving at Christmas. People give to charities, work at soup kitchens, put together care packages for soldiers, collect toys for underprivileged kids and carol at retirement homes. All great things--wonderful things.

But what about all the lonely people sitting alone in their hurt and pain on Christmas morning? Where is the peace on earth and good will toward men for them? Does celebrating the birth of a Savior help ease their pain?

For some of those in the homes I passed, I know it does. Even in their alone-ness, they know peace and joy.

But for many, I couldn't answer because I've never bothered to find out.

After retrieving the water and heading back along the same route, I prayed for each home and prayed that I wouldn't forget about the people tomorrow or the next day or the next. I prayed that somehow, I'd be able to share the love and message of Christmas well beyond December ...that these people in homes would become more than just Eleanor Rigby's and Father McKenzie's to me this coming year.

*my shop has an R/O system where we get our drinking water for home.

Happiness in a Bite

2010-12-23T12:13:00.000-08:00

**WARNING**if you're a younger reader, my child, my mother or easily offended, skip the first paragraph of the post**

first paragraph

She didn't let me finish my standard phone greeting before interrupting me.
her: Amazing. I'm driving down the road eating it without a fork or plate trying not to think about the points. (weight watchers)
me-with a satisfied smile: Good! I'm so glad you like it!
her: No, I don't like it, I love it. Between this cake and an orgasm, I'll take the cake.
me-laughing: Well, ok then! I'm really glad you like it!

It started with an impulse buy. Wal-Mart. Cold November day. The bottle looked cool and the thought of adding the yummy elixir to my coffee sounded so lovely.

Yes, it was cheaper than Bailey's, but that was ok. I mean, you're just paying for the name right? It turns out, no, you're not just paying for the name when it comes to Irish cream; you are actually paying for quality. And let me tell you, Bailey's Irish cream is superior to the cheap imitation I bought. After one slosh in my coffee and the less than creamy taste it provided, I stashed the bottle away in the back of the fridge between the half finished bottle of disgusting wine and the jar of homemade marmalade that no one liked. There it stayed until a few days ago when I was cleaning the refrigerator.

I decided I didn't want to waste it. So began my search for sweet recipes with the key ingredient of Bailey's Irish Cream (or in my case, the cheaper, non-creamy Carolan's). I found and made Bailey's truffles; they were fine but nothing remarkable. Also, on Allrecipes.com was this little gem that elicited the rave review from my friend:

Irish Cream Bundt Cake*

Cake:

1 cup chopped pecans
1 (18.25 ounce) package yellow cake mix
1 (3.4 ounce) package instant vanilla pudding mix
4 eggs
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3/4 cup Irish cream liqueur

glaze:

1/2 cup butter
1/4 cup water
1 cup white sugar
1/4 cup Irish cream liqueur

Ok, first of all, I did NOT put in pecans. If you know me, you know I hate nuts and think they're a complete waste of time and energy since I have to pick them out of whatever I'm eating. So, I ditched the nuts.

Secondly, I used 3.5 ounces of chocolate pot de creme instead of vanilla pudding because, because, let's face it, everything tastes better with a little chocolate. Those were the only two adjustments I made to the ingredients...well, I might have added a little more Irish cream...

So, mix up the cake and pour into a prepared bundt (I used an angel food cake pan because I don't own a bundt).

Bake it in a 325* oven until it's done (clean toothpick, top springs back, it smells and looks right...pick your method).

While it's cooling, make the glaze.

For the glaze: mix water, butter and sugar in a saucepan and boil for 5 full minutes stirring constantly; remove from heat and add the Irish cream. It really does need to boil this long to have the right consistency.

Poke holes in the cake while it's still in the pan and spoon some of the glaze over it--let it soak in for several minutes.

Turn the cake out onto a plate, poke more holes (lots and lots) and spoon more glaze and wait. Repeat this several times until the glaze is gone. It's a pain in the rear, but it's worth it to slowly allow the cake to soak up the rich buttery glaze little bit by little bit...you won't be disappointed by the result.

I also took my pastry brush and brushed the glaze on the sides of the cake.

Serve warm or cooled.

Freezes well.

I also made little loaves and gave them away as gifts (one batch makes 6 small loaves).

It's a yummy unique tasting cake and although you may not react quite as strongly as my friend, I think you'll enjoy it!

*Once again, excuse the crappy photo. I've been coveting the Canon Rebel T2i. Maybe some day.

Breaking Point

2010-12-17T07:03:00.000-08:00

depression
despair
anger
misunderstanding
law suits
bankruptcy
lost jobs
lonely women
hopeless men
broken marriages
struggling children
hurting parents
failing businesses

Over the last three days different individuals shared everything in the above list with me.
"God will not give you more than you can handle." Really? That saying is not actually in the Bible. It never says He won't give you more than you can stand. It says in Corinthians that you won't be tempted beyond what you can bear. But He never promises you won't be with faced with trials that are too much.
Job's trials (if you don't know the story of Job click here) seemed like too much. He lost everything. Everything. Children. Money. Business. Health. Friends. He lost it all, yet when his wife (oh lovely woman that she was) told him to "curse God and die", he refused. Why? Because he could handle or bear his loss and heartache? I don't think so. I think he said no to cursing God and uttered "though He slay me yet will I hope in Him" because he understood that the Maker of the universe didn't answer to him. I love when Job, toward the end of the book when confronted by the All powerful God in all His majesty, slaps his hand over his mouth and says "surely I spoke of things I don't understand." No, Job was given more than he could bear. And yet he survived.
God never promises you won't be faced with trials that are too much.
But He does promise His peace.
He promises that His grace will be enough.
He promises that He will never leave you.
He promises you love and mercy new every morning.
So much hurt. It would be easy today to either 1)give pat answers and lovely cliches to all the hurting people in my life or 2) tell them, yep, life sucks, it's hopeless.
But neither of those responses seem, well, adequate or Truthful.
As I sit here and look out at the beautiful blue skies and white frosted trees, I pray.
I pray for honesty and authenticity to meet people where they are in their hurt...
for relief and provision for the dad without work
for sustaining grace for each moment for the anxious mom
for healing and understanding for the marriage on the brink
for a glimmer of hope for the depressed
for a forgiveness and peace for the prodigal
for a friend for the friendless
for wisdom in life changing decisions
for patience between family members
for healthy responses to anger
for restoration
for peace...peace...peace...

"When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth. I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen." ~Paul to the people in Ephesus

**Portrait by Marc Chagall "Job Prays"

Joy

2010-12-12T13:34:00.000-08:00

I held the song book for her but there's no need; she can't read or even speak the words anymore. Her hand felt soft and warm in mine. I smiled and she squeezed my fingers. Her eyes lit up as she heard the familiar strains on the piano. Immediately she hummed the tune. She closed her eyes, the edges of her mouth slightly curved in a little smile while she continued humming along. She remembered the song note for note. As we sang, the words fell fresh on my ears.
"Let every heart prepare him room."
She can't speak and doesn't remember or understand enough about her faith to articulate it, yet, as she smiled and hummed it seemed obvious to me that her heart not only had room for, but was praising her Savior, Jesus.
I sat and listened to her and looked around at the Christmas tree in the corner and the wreath adorning the door and remembered how she loved Christmas. Each year she lovingly decorated the tree, put out her Christmas village, the nativity set and her collectible carolers. Powdered crescent cookies and homemade peanut butter cups covered her counter and apple cider with cinnamon red hots perked away while she prepared to celebrate the Holiday with family and friends. She didn't treat any other holiday with this much attention to detail or tradition or care. Christmas was special to her. She once told me that Easter felt solemn because of the weight it carried--the fact that Jesus had to die for her sins overshadowed the fact that He also rose again. No, the joy of Easter was dampened by the death on Good Friday.

But Christmas, well now, Christmas was a truly Holy Day that was all happy and good. A precious baby here to save the world, now that was a joyful occasion.
As we watch her, week after week, slipping away, it's comforting to get little glimpses like this. To remember who she was and what she loved and to listen to her hum a Christmas carol. God hasn't left her or forsaken her. He's still her salvation even as she slowly loses mental and physical ground. He not only accepts, but loves her simple, unencumbered hummed offerings. Her joy seems pure.

Let every heart prepare Him room...may all our hearts be open and ready to receive Him in pure Joy.
.

Connecting

2010-12-09T05:55:00.000-08:00

Reading ancient writers feels like connecting with a past long lost. Their stories and songs echo across the years and even centuries delivering an ongoing message of hope and healing to which I cling. To know that a Spanish monk from the 15th century struggled like me, with God's silence speaks hope and comfort to this weary traveler. To read John Newton's words to so many of his songs and have them express exactly what I'm feeling is nothing short of amazing.
Communion of saints.
Surrounded by a cloud of witnesses.
Echoes of saints past.
Koininea across the ages.
Whatever you call it, it makes me feel less lonely to know that my experience isn't unique; others have gone before.

