Go Read This

Go read this. Then join me in Julie's prayer:

May His Word so deeply probe, penetrate, excavate our hearts that stubborn roots of unbelief may be ripped out and replaced by a humble, ‘more excellent’ treasure.

The Susan Boyle phenomenon

Loved this take on the video clip seen 'round the world.

"The problem is not that we consider youth beautiful. The problem is that we equate beauty with worth."

Why Easter isn't Christmas

A fascinating article from Slate, on why Easter, despite the marshmallow Peeps and chocolate bunnies, stubbornly resists commercialization.

How pleasant it is in mid-December to open a Christmas card with a pretty picture of Mary and Joseph gazing beatifically at their son, with the shepherds and the angels beaming in delight. The Christmas story, with its friendly resonances of marriage, family, babies, animals, angels, and—thanks to the wise men—gifts, is eminently marketable to popular culture. It's a Thomas Kinkade painting come to life.

On the other hand, a card bearing the image of a near-naked man being stripped, beaten, tortured, and nailed through his hands and feet onto a wooden crucifix is a markedly less pleasant piece of mail.

Thanks to Tim Challies for the link.

Stricken, Smitten, and Afflicted

Stricken, smitten, and afflicted,
See Him dying on the tree!
’Tis the Christ by man rejected;
Yes, my soul, ’tis He, ’tis He!
’Tis the long expected prophet,
David’s Son, yet David’s Lord;
Proofs I see sufficient of it:
’Tis a true and faithful Word.

Tell me, ye who hear Him groaning,
Was there ever grief like His?
Friends through fear His cause disowning,
Foes insulting his distress:
Many hands were raised to wound Him,
None would interpose to save;
But the deepest stroke that pierced Him
Was the stroke that Justice gave.

Ye who think of sin but lightly,
Nor suppose the evil great,
Here may view its nature rightly,
Here its guilt may estimate.
Mark the Sacrifice appointed!
See Who bears the awful load!
’Tis the Word, the Lord’s Anointed,
Son of Man, and Son of God.

Here we have a firm foundation,
Here the refuge of the lost.
Christ the Rock of our salvation,
Christ the Name of which we boast.
Lamb of God for sinners wounded!
Sacrifice to cancel guilt!
None shall ever be confounded
Who on Him their hope have built.

To listen

What's my motivation?

When I was in high school I hung out with the drama geeks and acted in a couple plays. I had fun, and found a group I felt comfortable enough with to make it through the only-slightly-less-cannibalistic-than-junior-high years of high school. I never took it too seriously, though. I played at acting.

Some of the the kids I interacted with were very different from me. They went to workshops and studied technique, and when I hung out with them and pretended I was there for reasons beyond having a safe place to eat lunch, I was always impressed by their dedication to their craft.

"What's my motivation?" was a recurring question for them.

Why is my character behaving as the playwrite directs? When he says this, is he speaking sarcastically or sincerely? Is the character being disingenuous when he takes this action, or does he mean what he says?

Stated another way, meaning is not found in action; meaning is found in intention.

My pastor has been preaching through Matthew 5-7, The Sermon on the Mount, for the past several months. I'm not exaggerating when I say that it's been a life-changing series for me.

He posed a question to us a couple weeks ago that I can't stop thinking about: Imagine heaven with all of its beauty and blessings, with all its joys and relationships restored, with sin removed and purity and utter bliss. If I could have all of that, and Jesus wasn't there, would I still want to go?

Is Jesus a window to a host of blessings for me, or is He it? Is Jesus what I'm after? Why am I in this thing--Christianity--to begin with?

Is Jesus the means or the end of my faith?

If I really believe something, I will act as if it is true. So if I really want Jesus, if I am His follower and disciple, I will live a life of obedience to His words.

What would that look like in my life? How would Jesus live my life if He were I?

I think I will spend the rest of my life learning what that means.

Never Alone

Dh's work has required a lot of separation over the last several weeks. He's gone Monday-Friday every week, and will likely be keeping this schedule for at least another month.

I'm fortunate to have a close friend whose work schedule allows her to stay with the kids mid-week, so I can get a sanity break. And I've been very purposeful in staying connected to my women's Bible study and Wednesday small group, so I am staying in community with friends.

The nights are still somewhat lonely, but I have to admit that I like having some time on my own. I think better when it's quiet, and have been happy to be able to spend some good chunks of time in study and prayer.

