What I Won't Take For Granted

Thankfulness is a spiritual discipline, and it's one I have a hard time cultivating in times like these when my sleep issues are at their worst. What's more, I've found that the term "thankful" has become too trite to be useful for me. Particularly in Christian circles, it seems (and for everyone once the month of November hits), we talk so much about being thankful that it almost becomes nothing more that a rote recitation.

I am reminding myself lately that there are things in my life that I must not take for granted -- things I have right now that I have not always had and will not always have, and I MUST make a point of appreciating their presence while I have them. Here are a few:

Hot Showers: Hubby and I are still entertaining the idea of living out of the country during retirement. And we learned during our week in Panama a few years ago that very few homes there have hot water for showers. Let me tell you, people: cold showers are such a miserable experience for me that I might rather just let myself stink. The vast majority of the time I take a shower anymore, I let myself feel the wonderful hot water on my body and take a minute to stand there and just flat out enjoy the feeling. A time may come when I will long for this, so I don't want to take it for granted now.

Breathing: When I get a cold, nine times out of ten, it settles in my chest, and I end up coughing for weeks -- many miserable, exhausting weeks. I avoid sick people like the plague because a cold just isn't a minor deal for me. I have caught myself many times, while lying in bed in the morning getting ready to get up, taking big, deep breaths and just loving the feeling of air flowing through my lungs smoothly. I know that at any time, I could be exposed to germs that will temporarily disrupt that. I make a point now to appreciate the times when I can breathe.

Being Able to See Enough to Read: My mother had macular degeneration. My eye doctor reminded me the other day that I should probably take some eye health supplements to head off the possibility of having similar problems. Macular degeneration manifests itself in blurry vision right at the center of where you focus, which means it makes it difficult and eventually impossible to read. I am a serious reader. Reading is integral to my life right now: I read books, magazines, student papers, scripts, online articles, emails, my own plethora of to-do lists . . . not being able to read would alter my life profoundly. I like my life. I want to be able to read. And since there's a chance I won't be able to someday, I treasure every day that I can now.

Being Able to Think Straight; My father had Alzeimer's disease. Since there seems to be a genetic component to that, I have always known that there was a possibility of my developing the disease as well. The older I get and the more my father's siblings become similarly debilitated, the more I think about that possible future for me. Someday, I may not be able to remember things or understand what people say to me or keep my own thoughts straight. I want to appreciate the ability to think while I have it.

My Daughters' Presence: This is a biggie. I have a twenty-year-old and a sixteen-year-old. The oldest could very well have chosen to go away to college but didn't. The youngest may very well make that choice in a couple years. I have never enjoyed my daughters more than I enjoy them right now: they are intelligent, caring, thoughtful, FUN young ladies, and wonder of wonders, they seem to enjoy spending time with hubby and me. I know I am blessed. I know someday they will have families and careers, and Mom and Dad will move down the priority list . . . which will be as it should be. So I welcome every moment I can have with them now and treasure up these times in my heart.


Someday, these blessings may be gone. And because I serve a loving and gracious God, I know when that time comes, there will be other blessings to appreciate. But I refuse to get to that day and realize I didn't appreciate what I had while I had it. No matter how crazy my days get . . . no matter how grouchy I am from sleep deprivation . . . no matter how discouraged I am about the direction of our nation . . . I must never, ever take God's gifts for granted.

Independent AND Interdependent

Independence. It's been on my mind lately, but not the kind of independence we celebrated this weekend.

I don't remember the article I read that got my mind cranking, but the cranking meshed with other things I've read and with personal experiences with loved ones. It was all about class -- our nation's economic classes and the cultures and values of the different groups.

The middle-to-upper classes, it seems, place a high value on independence. The ability to stand on one's own two feet, to take care of oneself. So they see education as important -- you need a degree to get a good job that will support yourself and your family. Money management is important -- you sacrifice and save money so that when an emergency happens, you have the resources to handle it, and so that when you're old and can't work anymore, you have resources to live on.

The poor, on the other hand -- the poverty class -- seem to place a higher value on interdependence. We take care of each other; we can rely on each other. When you need a place to stay, you can sleep on my couch as long as you need. I can drive you to work tomorrow, or you can borrow my car. Your kids can hang out at my house after school until you get home. I'll help you today because the day will come when I'll need someone to help me.

Of course, human nature being what it is, there are those in both cultures that warp these values into something sinful. There are people of means who become selfish and greedy and isolated in their independence, hoarding their resources to meet not only their needs but their luxurious desires. There are also poor people who take advantage of the generosity of others and become irresponsible, selfish moochers. Selfishness is no respecter of persons.

People from each class often see the sinful in the other and color the whole group with that color -- which results in their moving even further to the extreme of their own end of the spectrum. "See that free-loader? This is why you have to save your money. (And why we need to toughen the welfare system.)" Or conversely: "See that greedy rich man with the huge bank account? Money isn't as important as people are. I'd rather be poor and surrounded by people I love than rich and lonely. Come on; I just got paid -- let's spend it all on a fun weekend together."