On the radio this morning, I heard "O Come O Come Emmanuel".
It's not bright and cheery like Hark the Herald Angels Sing or Joy to the World. The tune is slow and melancholy and the words have more of a pleading, begging tone than a praising one. But I love it. It's one of my favorites. The second (or sometimes 3rd) verse, "Come thou Day spring come and cheer our hearts by thine advent here. Dispel the gloomy clouds of night and deaths dark shadows bring to light" always brings me to tears and speaks peace to my heart.

Veni Emmanuel, written originally in Latin in the 12th century, has Catholic origins.
Chanted antiphonally until the 16th century,I imagine monks in black robes at vespers calling out to one another over ancient marble in arched cathedrals. The music developed over the centuries and has is origins in France. The words weren't translated into English until the early 1800's.
Across the ages, the pleading call for a Savior is not diminished. The need for Veni Emmanuel is the same today as it was 900 years ago and His presence and promise are just as real.

Veni Emmanuel
Veni, veni Emmanuel;
Captivum solve Israel,
Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio.

Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,
Nascetur pro te, Israel!

Veni, veni, O Oriens;
Solare nos adveniens,
Noctis depelle nebulas,
Dirasque noctis tenebras.

Veni, Clavis Davidica!
Regna reclude caelica;
Fac iter tutum superum,
Et claude vias inferum.

Veni, veni Adonai!
Qui populo in Sinai,
Legem dedisti vertice,
In maiestate gloriae.

English translation...

O Come O Come Emmanuel

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,
In ancient times did'st give the Law,
In cloud, and majesty and awe.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

forever unpublished

2010-12-04T07:44:00.000-08:00

inspiring

stirring

the way she uses words pierces my heart

she's cool beyond cool

a true artist

not a wanna be

writer poet artist musician

why does reading or seeing or hearing someone else's genius make me want to melt into the background even as I scream to be heard

mediocrity sinks even further until it's not simply average anymore but bordering on failure

the gap between originality and ordinary widens

why can't i just be grateful for talent and genius like hers

why does is cause jealousy

especially since i know her unique style is born out of great pain

it should make me rejoice that God gives so much and she chooses to bless others so richly through it

on some level it does

but envy sets in and wonder why God didn't give any of that to me

i know my own downfalls

i know my laziness

i know my lack of ambition

i know my satisfaction with good enough

i know the times i say no to Him... or wait... or question Him

my life is blessing upon blessing upon blessing

i grew up in grace

surrounded by love...forgiveness...mercy

does growing up in blessing keep you from true genius

is true greatness only born through profound hardship

would i be willing to endure the pain to produce true originality

blah

2010-11-30T04:35:00.000-08:00

This post has been tucked safely away as a draft since I wrote it in August. I write a lot of things I never intend to publish; sometimes because they're too raw or too negative or sound complain-y. That's what I assumed about this post. Every once in a while since August, I'd click on it and think about editing it for publishing or deleting it. Rereading it, I've never changed it until today. Today it seems like I'm supposed to post it. I don't really want to because it makes me sound needy and depressed and like a big fat baby. But, setting pride aside (not easily or happily), I'm putting it our there for the world (well, not really the world since only about 6 of you ever read this-but you get what I mean) to see as a reminder that perception is not always reality and in hopes that somehow it points someone to the True Rest Giver.

exhausted. i feel like i say that word 1000 times a day in my head. i wake up in the morning exhausted. i go to bed at night exhausted. going to work, driving kids around, doing house work, working at my shop, dealing with friends and clients and school and family...all exhausting. there's no rest. even my thoughts are exhausting. frustrated at the jealousy, envy, and bitterness in my own heart and mind, even the inside part of me is exhausted. come to me...that's what you say. and yet, i do and there's precious little rest for my soul when i do come. there's guilt and anxiety and more that i see that's not right in my life. but rest? no. it's elusive and fleeting like the colors of the rainbow. i don't want to be angry. i don't want to be jealous. i don't want to covet. i don't want to envy. yet every time i turn around those feelings are right there threatening to consume me. i see how they keep me from entering in and taking part. i feel so lonely. yet i know i am not alone. despite feeling you or not, you are there...the True Rest Giver. and although what i experience day to day doesn't seem restful, i know you're here. so i keep getting up and loving and working and schlepping kids and praying and dealing. and somehow, in all those things and the fact that i do them, there's a Rest that's beyond me.

**photo: not surprisingly, "The Blah" by Jack Kent, pictured above, was one of my favorites as a little girl...kinda gives you a scary insight into my mind...**

Straight up

2010-11-28T05:58:00.000-08:00

In the wee hours while the house sleeps and before the busyness of the day begins, I pray, all alone in the quiet. Not wanting to rush the morning, I keep the lights low and open the drapes. Staring out the french doors, the bare trees against the stark gray sky look forlorn and beautiful. Apple cinnamon tea warming my insides, something in the view strikes me as odd.
That tree across the street, it's not right. You can't see it when dressed in green, but the anomaly is obvious now. That big branch must have been lopped off at some point. The rest of the tree reaches out, organic and branchy, and looks natural. But right there, off the main trunk, the growth pattern changes.
Those branches, where the tree was cut, they're growing straight up.
Not out in twisted little y's like the rest of the tree.
Up from the place of the cut, like fingers reaching to the sky, the branches break form.
Odd.
They're out of place. They don't look right. They mar the symmetry of the tree.
The branch was cut off but still alive. Greedy for sunlight, it grew straight up. It didn't know any better. It didn't know that to fit in, it should grow out- not up.
The branch shot vertically through the other branches, ignoring the pattern of the tree, searching for the life giving sun.
As I continue studying the tree, I see beauty in the oddity...
beauty in the desperation for light...
beauty in the reckless abandon of form...
Oh, to be that desperate; willing to risk conformity, willing to look out of place, willing to be the oddity to find light and life, willing to go from a place of pain, from a place pruning and shoot straight through all the crap to find the Light.

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you. ~the prophet Isaiah

He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. ~the prophet Isaiah

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. ~Paul to the Romans

Hear me, LORD, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
Guard my life, for I am faithful to you;
save your servant who trusts in you.
You are my God; have mercy on me, Lord,
for I call to you all day long.
Bring joy to your servant, Lord,
for I put my trust in you. ~King David

**photos: I'd give my right arm (well, maybe that's extreme, ok, my wisdom teeth) for a decent camera...as you can tell, I took them both with our crappy camera. You can kinda see the fingers...it's more obvious in real life. Also, because the morning I wrote this the batteries in the said crappy camera were dead, I took the pics the next day and the sky was no longer stark & gray. But hopefully you get the idea.**

Dishes

2010-11-21T16:09:00.000-08:00

As I washed the dishes I thought of her. Her dishwasher ran well (unlike mine) yet she always did some dishes by hand. Truth be told that always irritated me.

She always washed. She liked washing.

I always dried. It was my job.

I remember what her hands looked like under the running water, smoothing over a pot to make sure she'd gotten all the gunk off. I remember the conversations shared over the steamy suds, white cotton towels and assorted pots & pans. Sometimes it was her childhood or child rearing years. Sometimes it was about her marriage. Sometimes about the lean years when dad's construction business struggled. It's one of the only times we talked...really talked. I don't know if that's because it was easier to discuss real things --not just the weather or day to day activities, but real stuff-- while you could look out the window and be busy or simply because it's the only time we had alone.

Today, as I talked to her softly and stroked her hair, I thought of those times we washed dishes together.

Only a few years ago we stood over the sink, watching the squirrel at the bird feeder and sharing life.

Only a few years ago she still made Sunday dinner and wrote birthday cards and tied quilts and went to Ladies Aid at church on Tuesdays.

Only a few years ago she talked about her life with dad and her boys.

Those days fade into memory as she sleeps in her chair covered with her soft velvety blanket.

Tears stained my cheeks as I remembered her hands...her busy, able hands that now hang limp. She can't read or walk or talk or enter in and lately she can't even stay awake. Her vacant, tired eyes barely stayed open long enough to focus when I whispered her name. She's not physically gone. But she--who she was--what made her her--is no longer... and we miss her.

Usually lasting at least an hour, today our visit only lasted a few minutes.

The kids cried. Brad looked sad. And I, well, I couldn't help stroking her gray hair and rubbing her arm and whispering to her and missing our times at the sink.

Showing up

2010-11-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

Always unannounced, he shows up.

Dirty face, grubby clothes, great big smile, kind heart and oh, so troubled life.

One day it's his car. Another his failing marriage. Can he borrow 10 bucks? Can we store some of his stuff?

The next time it's issues with his mom or dad... or boss... or friend... or the law.

It may be different, but it's always something. Impulsive, rash and prone to being in the wrong place at the wrong time, he's often in trouble.

He knows we don't approve of most of his choices. I've been straight with him--blunt in fact--about his issues and how life's not about money or women or simply being happy.

Sometimes I wonder why he keeps showing up.

We don't lend him money. Sometimes we're able to answer his requests but not always. We've set clear boundaries.

But we do love him and try to keep showing kindness as we speak Truth.

Sometimes it's tempting to want to fix him and his problems. But he's not a project. We can't save him.

Sometimes I want to see some improvement or little sign that something we say or do makes a difference. But truthfully, I don't see any.