God is good. I am never alone, without Him.

Readings for Lent

I've been following this blog to help me as I try to focus upon the Cross in this season of Lent. It's simply a short daily scripture reading, from the ESV. Highly recommended as a means to approach Easter with a more contemplative approach.

This is in addition to the (theoretically) daily reading I'm doing through the Bible.

Where has this been all my life?

My pastor is preaching a series through the Sermon on the Mount, and to me it feels like the first time I've heard these things. How is it possible to live as a believer for over thirty years, and to have arguably the most familiar chapters of the Bible hitting me with such force and vigor?

Why do such basic concepts as trust and prayer seem wholly new? Why don't I yet understand that grace is God's power at work in my life?

God, help me to be the kind of person who:
*chooses prayer over manipulation
*believes others possess the same dignity as I
*fully realizes that God will get the job done better than I
*understands that I can't act in a way that doesn't fit the Kingdom to gain a result that does
*replaces my goals for God's goals

Overheard at the breakfast table

H (the little guy, 6 months): Waaaah!

Me: Aw, what's the matter with this little guy....

M (the girl, 8 years): Mom! It's not his fault! It's just Satan's fault. If he hadn't lied, then there wouldn't be any such things as ear infections.

O (one of my twin guys, 7 years): I just hate Satan. If it wasn't for him lying, I wouldn't ever have dish duty!

Nine Years

Nine years ago today, my dh and I promised God and each other that we would love each other till we were parted by death.

Today our life looks very different than what we expected when we slouched together on my parents' couch and planned out our future. Six children, eight job changes, five moves (one to another state), and major events in our extended family have all contributed to make our family what it is today.

When I was a new bride, I could not imagine we would lose some relationships precious to us. But perhaps that is why we hold onto each other even more, now. We now know in a very real way that nothing lasts except the grace of God by which we stand.*

So today we will celebrate our marriage and plan for the future. And we will continue to trust in the One who has proven Himself faithful, even when we are not.

*If you remember that Keith Green song, you, too, may be a child of Jesus People hippies!

Check this out

I just read one of the best blog posts I've ever read. Very convicting as I contemplate my gut reaction to being wronged, especially as it applies to my parenting.

Here's an exerpt:

I don’t go to church because I expect to be loved. I go to church to learn to love the irascible people who are called by the name Christian. This is one of the primary ways I worship Jesus. I realize that notion cuts against the grain - our cultural assumption is that we find a perfect, virtuous, loving church first, and then join it. Maybe that’s the right thing to do when we are new to the faith and need lots of nurturing, but at some point, we are supposed to become the spiritual grown-ups who can handle loving the cranks.

Come read the entire post.

I spoke too soon

The weather today was bizarre. First it was overcast, then it was cold and cloudy. Next came the wind, and there were some serious gusts that whistled through the windows I had left open from yesterday's beautiful, mild weather. Then came the rain, then snow, and then hail. Hail! and Snow! On tax day, for pity's sake!

My friend's new baby boy is in the NICU. My 8yo daughter, the baby and I went to go visit them in the hospital tonight, only to find that their room was empty because my friend and her dh were down in the NICU visiting their baby. When my friend did come back to her room we talked and prayed together.

I'm so grateful that none of my children have ever needed advanced medical care. Even when our preemie suprise twins were born, their lungs were fine and they were able to room in with me from the beginning. Aside from some difficulty maintaining their body temp, which we helped along by wrapping them in three receiving blankets each, they were remarkably unaffected by their early entry into the world.

Sobering, to see how quickly my plans and assumptions must be set aside.

Fajitas and the Sovereignty of God

Tonight our family went out for a celebratory dinner, having completed a transaction that ended an unfortunate association. We went to The Mayan, a restaurant with "Mayan" cliff divers acting out hyperbolic dramas and randomly diving, jumping, and falling into the safely chlorinated pool below their rocky stage. The kids love it, and dh and I have taken them there for birthdays and when family visits.

Tonight was the first time we've been since the place was renovated and the menu revamped. They no longer serve fajitas, but have a dish called something like Fajita Adventure, which I guess is supposed to be a classier take on fajitas. Instead of the classic flavors and sides, it had poblano peppers and onions, a black bean and corn salsa, a side of some kind of rice pilaf, and a dab of sour cream and picante sauce. No lettuce or cheese, no guacamole, and the steak didn't have the classic fajita seasonings.