We forget that this is not an either-or situation. It's a both-and situation. We need to be both independent and interdependent. They are not mutually exclusive, even though we think they are.

We have things to learn from each other. The poverty class can learn that sometimes, you need to pay attention that the way you help a friend in need is empowering them rather than enabling them. They can learn that sacrificing to save a little at a time not only means they have resources that keep them from needing to rely on others unnecessarily, but also gives them more resources to share. (Everyone "must work, doing something useful with their hands, that they may have something to share with those in need." Eph 4:28)

The upper-middle class can learn that sometimes you endure the inconvenience and the risk and simply give just because there is a need -- no strings attached, no judgments rendered -- and let God sort out the deserving and undeserving. They can learn that it's okay for us to lean on each other. That's how God made humanity: a body with interdependent parts. And they can learn that money is a tool, a tool to be used to build God's kingdom, not our own. (Jesus said, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added unto you." Matt 6:33)

I'm talking big-picture here, so don't yell at me about individual situations that don't fit this characterization. I just find that I'm learning much from those in my life that come from the other end of the spectrum . . . and I hope they're learning from me as well.

Nature = Love

Here's more evidence that God loves us: nature is beautiful.

For those of you unaware, we've had a deluge of rain in Texas this year. Serious flooding about a month ago, in fact. But after many years of drought, rain is a glorious sight, too. Everything is so green and lovely.

I walk around the neighborhood with our dog and marvel at the beauty of the world God gave us. All the green. So many shades of green. Such a soothing color, green. Soft and gentle in the grasses of the lawn and the leaves on the trees and bushes.

And the contrast of the green leaves against the bright blue of the sky is remarkable. Somewhere in my very limited science fiction exposure, I read a novel about a world where the sky was pink or something. And of course, on every other planet, where there is no atmosphere, you only see dark space. I like the option given us.

 I have discovered in recent years that I have a particular affinity for texture. I prefer woven baskets to smooth flat boxes. And I love looking at the various uses of stone and brick in our neighborhood -- in the mailboxes, in the driveways, in planters and steps, even in the houses themselves.

And the sparkle of the flowers sprinkled here and there. Just in our front yard, we have lantana, esperanza, plumbago, and another purple flower that Charlie my plant-knowledgable neighbor can't identify for me. Plus the cactus is just about to bloom. Orange, yellow, red, and purple surprises accenting the soft greens and browns. Big and bold . . . or small and delicate . . .

In Texas (at least in our part of Texas, but I've heard it's a state-wide thing), there are wildflowers growing along all the roadways. The famous bluebonnets pop up to signal the start of spring here, but even now that they are gone, there are still flowers everywhere.

Walking around our neighborhood, I'm entranced by the sights . . . and sounds. Birds chirping. What a great idea that was! Again, such a calming thing to sit in our courtyard area and hear birds, twittering to each other, singing to the blue sky. Bright green lizards and fuzzy brown squirrels scamper up and down our maze of live oaks. Blue jays and other birds I'm not informed enough to pin a name to light on the edge of our stone fountain to get a drink or a quick shower.

And the fountain! Water! Water is an essential to our existence, but God didn't have to make it such a pleasing thing to the eye. Or the ear. The sound of water gurgling, or flowing, or crashing in waves . . . we record those sounds and listen to them in our urban apartments to drown out the car horns and sooth our troubled souls.

Again, God didn't have to make any of our environment beautiful. He was under no such obligation to us; life itself was his greatest gift, and He could have stopped there. We could live on a planet of empty vastness like the moon. We could live in broad deserts of nothingness (not that deserts don't have their own grandeur, but still). We have beauty, in various forms, all of which ease our souls and draw us to Him, if we let it.

Thanks, Lord. I'm gonna go take a walk now.

My Time Don't Fly

Yesterday was our last teacher workday. My school year is officially over. For the last couple weeks, I've been hearing all sorts of students and parents and staff members saying things like, "Can you believe the year is over already? It went so fast! It feels like just yesterday was September. Doesn't it feel like just yesterday was September?"

And I have to say -- no. Not at all.

I don't often have that sensation that so many people speak of that time is passing so quickly. And I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

I can't say that it seems like yesterday when my kids were tiny. No, it seems like ten or fifteen years ago -- which it was.

I don't honestly feel like I should be twenty-five years old. Or thirty. No, I feel like I should be about forty-six -- which I am. Now, I don't feel like I should be as fat and tired as I am at forty-six, but that's a different issue. I DO feel like I should be as old as I am. I've done a lot of living. (And I hope I have a lot more living to do.)

I believe I commented last year on my 25th wedding anniversary that I feel like I've been married 25 years. A full 25. No more, no less. (Well, by now it's almost 26.)