Sometimes I want to cut him loose.

Sometimes I want to give him a swift kick.

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by his hurt and confusion.

Sometimes I don't want to love him.

But then I remember. Loving him, showing him grace, isn't an option, it's a necessity and a command.

So we keep loving. And he keeps showing up.

Showing up in exactly the same way I'm forever showing up at Mercy's door...dirty faced and shabbily dressed looking for Love, Grace, Healing and Mercy.

And time after time after time, He opens the door and loves me right where I am.

Break Time

2010-11-07T06:10:00.000-08:00

Looking back over my last posts (most of my posts, actually) I see a strong melancholy thread. It's who I am, I can't deny it. But today instead of indulging my depressing inner workings, I'll write about my outer ones.

Wait...that doesn't sound right.

Anyway, I'll depart from routine and share a recipe with you...

For those of you who only know me in the cyber-world, you wouldn't know that I cook and bake for a living. I own a small (minuscule) coffee/bake shop in my tiny town. I'm not a chef or gourmet. I have no formal training. I'm a humble, down home cook of comfort foods...at least, to me they're comfort foods. I use real, fresh ingredients, butter being my favorite. Living by the "all things in moderation" maxim, I don't shy away from calorie laden, high fat foods. Cakes and breads are my specialty.

At home, when I have time, or when I'm stressed or bored or want to escape or relax, I bake. May sound weird to some of you, I know. But that's how I deal with life, I make food.

So, this morning, with the time change, I was gifted an extra hour to my day and I spent it baking. Yea me.

French silk pie is one of my favorites. But I've only made it once at home--years ago--before my 600watt Kitchen Aid stand mixer--before all my baking experience--before the myriad of recipes available on the web--before gray hairs and failing vision--before I realized that you don't HAVE to temper the eggs. I vaguely remember that the result of all my intensive labor was a tasty, but sadly average pie. Putting away hopes of a delicious homemade version, I've spent the last 15 years eating French Silk pie brought to me by my lovely mother from a Baker's Square in Minneapolis.

Well, for whatever reason, the desperate need for French Silk pie overtook me yesterday and I determined to give it another try. I purchased all the necessary ingredients, did an extensive* recipe search and set out at 7 a.m. this morning to fulfill my deepest chocolate longings.

I mentioned earlier that cakes and breads were my speciality. Not pie crusts. I can make a nice double pie crust, but single crusts are another animal altogether. They shrink. A lot. So, the crust doesn't look that great, but chocolate can cover a multitude of sins and the taste more than made up for the lack of beauty.

The recipe's not hard, but if you don't own a good stand mixer, don't even attempt it--your arm will go limp, numb and feel like falling off halfway into the process. I'd also suggest that, unless you're adept at pie crusts, you use a good store bought one. I'm a purist, and yet, next time, I might buy a crust.

After much research (*well actually--after I discounted all the recipes that used pudding, gelatin and/or cool whip {insert wretching sound and disgusted look on my face here}--only about 5 recipes remained) this is my combination of what looked like the best ingredients and methods combined. And just a little warning, I'm not always very exact...so I didn't measure the vanilla or sugar with measuring utensils, I guesstimated.

French Silk Pie:

1 cup butter
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 tsp vanilla
2 oz unsweetened chocolate (melted and slightly cooled)
4 eggs
whipped cream for garnish

*Using the paddle, cream butter and sugar for a looooong time scraping the bowl often...by long time I mean ten+ minutes.

*While you're waiting for the butter to cream and sugar to not be so grainy, separate the eggs and whip the egg whites to soft peaks (I used a little cream of tartar). Set aside.

*On stand mixer, switch to the whisk attachment and add vanilla; continue whipping the butter & sugar.

*Add egg yolks one at a time and beat about 3 minutes after each egg is added.

*Finally, fold in the egg whites until all the streaks are gone.

*Pour into a prepared crust and refrigerate a few hours.

*Garnish with REAL whipping cream (please, I beg you not to ruin this pie by using cool whip or some other disgusting fake food--buy whipping cream, whip it with a few tablespoons powdered sugar--it won't take that much extra time) and chocolate curls (vegetable peeler & a hershey's bar) ENJOY!!!!!

Notes:

**eggs and butter must be room temperature--not softened in the microwave or warmed in hot water, but left out for several hours or overnight so they're room temp.

**This is the part where I have to warn you about eating raw eggs. But honestly, if you're not pregnant, under 5 or over 80 I believe you can safely eat this dessert. If you're still scared--well what can I say--don't make it.

**I looked for recipes with more chocolate, because, let's face it, we all need more chocolate...but our family likes a more "milk chocolate" taste so 2 oz is perfect. If you like dark chocolate you could increase it to 3 oz but I wouldn't go over that--it'll throw off the consistency.

I hope you've enjoyed our little break from my oft'times tiring musings. Enjoy the recipe and let me know if you try it!

chasing

2010-11-04T06:24:00.000-07:00

People chase all sorts of things...
money
fame
acceptance
knowledge
escape
romance
love...
Rare moments of clarity tell me I chase...
compliments
praise
companionship
camaraderie
communion
meaningful human contact
understanding...
We're all so needy.
Desperate to fill up the voids in our hearts and lives.
God's right there.
Yet without His love through His people,
to those hurting, it's as if He doesn't exist.
You are needed today.

**reading Ecclesiastes this morning paired with Romans 12**

*photo: Will Ferrell, Stranger than Fiction

community-revisited

2010-10-29T09:03:00.000-07:00

**this is a repost from last December...it's how I'm feeling today...***

For what seems like the millionth time, I click "favorites" and check Facebook or this blog or my email. I just checked a few minutes ago...I'm sure nothing has changed...yet, I need to look again.

What am I doing....what am I looking for?
In all these various checks, what am I longing for?
Friendship? I have friends.
Information? I have Google.
Inspiration? I have the Bible, art, nature, music, & books.
God? I have God.
Since I was 7, I've "had" God or more significantly He's had me.
But knowing God, having God, doesn't mean the end of longing.
In fact, I think it means the beginning of longing...true, deep, passionate, yearning for more of the One True God.
And the more He gives, the more I realize I lack and the more I want. Frustration sets in as it seems like God gets more & more elusive the closer I get to Him...but that's another topic...

So, back to my incessant need for meaningful human contact, even if it's via electronics... I realized this morning as I kept checking my various modes of communication, that I am searching for God: searching for Him, longing for His love and His words to me, through His people.

Last week I read Romans 12...verses 4 & 5 say Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.
We are the body of Christ.
We are the hands and feet of Christ-a familiar enough phrase- but have you stopped to think of what you're saying and what that means?
It means you're desperately needed. Not just by the world, but by other Christians (Galatians 6:9).

A few weeks ago, a lovely couple visited our church. She's an occasional customer of mine, so of course I visited with her & her husband after the service. They loved it. And I know her well enough to know, they genuinely loved it. They felt at ease & at home with our informality and the spirit of community we have.
But they didn't come back.
Talking with a mutual friend, I realized that they (the couple) saw the need for community when they were hurting; when they needed something. But they didn't see how valuable they were to someone else's community. When have I done that? Underestimated what God wanted me to be to a certain group of people? Underestimated His presence in me and how it ministered to others?
We think we're being humble by deflecting praise or denying our worth, but we're actually being selfish...withholding something we're made to give.
"...we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." Ephesians 2:10
You, dear reader, are needed.
There are things God has planned for you. Jeremiah 29:11, a beautiful passage, is quoted so often: "For I know the plans I have for you , declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and future."
But how does He prosper you and give you hope and help you realize your future? Many times, it's through others. Yes, He wants to bless you and prosper you, but He wants to bless and minister and provide for someone else also and through you.
Someone in your life needs what you have to offer.

Cravings

2010-10-25T04:45:00.000-07:00

Lounging on couches, talking over glasses of wine my friends & I discussed our cravings.
One friend who's lost a lot of weight recently shared that she really didn't miss some food she'd cut back on, but she craved exercise now.
Another runner friend said that her recent half marathon left her craving more races.
I could not relate to either of them.

Rethinking the conversation later got me wondering about my own cravings.
What would it feel like to have good cravings?
To be desperate for exercise or leafy green veggies or flossing your teeth or more self-sacrifice?
I don't crave anything good for me.
I crave chocolate and coffee and time alone and distractions...I never crave exercise or healthy food or sacrifice.
I wish I did.
At my parents home a few weeks ago, I was in the holy of holies (that's my dad's study) and saw his Bible on the desk amidst writings of ancient theologians, countless Biblical commentaries and stacks of note pads filled with his thoughts, studies and reflections. Glancing through the old, worn, but cared for Bible, I noticed that every page had notes.
Every page.
every.
page.
And not scribbled messy notes and questions like the ones in my Bible; but neatly written, logically arranged notes on texts or specific words. As I leafed through it, the precise handwriting in the margins on each page amazed me. This Bible has not only been read cover to cover, but studied cover to cover.
How you can account for writings on every page? Yes, he's been a Christ-follower for a long time. Yes, he's a scholarly man who loves to study.
But, to me, nothing but craving-an intense longing for more- could explain notes on every page.
So, can cravings be cultivated?
That seems counter intuitive to me.
A craving is something on a gut level--there's primal need involved--involuntary. So, can you learn to need something?
I suppose if you look at the world of addictions, people do it all the time.
If I eat more leafy veggies will I want more leafy veggies?
If I floss more will I want/need to floss more?
Is that a craving then or simply something that becomes a habit?
Or can a habit turn into a craving? Ultimately, do we control cravings?
hmmmm...