I tried not be negative, but dh could tell that I wasn't really enjoying it. And then he said something that really struck me. He said that he didn't want me ordering fajitas anymore when we went out, because they always fell short of the fajitas at El Rodeo and I was always disappointed.

El Rodeo was a little Mexican restaurant in our hometown. Their food was sensational, and I have so many good memories of meals eaten there with friends and family. Some pivotal moments in my life happened in that place, full of the smells of good food and the sound of happy conversations and the cook in the kitchen, singing along with the Mexican radio station.

Some unfortunate business decisions led to the restaurant closing, and ever since then I've been on a fruitless search for a fajita that can bring me back to El Rodeo.

What I realized tonight, though, was that even when I do find that perfect fajita once again, it still won't bring back the place that I loved, with its corner booth and carnival music. That place is gone forever. The last time I visited my hometown, the former restaurant was being used as a Pilates studio. I wondered as I drove past if the diligent people excercising there ever caught a hint of freshly made tortilla chips and salsa.

I miss my home. And what's funny is, if I were home right now I'd still be missing parts of that home that no longer exist. Restaurants shut down. People move away. Relationships change, sometimes radically. Churches close their doors.

My children have already learned the lament of missing our old house, missing Grandpa and Grandma, missing their aunts and uncles. And as I tell them, so, too, I remind myself: where we live now is a good place, we'll see the people we love again, and God is on His throne.

None of these things came as a suprise to Him.

I need a good fajita recipe. By the time summer rolls around, I intend to have a killer version of my very own.

Black Sunday

Fifteen years ago or so, a good friend of mine dubbed Palm Sunday "Black Sunday" because of the lousy run we'd had for a couple of years on that particular day.

Today was not on the same level as some of those truly terrible days, but it wasn't easy, either. Between the two littlest having rotten colds and dh needing to put in some overtime, we decided to skip church today. That always starts our week out wrong--the whole week just seems off kilter.

And we're in the midst of so many things right now, stressful and joyless, that I wonder sometimes if we're in a permanent state instead of a season.

To top it all off, it snowed again last night. Winter doesn't want to let go of us, this year.

Right now, I am focusing on the good things: I'm so grateful that my children are safe and, beyond a case of the sniffles, healthy. Dh's job is a blessing, an affirmation once again that God loves us and provides for our needs. I've been in closer contact with my extended family over the last couple of months, and once again I've been reminded of how blessed I am to be a part of my large, loud, grace-filled but snarky, and even sometimes cranky family.

As winter holds on I'm looking forward to next Sunday, and Easter, and the reason for my hope.

Rejoice with me!

My three oldest children became Christians tonight!


For the last several weeks, my three bigs have been asking probing questions about faith, sin, forgiveness, and what it means to be a Christian. Over the last two weeks we have been learning about the Creation in our Bible time, and then yesterday we began learning about the Fall. It's not the first time they've heard these stories, but they have been connecting the dots in ways I've not seen before.


Dh and I had a conversation earlier this week about all this, and agreed that we wanted to be careful not to push them in any way. It's important to us that they make this decision themselves, and not because they think they should.


So tonight at dinner, my 8yodd asked dh if there were more people in heaven or in hell. To answer her, dh opened the door to our basement 3 or 4 inches, and explained what the word "narrow" means. Then we went out to the garage, and he opened the big door to our driveway, and talked about how wide that door was, and how we could go through every door in our house, and hundreds besides, but never be able to get into our basement unless we went through that one door. We sat down at the table again, and talked about how Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.


Our three oldest had many, many questions about all this, and really started pressing us about specifics: What is the path exactly? How does someone become a Christian? What does it mean to confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord? How does this fit in with asking Jesus to forgive us when we've sinned?


Finally, dh asked them if they wanted to pray right now. They all said, Yeah! So we sat together on the couch, and dh talk with them for quite a while about how this was forever, that for the rest of their lives and beyond, they will belong to God. Then he lead them in a prayer. (Our 4yods chimed in, too.)


I'm still a bit teary-eyed. I called my parents a while ago, and they were thrilled. Both of them were the first believers in their families, and for them to now see their children's children come to Christ is an awesome thing.


Today is a very, very good day.

Solace

May all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you!
May those who love your salvation say evermore,
"God is great!"
But I am poor and needy;
hasten to me, O God!
You are my help and my deliverer;
O LORD, do not delay!
Psalm 70:4-5