Sun Soaked Skies

2010-10-20T06:36:00.000-07:00

Every fall I miss my home state of Michigan. The vibrant oranges, reds, and fluorescent yellows of the trees, the crisp air and even crispier apples, the rolling hills, and the wild untamed forests speak home to me.

Over the last 19 years of life here, I've grown to respect and admire Iowa's own beauty during harvest. It's kinda like the people who live here: modest, solid, quietly displaying beauty, never needing to be the center of attention.

Harvest time this year is like none I've ever seen.

Absolutely gorgeous.

Not the changing, bright colors like Michigan.

No, here on the plains the trees turned brown and died like every other year. But the spectrum of native grasses sport as many shades of colors as the trees back home.

And the beauty in the skies is breathtaking.

In the morning, the golden sun rises over newly shorn fields highlighting the gentle rolls of the earth.

At dusk, as the dirt from the farmer's combines kick up, the display of color it causes on the horizon is amazing; reds, yellows, oranges, purples and pinks beyond imagination change each moment for a new picture to revel in and soak up.

And all day long, all month long...blue skies.

Clear, blue, cloudless skies day after day after beautiful day.
I just want to breathe it all in and tuck it away to treasure for the cold months looming in the near future.
Each day presents another vivid picture of the splendor of this world and the timeless majesty of it's Creator.

And even though all this beauty is born out of death and the end of a growing season and signals the coming of a long winter ahead, I hear Hope whispering to my heart and mind.

**photo: Just 20 miles south east of our home the landscape is vastly different. With beauty tucked around every bend in the gravel road, it's one of my favorite places...**

Near Death Experience.

2010-09-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

My grandpa died when I was 4. He was big and tall and had a black patch over one eye. A stroke patient before his 55th birthday (and long before I was even born), he walked with a cane and couldn't speak. Needless to say, as a little girl,he scared me. But laying there in that hospital bed with his wife and daughters gathered around, he didn't garner my fear but my pity.

I remember sitting quietly on my mom's lap until Grandma whispered through tears "He's gone". My mom and aunts each kissed his cheek and stood in the institutional gray room silently weeping. I remember a few moments later (or what seemed like a few moments, but I guess in reality, it must have been a much longer time) watching the hearse pull out onto the street and off to the funeral home. After that, I have no memories...not of a funeral or memorial service or of what we did after he died. I only remember the death.

Flash forward a few years to our house on East End Street. The police showed up at our door. I don't remember the time or day or the weather, but I remember the panic in both my parents eyes. Dad grabbed his bag and left. My mom, tears in her eyes broke into fervent prayer. Suicide, they said. So young, they said. So much life left, they said. Her kids were close to my age and now they were motherless.
Finishing up my freshman year in college, I came home for a few days to regroup before starting my summer job. As soon as I walked in the door, my mom told me she wasn't doing well. Moments later, the phone rang. My best friend's voice sounded tired and sad and all she said was "she's gone". We got off the phone and I walked the few blocks to her house. Her aunt was cleaning. Everything was quiet and strange and even the house seemed to know she was gone. We hugged. We cried. Then we talked about everything and nothing. The funeral, the first one I'd attend as an "adult" upset me. Why were people eating and smiling and talking? Didn't they know she was gone? Didn't they get it? So young. So much life left.

Since then I've been near death many times. Family members. Close friends. Strangers. Tragedy. Cancer. Accidents. Natural causes. Old. Young. Too young. Too fast. Too slow. At some point, it doesn't matter how or when death comes, just that it comes.

Does it make it easier when there's the hope and certainty of heaven? The obvious answer is yes.

But missing the person is still just as real.

The grief feels just as raw.

The reality of day to day without them is just as empty.

The aching arms of a mother longing to feel the weight of her baby.

The quiet, cold loneliness of a spouse-less bed.

The missed conversations with a dear sister.

The advice never to be given by a wise mother.

The dreary prospect of another meal eaten alone.

On the phone with a widower last night, the reality and intensity of his pain was obvious. Does he believe his sweetheart is in heaven? Yes. Does he have the hope of seeing her again? Absolutely. But even after time, his suffering lingers and his lonely heart hurts and longs for her.

I love a line from the Sara Groves song What Do I Know?: "Death can be so inconvenient. You try to live and love and it comes and interrupts."

Interrupts.

In Between

2010-09-15T06:09:00.001-07:00

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

On the cusp of dawn, leaving the night behind, but not quite daybreak.
The in between.
Mysterious. Dark and light mingled and entwined and, for a few brief moments, inseparable.
Wide awake during the in between, praying, thinking, I strangely had a flashback to college.
Religion 101. Junior year--yes I realize that is late in a college career to take a general course and the registrar and prof were not happy with me, but I was and still am of the opinion that the point of a liberal arts education is to have a diverse, balanced course of study all the way through school...ok, sorry about that...stepping off my soap box now and back to the blog... Religion 101...junior...oh yeah...
Willis P. De Boer. Close to retirement, lanky with what I thought at the time were unusually long appendages (now I know that it's just part of being Dutch) and a slight brogue, he gestured with those far reaching fingers and said we were the in "the already but the not yet".
The already but the not yet.
The in between.
Like seeing a mountain range far off we recognize the majesty and vastness, but don't really begin to understand their scope until we travel into them. The view is different from the foothills to the passes to the mountain tops to the high plateaus. Discovery is around every corner and rarely looks the way we expected it to.
When Jesus came to earth, He ushered in God's Eternal Kingdom. It's already here. But as is painfully obvious, the fulfillment of that Kingdom seems forever in the future with, at times, little evidence of its existence. For the past 2000 years we, the human race, have been journeying through the mountains of the already but the not yet.

Oh, we're in awe of the beauty and rugged delicacy. But we're fickle people and even the majesty of the mountains becomes mundane and all we see are the rocks and foot falls. Sometimes we're fearful that any misstep could lead to disaster. Not always aware that what we're in is so much bigger than us, we continue on.

I know I've felt lost in the mountains...in the in between. Caught in the middle...wanting desperately to get through or at least to a peak so I can get a bigger view and maybe see how much farther there is to go. Caught. Between night and day.
But then there are those moments, when beauty or art or music or communion with loved ones, or acts of kindness and generosity, or the realization of sacrifice transcends what we can grasp and is something felt not thought, and we get a glimpse of the already but the not yet. Signs of the coming dawn.
Life in the in between.

***forgive mixing metaphors and being a bit melodramatic...remember I wrote it in the wee hours and after reading Bronte.***

Arriving.

2010-09-13T05:43:00.000-07:00

In my early 20's I naively thought I was almost there. I could see it and touch it and ignorantly (and arrogantly) assumed I'd reach it by 30. Delusions of spiritual grandeur filled my head. God was near; I was a tested, approved workman for Jesus and I was not ashamed. I knew I needed to grow some, but certainly I'd arrive within a decade.

In my 30's I came to the realization that I hadn't reached it but someday I would. It was out there--waiting for me. Struggling through ups and downs of marriage and child rearing, dealing with moves and job changes and all the stuff of life, I felt like a veteran. Surely a few more "life lessons" and I'd be there. There: at that magical place of faith where communion with God is easy, vibrant, natural and dieing to oneself is the norm. Sure, there would still be things to work on, but God would show me and we'd correct them and we'd keep moving ever forward.

Now, as I approach my 44th birthday (still 5 months away but looming in the near future) I don't think it's possible. I don't think we ever arrive. I think we're forever in the process of arriving...and by that I mean sometimes we're standing still.

In this life of faith, we never arrive. There's never a point of maturity in any area that won't still need growth. And not just tweaking, but full out growth. We don't/can't master anything. 10 years ago, I might have conceded to this idea but I know I would have assumed that if you don't "arrive" or at least keep moving forward at a steady, fast-ish pace, it's your fault.

But is it? Are we to blame for slow growth, stand-stills, detours and delays? Certainly, yes, at times we're the ones who inhibit growth. But always? I'm tempted to say that God holds us back knowing what we can handle and when we can handle it so He allows for growth to be slow or even at times non-existent. But I'm not sure that's true either.

Perhaps the fact that we'll never arrive is simply because we have an unlimited capacity for growth.

Who knows. All I know is that just when I think I'm pulling into the station I realize I'm actually pulling out.

Surprised.

2010-09-06T05:54:00.000-07:00

The whole concert surprised me. I knew I would know a lot of the songs, but I didn't expect the band to perform so well or be so real and authentic. They pulled me in and held me with their music, lyrics and stories. They focused on God and faith in a genuine, loving way without all the cliches and syrupy crap that's often found at Christian concerts.

But their encore, that was the real surprise.
The familiar tune rang out and my heart leaped. With the building haunt of the keyboard, the repeating, echoing electric guitar and the explosion of bass my excitement grew. Then the words. Words that struck me years ago, the first time I heard them, were calling me back and reminding me once again of more. I didn't expect to hear it here. I didn't expect to ever hear it live. And yet, there I stood, surrounded by the starry night and 100,000 other souls at a Christian music festival listening to a distinctly Christian Contemporary band (MercyMe) yet hearing one of my favorite secular songs by my all time favorite group.

Taken back, surprised, it took me a moment to process it all but as soon as I did I jumped to my feet and worshipped.
One more call to my heart. One more reminder that this world is not my home.

Where The Streets Have No Name
(U2)
I wanna run, I want to hide
I wanna tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I wanna reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name

I want to feel, sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace
I want to take shelter
From the poison rain
Where the streets have no name

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building, then burning down love
Burning down love, and when I go there
I go there with you, it's all I can do

The city's a flood and our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust
I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building, then burning down love
Burning down love, and when I go there
I go there with you, it's all I can do

© POLYGRAM INT. MUSIC PUBL. B.V.;

Sometimes

2010-08-30T11:59:00.000-07:00

sometimes...
when the silent world awaits the first glimmers of sunlight, I sense it.
when I hear a baby giggle or see her precious face-filling smile, it's near enough to touch.
when my heart is almost breaking but doesn't, I'm reminded of it.
when the music takes over my senses and I'm transported by the sound, it's right there.
when hurt, death and destruction loom heavy on the horizon but redemption and grace rain down, I know it's real.
when the full moon fills the night sky, I look for it.

when grieving parents hold onto hope, it becomes an actuality.
when surrounded by loved ones sharing life, I know it's value.
when beauty enraptures me, I'm reminded that I can't hold it like a greedy child with candy.

when Truth drowns out all the other voices in my life, I long for it.

when I'm caught up in the tangible, surrounded by the pressures of the present, I hears it's echos calling me away...
calling me to lose this world to gain it...

It's so close I can touch it, yet so elusive it feels impossible.
It's sings a song deep in my being and reminds me that this world is not my home.

"What do people really get for all their hard work? I have seen the burden God has placed on us all. Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. So I concluded there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can. And people should eat and drink and enjoy the fruits of their labor, for these are gifts from God.
And I know that whatever God does is final. Nothing can be added to it or taken from it. God’s purpose is that people should fear him. What is happening now has happened before, and what will happen in the future has happened before, because God makes the same things happen over and over again." Ecclesiastes 3:9-15

Off the Hook

2010-08-23T05:46:00.000-07:00

**"Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life."
"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir."
"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure..."

I think about stuff a lot.

Because of some interesting circumstances, I've been thinking about remorse and regret.

Are remorse and regret the same thing?
Regret, for me, speaks to a missed opportunity because of a choice (either bad or benign) that I made.
Remorse seems deeper. Remorse means I made a hurtful decision and either I or someone else had to pay painful consequences.
Regret carries with it the idea of lost hopes and dreams.
Remorse carries the burden of bad choices.
Remorse makes you cringe every time you think of your prior actions.
Even if everyone around you lets you off the hook, remorse clings like the pungent smell of skunk in your heart and soul.
So is repentance remorse's cure, as Bronte so eloquently writes in Jane Eyre, or reformation?
Is repenting--turning from what caused the remorse--enough? Or does is require reforming--changing---replacing?
Simply feeling bad and saying you're sorry doesn't seem to be enough.
Remorse, to me, seems somehow hidden in the depths and tied more to how we view ourselves and our actions than to how others perceive us.
If that's the case, if it's true that it's more about how we see our own hearts, then not only is repentance and reformation necessary, but grace.
Repentance and reformation alone seem like penance.
Don't we want absolution? Don't we seek forgiveness?
Don't we need Grace?
I do.

Remorse seems to require both forgiveness from others and some inner forgiveness from ourselves to take place. But why is that so hard?
I let other people off the hook but rarely give myself a break even when I know that both people and God have let it go.
Thank God that regardless of whether I feel better or forgiven or off the hook, because of His grace, I know I am.

"Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death." Paul to the Romans

**Excerpt between Jane and Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

1st Day

2010-08-17T04:09:00.000-07:00

Nine months pregnant and two other little ones in tow, I didn't cry when he went off to Kindergarten. He was ready and excited and it was right.

When he climbed on the bus for the first day of high school, I didn't cry. But, I did worry...30 minutes away, not knowing anyone, all new school, teachers...Would he find friends? Would these years be happy or painful?

Would he make it?

Snapping pictures left and right as he made his way down the isle in his long navy robe at graduation, I didn't cry. So proud, so happy for him, and so filled with gratitude that my fears on the first day of high school were unfounded, I smiled and laughed but I did not cry.

He's not going that far away.

He'll be in the same town where he went to high school.

He knows a few people.

He's confident and fun and I have no doubt he'll be fine.

But home will feel so empty.

He's funny and quirky and kind.

He leads with quiet strength and conviction.

His "collection" of energy drink cans and numerous pairs of old Asics will be left behind as he moves ahead.

I know he'll come home again to visit...but it will never be the same.

It's good it won't be the same...his independence is something Brad & I have worked towards and prayed for and hopefully he's prepared.

But the change feels profound and hurts.

And tomorrow, after we've unloaded all his clothes, shoes, computer, fridge, and books and said one more good-bye...I just might cry.

Dear Josh,
‘May the Lord bless you
and protect you.
May the Lord smile on you
and be gracious to you.
May the Lord show you his favor
and give you his peace.’
love, Dad & Mom
Numbers 6:24-26 (New Living Translation)

Captured

2010-07-30T02:30:00.000-07:00

"Ye are not your own." Paul sold himself to Jesus Christ. He says - I am a debtor to everyone on the face of the earth because of the Gospel of Jesus; I am free to be an absolute slave only. That is the characteristic of the life when once this point of spiritual honour is realized. Quit praying about yourself and be spent for others as the bondslave of Jesus. That is the meaning of being made broken bread and poured out wine in reality. ~Oswald Chambers

Sitting at the computer this morning, tears streaming down my face, I'm struck once again with two facts about myself: 1) I am, at the core, self-centered, selfish and all about me and 2) I am, at the core, not my own.

When I found Christ -or more aptly- He found me, I was captured. I became a prisoner of His love, grace, mercy and forgiveness. A prisoner by choice. Drawn in by His love and grace, I surrendered my rights to self to not just emulate, but actually take on Christ's nature.

But, oh how I fight against it. Day after day sometimes moment after moment I have to fight to forget about my own rights and look out for others. Even perusing other blogs, sites and facebook, it's a constant battle against envy, jealousy, judgment, harshness... My self screams out for me me me and more me and what about me. But my soul yearns for Him Him Him and please, mercifully, more Him.

Why does it continue, after all these years to be so hard? Wouldn't obedience, trust, faith and following Him come more naturally after a while? I suppose for some it does. But for this strong willed daughter, nothing about surrender is easy.

Thank God, again, that it doesn't depend on me--but on Him.

Thank God He's got a hold of me because I'd never be able to hold tight enough to Him.

Captured by tobyMac
All I wanna do

I’m Your prisoner by choice
I will rest at Your feet
And I’ll only lift my voice
When You want me to sing
It’s the beauty of Your covering that’s stealing my heart
And it’s the mystery of You that tears me apart

If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take
And if I should get a peaceful sleep
I wanna wake at my Father’s feet

All I wanna do is get into You
You got me captured
By Your love
All I wanna do is stay here with You
You got me raptured
Can’t get enough

The sun’s on the rise
The sleep’s in my eyes
The dew’s on the ground
The night is disguised
There’s hope in the air
I’m fresh off a prayer
The blue mountain bean is clearin’ my stare
I make recompense
It’s all makin’ sense
Like blood in my veins
You’re my sustenance
A moment of trust
The “me” becomes “us”
The “we” become “one”
Your gift is my gust of wind
‘Til we meet again

So faith, don’t fail me now
If you touch my heart
You can feel it pound
So faith, don’t fail me now

You got me, and You won’t let go

Mercy's Door

2010-07-23T02:26:00.000-07:00

"A beggar poor at Mercy's door, lies such a wretch as I;
Thou knowest my need is great indeed, Lord, hear me when I cry." ~John Newton

Throughout my life of faith, grace (or rather Grace) has meant everything to me. The knowledge, belief and experience that Grace is real has been a bedrock for me. Grace: being given something I didn't ask for and don't deserve that's more than I could imagine. I've been given saving Grace, sustaining Grace, guiding Grace, forgiving Grace. It's all a gift.

Lately, another reality of God ignites my soul: Mercy.
Grace is all about Love...free, unconditional, pure, saving love.
Mercy has a quality that's different. Mercy suggests being spared from something. There's an element of judgement in Mercy that makes it even more wonderful. I deserve A but am shown Mercy and get B instead. Beautiful.

The words above by John Newton, who also composed "Amazing Grace", grip my heart each time I hear them.
I show up, beggar poor...nothing to offer, nothing to give...at Mercy's door. He opens the door and instead of sending me away empty handed or throwing me some scraps then slamming the door in my face, He invites me in. Essentially, because of sin, we're all strangers to Him. And yet, even as a stranger, because of His Mercy, He opens the doors wide open. He asks me to live there...in this place of Mercy.
But here's the thing, if I leave Mercy's door, I leave beggar poor once again. I can't go there, fill up and expect to distribute the wealth I've been given as if I were Father Christmas. No, I come a beggar, and if I leave, I leave a beggar. So often, we, as Christians talk about being "filled" in such a superficial way. It's as if you can tank up on God like you would gas and run for a while until you're empty then go back for more filling. He's not a cosmic gas station. I come to God with nothing and I leave Him with nothing.
The only way I can share His gifts...the only way to be "filled" is by staying at His Mercy Door and truly becoming a channel or instrument of His grace, love, forgiveness and mercy...not a distributor of it.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.
As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command." ~the apostle John

Kindness

2010-06-24T06:01:00.000-07:00

I've witnessed father's abandon their children, wives throw out their wedding vows like yesterday's garbage, children of all ages disrespect and dishonor their parents, wayward children wreak havoc in their homes, parents swiftly hurl insults that cut their children off at the knees, leaders in the community live lies-cheat-steal; again and again and again I've seen people hurt one another by their words and actions. Rarely do people who've wounded deeply ever understand the pain they leave in the wake of their choices.
Thank God I've also seen reconciliation and healing: marriages put back together, forgiveness among siblings, and individuals restored. But I'm convinced that none of us truly realizes the impact of our actions on those around us. We don't get how the littlest word can cut deeply and leave a festering wound. It's interesting to me that we think the world revolves around us and yet, at the same time, somehow, think that how we act doesn't have a deep, lasting impact on others. It's an odd little game we play in our minds- putting ourselves in the center of the universe, playing little gods, and all the while not owning the pain we cause or even seeing that we cause it.
If we realized how much we've hurt others could we handle it? Some of us would be crushed under the weight of our sin and would curl up into little balls of guilt and never recover. God is so patient with us...so kind...so gentle. I believe as we seek Him, honestly seek Him, He slowly shows us our sin and the impact of it on others. No one else can do it--can show us our sin--we probably wouldn't believe them or think they over reacting.
But truly, as we realize the kindness and compassion of God-- the amazing gift of forgiveness we have through Him and His Son--we are led to repentance...led to forgiveness...led to wholeness. Not in our time or other people's time, but in His perfect time.

Vacuuming.

2010-06-09T04:29:00.000-07:00

I was up early this morning. Groggy, wiping sleep from my eyes, I stumbled down stairs at dawn-- the light barely showing in the east. Why, you ask, was I up before the garbage man?
To go for an early run?
To meditate?
To savor the pristine beauty of the quiet morning?
To get an early start on cleaning my house and being a perfect wife and mother?
Shyah- right.
No. I was up at 5 a.m. to shop. After throwing in a load of laundry, I immediately went on line and started perusing J.Jill for dresses and sandals.
Do I have money for new clothes? No.
Do I need any clothes? Absolutely not. I have a closet bursting full.
So why? Why was this tired, worn out, busy mom up at sunrise to Internet shop?
Yes, I have a wedding to go to. Yes, my sandals are are wearing out.
But really? Miss the beauty and quiet of the morning to stare at a computer screen and shop for things I don't need and can't afford?
What's the point?
As I came to my senses (around 6:03) and realized I was still really tired, I went and laid down on the couch. All I could think about was what I 'd been doing: wasting time, energy, and sleep on a frivolous, meaningless, purposeless activity. As I tried to get comfortable and perhaps fall back to sleep, a quote from Blaise Pascal kept going through my mind: “There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every person, and it can never be filled by any created thing.
It can only be filled by God, made known through Jesus Christ.”
Obsessive eating, shopping, exercising, planning, cleaning, cooking, working, playing all points to, what I believe, is the truth of this quote: namely that we're searching. Vacuums suck up everything in their paths until they are filled. All the gods in the world can't fill the vacuum that's God shaped. No person, passion, experience, religion, learning...nothing can fill it except God himself. So we all keep sucking everything up but are still left with the void. Even those who profess Christ (like myself) fall quickly and easily into looking to everything but God for the source of Life. Why? I think because it's easier to look for meaning in what we know and can understand and is tangible than to work on a relationship with a Being we can only begin to comprehend.
I'm an extremely relational person, and yet, there I times I want to avoid every contact and be a hermit. Why? Because relationships are messy...we get hurt...we have misunderstandings... we set up unrealistic expectations...we look to others to be more than they're meant to be....
So why wouldn't all that "messy" apply to our relationship with God? Because He's perfect? All the more reason on our end for it to be messy and complicated. Our relationship with God is messy because we're messy, imperfect, searching, vacuuming people...and He created us that way. He could have created little perfect mini-me's or automatons. But He didn't. He created us, and all our earthy-ness and set Eternity in our hearts so we'd seek for Him.
May my vacuuming not be in vain today, God.

*Photo by Robert Donsker Photography, "Prairie Sunrise"

Opportunists

2010-06-04T04:41:00.000-07:00

Is it true that some opportunities only come once in a lifetime? Or are all opportunities, every event we face, only once in a lifetime? We'll never get each specific moment back. We never see the same sunrise or sunset twice. Sometimes in my ordinary life I think that each day is like all the rest. There's nothing special or significant, just the sameness of living.
And yet, there are moments when we grasp something more. Moments when we're acutely aware that we can only experience them once...or at least that there is something unique about them.
Last night I enjoyed a wonderful (and *free* yay me!) jazz concert out in a park in small town America. Kids were playing on the playground and riding their bikes and skateboards. People were chatting. Families gathered on blankets and enjoyed the free popcorn and lemonade provided by the sponsors of the event. The threatening rain held off until the last song. It was a unique moment. And I soaked it in. Every time I listen to live music or watch a play I know I'm witnessing something that won't be repeated exactly the same way ever again. A unique moment...a unique opportunity.
But isn't all of life like that? We get lost in the everyday-ness: seeing the same people, performing the same tasks, listening to the same music, driving the same roads, buying the same food. Fooled into thinking there's nothing special about an everyday encounter, we go through life half awake.
We lost a dear friend to cancer this week. He wasn't part of our everyday life. In fact we hadn't seen him in a few years. Now he's gone. Rejoicing, no doubt, with a health we can only imagine, but still absent from this earth. There are no more conversations to have, no more birthdays to celebrate, no more meals to share, no more golf games to play. When I heard the news of his passing, I couldn't help but feel bad for all the missed opportunities to interact with him...trips we didn't take, phone calls we didn't make, and times when we could have adjusted our schedules to allow time together, but didn't...regretting each missed opportunity.
I guess this morning I'm struck with the fact that everyday is not ordinary. Each moment is an opportunity to either be enjoyed or missed. There are countless songs about living life to the full so obviously we know there's more, and yet we go through most of our lives in a blur, always looking past this moment to the next thing.
I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, maybe I'll be too tired or jaded to think moments through, but today, I want to be in each moment. I don't want to miss conversations or sunsets or laughter or tears...I don't want to run from life today or worse yet, sit it out. I want to be an opportunist today.

"Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil." Paul to the Ephesians (5:15-16)

Thank you for not running from life, Jim. We love you.

Man of the Hour

2010-05-31T05:30:00.000-07:00

"There is still no cure for the common birthday." John Glenn

For me, turning 40 was hard. I don't think it was the number, I think it was all the physical changes that occurred within weeks of the milestone: tiny wrinkles, visible veins where you don't want visible veins, dimmed eyesight, slowing brain etc... But despite all that, I've tried to embrace the 40's and three years later, there's a glimmer of hope that I'm progressing. Maybe by the time I hit 50 I'll have come to terms with 40.

The 40's are a thing of the past for you.

Today, you're turning 50.

And I know it's hard for you.

I don't know what to say to make it easier except to remind you that you are a loved man.

Your children look up to you and crave your words, attention and time from you because they value you so much.

Your siblings (including in-laws) appreciate your humor, talents, and steady character.

Your mom, even with her rapidly declining faculties, still knows when you're near and smiles.

Your parents in law adore you...and have told me again & again how thankful they are that you married their daughter.

Your friends see your wisdom & discernment and seek it out.

Your clients are in awe of your skills and proudly show off their homes naming you as the builder.

And your wife? Your wife is humbled again and again by the incredible gift given to her in all that you are. She wouldn't be the woman she is without your love, patience and encouragement. She thinks you're amazing.

You are loved, Brad.

Loved to the core of your being for all God's made you to be.

"I thank my God every time I think of you." Phillipians 1:3

Poser

2010-05-25T03:54:00.001-07:00

"Don't just pretend to love people. Really love them." Paul to the Romans (New Living Translation)

I've always tried to be a face value person: what you see is what you get. Maybe that was the problem yesterday...

Long day at work. 94 degrees. Air conditioning in the van...out of commission. Whole family in the hot van... lots of noise...my younger two bickering incessently. We arrive at my daughter's last soccer game, set up our chairs and proceed to sweat and get blown over by 35 mile an hour sustained winds. Last week it as 55 with a wind chill; this week it's record highs, typical prairie winds and lots of humidity. Welcome to Iowa.

Anyway, sitting at my daughters game, everything was bugging me: the dad on the sidelines "coaching" loudly, the beads of sweat trickling down my back, the wind, the arguing kids, even my husband (who hadn't really done anything)...I was even annoying myself. I was snippy with the kids, snippy with Brad, and not at all pleasant to be around. It dawned on me later (sadly too late), that the lady next to us could have certainly heard and seen my hissy fit behavior and general grouchy demeanor. If someone asked her what she thought of me, I'm afraid the answer would be scary. For that hour, at that game, what she (or anyone else paying attention) saw, was a crabby mom and disrespectful wife. Not much love. Not much joy. Not much of anything good.

I entitled this post "poser" because I've never wanted to be one. Well, guess what, yesterday proved that I'm no poser. But what you saw if you were looking, was what you got and it wasn't a pretty picture. Maybe some posing wouldn't have been all that bad. Or maybe if I would have taken two minutes to think outside myself, my attitude and behavior could have been adjusted. But I'll never know what could have been because I was too wrapped up in me.

Yesterday morning I came across this verse "Don't just pretend to love people. Really love them." from the book of Roman's. I thought of it all day, and yet when I went to the game, really loving people was not in the forefront of my brain. Me, myself and I were in the forefront and the back and all the space inbetween. When I woke up this morning, my behavior and this verse were staring me in the face. As I reflected, another Bible passage came to mind...let me paraphrase it...

Love stays cool even in the heat.

Love speaks kindly even when correcting.

Love doesn't wish for something it can't have-like a new car with a/c.

Love doesn't think it's being cheated just because life isn't always perfect.

Love doesn't demean or degrade or humiliate others.

Love doesn't get angry over trifles.

Love tries to forget others wrongs and see the best in them.

Love isn't happy when others are hurt or suffering or embarassed, but wants to bring relief.

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails, even when I do.

May you and I be true lovers today.

My Town

2010-05-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

Driving down the road I noticed the green leaves getting bigger and brighter by the day. Unleashed by the warm weather and gentle rains, the earth is alive with tulips, lilies of the valley, daffodils and flowering crab apples. Laughing, playing some combination of touch (with a little tackle) football, they only stopped long enough to move out of the road for the car. More were riding their bikes with baseball gloves & bats slung over their shoulders. Enjoying life in safety with freedom that few children today are able to experience. Kids on Sunday afternoon in my town.

Yep. My town.
For 18 years now (since April 25, 1992) this sleepy little Iowa village has been my town.
Slow paced...there's only a handful of stops signs and no lights in our town.
Odd habits...like the whistle that blows at 7 a.m., noon, 1 p.m. and 6p.m. every day.
Quirky people...like the man who rides his ancient bike at a poky pace everywhere-winter, spring, summer and fall-...or the neighbor who mows her lawn at least 3 times a week...or the guy who named his illness "Arthur".
We notice when something's different in our village...a change in someones house, a new vehicle, a new resident, visiting family.
We know one anothers habits. Like when we saw our elderly neighbors kids at her home on a Sunday morning when they'd normally be at church, we knew there was something wrong.
We know who runs in the morning and who runs everyday at 6 pm...we know the guy with the dogs.
We know who to call when we need advice with our plumbing or we want to know how to can applesauce or freeze sweet Iowa corn.
Emergency vehicle sirens are a rarity and usually cause for concern. No airplanes flying overhead, just a host of birds. The loudest noise we hear day or night, is the whirr of the dryers at the grain elevator.
I've witnessed this community come together to support people with ill children, people who've suffered loss and experienced tragedy. When it was time for a new library, the community united.
We still have a little parade to honor our veterans. We celebrate Flag day. And we make a big deal out of a new local swimming pool. Churches observe Lent together and share Vacation Bible Schools and youth groups.
Not everything in my town is perfect. I've witnessed abuse in this little town. I've seen marriages fall apart and families decimated. I've been judged in this town for how I live. I've felt like I didn't and would never fit in this small town.

But, then, do any of us fit anywhere?

There are days I'd give anything for a ten minute drive to Target (the nearest one is over an hour) or more choices in restaurants or simply anonymity.
But I'd be giving up so much if I left my little town.

No, my town is worth more than convenience.
And thankfully, after 18 years, I've embraced this quirky little midwest town with all it's oddities, absurdities, joys and see the richness of community that it holds so dear.

Just a little...

2010-05-11T04:40:00.000-07:00

Rain beating against the windshield, I drove down the back roads hurrying to my destination. Pouring over the past, consumed with the pressures of the present and turning over the possibilities of the future, my mind raced as I listened to my ipod.

Then the song started playing. I know I've heard it before... many times. But this time it was different. How could I have missed the words? How could I have missed the meaning? Well, maybe not John Hiatt's intended meaning but The Writers meaning. Driving down the lonely road, this time, the song felt like a serenade being sung straight to my heart.

Have a Little Faith written by John Hiatt

When the road gets dark
And you can no longer see
Just let my love throw a spark
An' have a little faith in me

An' when the tears you cry
Are all you can believe
Just give these loving arms a try, baby
An' have a little faith in me

Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me

An' when your secret heart
Cannot speak so easily
Come here darlin' from a whisper start
Have a little faith in me

An' when your back's against the wall
Just turn around an' a you will see
I'll be there, I'll be there to catch your fall
So have a little faith in me

Cause I've been loving you for such a long time, baby
Expecting nothing in return
Just for you to have a little faith in me
You see time, time is our friend
'Cause for us there is no end
All you gotta do is have a little faith in me

I will hold you up!
I'm gonna hold you up!
So have a little faith in me

Have a little faith in me

Have a little faith in me

"We live by faith, not by sight." 2 Cor. 5:7

"Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, 'I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!'" Mark 9:24

"I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." Matt 17:20

"The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing."
Zephaniah 3:17

Mom

2010-05-08T19:36:00.000-07:00

This is a re-post with a few changes...

A Woman at Rest
I'm not talking about a sleeping woman. I'm not talking about a confident woman. I'm not talking about an accomplished woman. I'm not talking about a calm woman. I'm not talking about a passive woman. I'm not talking about a positive woman. I"m not talking about a perfect woman.
I'm talking about a woman at rest.
She speaks truth and sees even the most difficult situations clearly.
She doesn't deny hardship or pain and allows emotions as they come.
She's not always quiet and demure but there's something in her demeanor which exudes peace.
She's not necessarily okay with who she is, but she's great with who God is and it shows.
No need to control, contrive or manage...God's got it.
No need to hang on to the past or worry about the future...God's got it.
She can live in the moment...good, bad or ugly... because God's got it.
She is a thing of beauty and a rarity.
There are many imitations in our world and churches, but few women who truly rest.
If you're privileged enough to know one, thank her today for making her world a better place.

I'm blessed and privileged to not only enjoy a woman at rest, but call her Mom. Love you, Mom.

At a loss...

2010-05-07T06:39:00.000-07:00

i'm at a loss...

for words?

no, not usually.

for thoughts?

almost never.

for emotions?

absolutely never.

for what then?

for answers?

most definately.

for ways to respond?

yep.

laying down myself day after day.

giving up self for More.

More what?

more good?

no, More God.

Letting go...

2010-04-26T06:26:00.000-07:00

From the time we're born, we're letting go. From the cradle to the grave we let go of--well--eventually everything in our lives ending with our own bodies. We let go of ourselves...who we were, who we thought we were, who we thought we'd be. Hopefully, as we grow and mature, we let go of prejudices, dogmas, and judgements. We let go of people as they leave our lives through moves or choices or death. We let go of our children. We let go of dreams. We let go of homes, cars, clothes...all the stuff of life. We let go of the boxes we've built to hold God or people. We let go of the walls that either keep others out or ourselves in.
There are some things that aren't too hard for me to let go of, and others, the mere thought of giving them up makes me panic. Yet, eventually, all will be stripped away. Will I willingly let it go or will it be taken?
My kids will grow up and leave. They, hopefully, will find loving spouses and establish homes of their own. Will I let them go? I have three teenagers right now (soon to be four) and it always surprises me what I have a hard time letting go of in regards to them.
My heart's heavy this morning as I continue to let go.
But not just letting go of my kids, but of wrongs (real or perceived) committed against me, of hurts new and old, of words spoken to me and words I've uttered, of mistakes filled with shame, of past choices that I'd do anything to change...
Letting go is filled with fears for me...
fears that wrongs will go unpunished...
that healing will not come...
that reconciliation is beyond hope...
that mistakes made may be irrevocable...
So much fear.
And yet, in the end, there is no choice but to let go; to let other people's "stuff" be theirs and not take it on myself.
I'd love to end this post with a nice little happy Bible verse or cliche or meaningful song, but the truth is, letting go is just something you have to do whether it feels ok or brings any sense of comfort or relief or not and all the words in the world can't make it any easier.

***Brad just read this and said "That's what Jesus did. He willingly let it all go."

Too much. Not enough.

2010-04-05T06:16:00.000-07:00

I'm too much...

too emotional.

too needy.

too overpowering.

too up.

too down.

too aware.

and at the same time a deep nagging sense of being not enough...

not smart enough.

not pretty enough.

not happy enough.

not faithful enough.

simply... not enough.

I'll always be too much for people and not enough.
In one sense, of course, that's not true. It's satan's ploy to render me helpless and hopeless (and frankly it works a lot).
But in a very real way, it is truth.
I am too much and not enough for other people. We all are.
There's a line from When Harry Met Sally (one of my all time favorite movies) where he tells her she's "High maintenance. Definitely. And the worst kind. You're a high maintenance who thinks she's low maintenance."
I really want to be low maintenance. I wish I was an easy going, baseball cap wearing, live life on the edge, carpe diem kinda girl. But I'm not. I'm a picky eating, obsessive, over analyzing woman who hates to sweat and looks lousy in a baseball cap.
But in truth, I'm not the only high maintenance human. As individuals, it seems we're all high maintenance. Men. Women. Children. We're all imperfect beings in desperate need.
Needing love, needing care, needing approval, needing acceptance, needing grace.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." ~2 Corinthians 12:8-10
So here I am today, boasting in my frailty, knowing that He is the "author and perfecter" of my faith...resting in the fact that He loves me just as I am...all too much and not enough of me.
He loves you too, friend, just as you are...

surprised by beauty

2010-04-03T16:18:00.000-07:00

In retrospect, I over reacted.
I stood there, in the middle of our brown yard, telling Brad what happened, tears burning hot little paths down my face.
Leaning on his rake, he listened patiently.
He was so kind.
He kept reassuring me it would be ok--that we'd find a way to solve the problem--that it wasn't as hopeless as it seemed.
Still crying, but beginning to believe his words, I caught a glimpse of purple out of the corner of my eye.
I ignored it at first because I didn't plant any flowers in that bed, so it must be something else.
When finally composed, I went over to investigate.
As I walked closer, Brad said "yeah, I saw that. One of the kids must have found one broken off and stuck it there."
But, no.
This was a lone rogue tulip, blooming in my perennial bed.
I came home from work, worried, sad and upset and there it was, in all it's purple splendor.
A surprise of beauty.
I didn't plant it.
I didn't prepare the soil or plan the spot.
I didn't water it or fertilize it.
I don't know how it got there.
A bird maybe?
Or a squirrel?
It doesn't matter.
It's there now.
Blooming.
A sole purple bloom amidst last falls yard debris.
A reminder of something more than me and something bigger than me.
Larger Life at work, even in my back yard.
A signal of hope.

Jesus said: That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?

And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?

So don’t worry about these things, saying, ‘What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear?’ These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need.

So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today. Matthew 6:25-34 (New Living Translation)

Where have you been?

2010-03-30T05:01:00.000-07:00

"Where have you been?"
Like a wide eyed child with a bewildered smile on her face, her words rang out crystal clear. Three or four coherent words strung together are about her limit now, after that, it's just jumbled syllables. Disease deteriorates her brain and slowly steels away bits of her: her memory, her personality, her language, her mobility, her sanity and some day, her very breath. Sitting with her at the table surrounded by others of sound minds, if not sound bodies, her words shot an arrow right to my heart.
"I've been sick, mom...you know I still work...and I'm really busy with the kids..."
My words sounded hollow.
She continued with her strange little smile, not really registering much except the fact that people she knew and a son she loved were close.
Where had I been? All the reasons I mentioned were true and valid reasons for not visiting her often. But I knew a deeper truth.
"What takes more faith...to tell the mountain to move or to forgive?" (Mark 11)
Pastor K's question not only helped me understand some words of Christ that I've never fully understood, but also cut through all the crap and excuses to the heart of some of my biggest obstacles to loving people. It's hard for me to forgive. I remember and hold on to hurts, allowing them to fester. I don't let people off the hook for real or perceived wrongs. Moving a mountain does feel easier than forgiving.
We've all been hurt...by parents, siblings, spouses, in-laws, friends, co-workers and even strangers. Hurt deeply. Sometimes wounded to the core of our being.
Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. Love. All wonderful words and concepts. But living out forgiveness or mercy or grace to someone who's hurt you is more than difficult; it's painful. It requires letting go of your role as judge and jury and having faith that God will not only take care of you, but them as well.
The Bible tells us God is a God of judgement. But, we know He's also the originator of Grace and Mercy, and Forgiveness. And through His son, Jesus, we and the people who've wronged us, can be forgiven and we can have the freedom to forgive.
Personally, I've got a long way to go.
Something to think about during this Holy Week.

Lasting Beauty

2010-03-27T04:18:00.000-07:00

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. ~King Solomon

Fleeting beauty...boy, don't I know it. Betrayed by the mirror, the tiny lines spreading like ripples on water, threaten to cover my whole face. And they will some day. Putting cream on my legs, I notice another kind of "line"; tiny blue veins creeping steadily toward my knees. My hands have wrinkles and age spots. I don't like aging. I don't like that I gain weight in odd places. I don't like forgetting things. I don't like the fact that now I'm not only near sighted, but need reading glasses!
We (okay, women, I'm including all of you, but maybe it's just me) spend vast amounts of time moisturizing, coloring, dieting, working out and deliberating over what clothes flatter us. Why? To look good. To feel good. To be our "best".
None of this is wrong or bad. But the other day, it struck me, as I was once again mourning my youth-or at least youthful appearance- that I have a hard time seeing my value beyond usefulness and outward appearance. If I'm not young or pretty or at the very least useful, what good am I? Before you start extolling all my virtues to make me feel better, please, I'm reflecting...asking questions...so come along and take time to evaluate how you see yourself.
Is it hard for you to age?
When you look to the future are you excited to age?
I recently asked a wonderful, godly woman in her 70's how she coped with aging-specifically physical aging. Her reply was honest and direct: "You don't have a choice but to accept it and keep living."
The Forsyte Saga, a novel by John Galsworthy, details the lives of several generations of the Forsyte family in England between 1886 and 1921. There's a part in it where a youngish widow is trying to marry off her step-daughter because they've been left with no money. In the attempt to engage Irene, her step-mother is at a ball dancing with a man (older than herself) that seems clearly taken with her. However, in the course of the evening, it becomes apparent that the man's intent is for the daughter, not the step-mother. ouch. The middle aged mother, embarrassed and heartbroken, whisks Irene away. The scene is so tragic to me. The step-mom is lovely and delightful and yet of little to no value because she's not as young or beautiful as Irene and she has no money or power.
Has that much changed since the novel was written in 1906?
Do we, women, know our value beyond our beauty or usefulness or ability to manipulate men?
Do other's honor us for aging...seeing the wrinkles, greying hair and varicose veins as signs of wisdom that comes from living?
Are we honorable women?
A friend who has lived in Africa now for several years, was talking about how there are not many older people in Nigeria, so when someone does live a long life, they're respected and revered. Our society, by contrast, has a long average life span yet everyone seems to use those years to try and look younger and feel younger and live even longer. Americans idolize youth.
I know we can have youthful hearts. I know we can keep learning and growing and experiencing life no matter our physical age. I know elderly women who have beauty beyond imagination. But does everyone mourn the loss of youth?

People, I'm pondering...reflecting...asking questions...of course I know I'm loved and beloved and valued for more than outward appearances (thank God)...but what motivates my actions and reactions? Am I an honorable woman? Are you? It's worth thinking about.

The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing. ~Zephaniah

The Promise

2010-03-17T06:36:00.001-07:00

It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! ~Mark Twain

Enveloped in white, the Iowa earth seems to breathe a sigh of relief as her winter blanket slowly melts away. Record snowfalls, frigid temps and seemingly endless days of low hanging gray clouds add up to a long, bleak, memorable winter.
But now...
the snow is melting.
the ground is showing.
the sun is rising earlier and setting later.
the season is changing.
the promise that there is life under the frozen ground is real.
this winter, I was fooled at times into thinking that spring would never come.
that the snow wouldn't melt and the icicles would become permanent fixtures stretching from my eaves to the ground.
the endless gray sky clouds blurred my vision and perspective.
we know that we know that we know that the seasons always change; that spring follows winter.
yet somehow in the middle of it all, we lose sight of facts and are dictated by appearances.
since we don't have x-ray vision we can't perceive the dormant plants nestled safely in their winter cocoons waiting to be called up from their subterranean homes into the light and air of a warm spring day.
all we see all winter is what's on the surface...snow and if there's not much snow, dirt.
but the promise is there.
buried under earth.
the promise of life.
the promise of renewal.
the promise of more than meets the eye.
hope.

Awake, thou wintry earth -
Fling off thy sadness!
Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth
Your ancient gladness!
~Thomas Blackburn