And I don't think this school year has gone by quickly. It feels like it took about nine months. Just right.

I suppose I should feel grateful that it doesn't seems like the year took a decade. Or should I? That remark would have the connotation that it dragged . . . that it was boring, or miserable, or difficult . . . but it doesn't necessarily have to mean that, does it? We say, "This was a long day," and we are usually implying that it was a difficult one as well. But I've had many "long days" that were actually quite enjoyable. And shouldn't I be grateful for God packing as much joy and experience into a day as possible? Or into a school year? Or a lifetime?

When I have friends lamenting how fast time is going, or how quickly their kids are growing up, or how they can't be as old as they really are, part of me feels sad for them. I mean, truth is, a lot of people just say that as small talk; it's kind of The Thing To Say in certain situations. But if they really feel like the time has passed that quickly, that's a shame. It almost seems to imply to me that they haven't really savored it as they experienced it.

One of the best pieces of parenting advice I got when my girls were babies was to enjoy the moment. "Don't spend all your time thinking that you can't wait until they're sleeping through the night -- or until they're out of diapers -- or until they're in school -- or until this or that. There are challenges at every age and in every developmental stage, but there are also wonderful blessings. If you waste your time longing for the blessings of the next stage, you miss all the blessings of this one."

I think I have followed that advice, for the most part. I'm sure there were days when the girls were tiny that I forgot to look for the blessings (mothering, honestly, doesn't come naturally to me, I don't think; I struggled a lot in those younger years). But I feel like I lived every year of my life and experienced everything God put in my path to experience. I don't want to go back. I want to go forward.

And speaking of going forward, I'm already planning lessons for next year in my head at night. I'm a freak like that.

The One About Vomiting

I couldn't remember the last time I had thrown up. I have no memories of doing so in our house in Sioux City, so it must have been before we lived there -- possibly a decade or so ago.

But my streak was broken Monday night, about five minutes before the pastor and his family arrived for dinner at our house. (Fabulous timing, o stomach of mine.) I suspect the leftover quiche I ate for Monday's lunch was the culprit. It had all the signs of food poisoning. Just a 24-hour thing.

Vomiting . . . what a phenomenon. I had forgotten how repulsive and miserable it is. And yet, what a blessing that our bodies have this automatic mechanism in place to protect us. I could almost hear my inner systems screaming, "TOXINS! TOXINS! Eradicate them immediately!! Stat!" (I don't know what "stat" means in this context, but we've all deduced from medical dramas that it implies urgency, and this situation was apparently urgent.)

Goodness, the violence our bodies inflict to purge us of poison! The thoroughness of the purging! EVERYTHING goes that may have entered with the offending party. No traces of the toxin may remain. Every other non-essential system in the body shuts down so more energy can be put toward the cleansing (which explains the exhaustion that my daughter was surprised at -- "why would food poisoning wipe you out so badly?").

So, in the moments of calm between violent purgings, I was able to experience some genuine appreciation for what my body was doing for me, painful and gross as it was in the experience.

And I was able to consider how beneficial it might be if we had systems in place to purge us of other toxins we encounter in life.

So, when a poisonous idea enters our minds, our mental systems would scream, "TOXINS! DANGER! Eradicate that immediately! Before it infects and spreads!" Followed by a violent purging, which would necessitate a day or two of gentle meditation to recover. I might even be willing to lose a bit of short-term memory in the process if it meant being protected from thoughts that would be ruinous to me in the long run.

And when a toxic person enters our lives, our systems would scream, "DANGER! POISON! Get them outa here! Go! Go! Go!" I'd hope I could re-establish the healthy relationships that might be lost in the violence of eradicating the toxin, but sad as it might be, that sacrifice would be worth the price.

Yes, such purgings would be painful and disruptive and costly in many ways. But oh, the costs they would save us in the long run! And how much more cautious would we be about the various poisons we encounter in life if we knew each of them would knock us out of commission for a couple days like that.

In case you're wondering, I'm feeling much better this morning, thank you. And my daughters did a fabulous job of greeting our guests and serving dinner Monday night. A good support team is critical in such a dangerous world as ours, with its perilous ideas, risky companions, and questionable quiches. I'm thankful for mine.

Mainstreams and Margins

Our Sunday School teacher used that phrase yesterday. Mainstreams and margins. Our society tends to refer to "majorities" and "minorities," but I think these terms are more accurate. You can be a statistical majority and still be on the margins of society. It's not about the numbers.

In the context of our discussion, the teacher asked us to consider situations in our lives when we have been in either camp. When have you been in the margins? And when you were, what were your thoughts and feelings about those in the mainstream? Conversely, when you've been in the mainstream, how did you think and feel about those in the margins?

We were examining passages in Acts about conflict resolution -- specifically Acts 15, when the Council in Jerusalem had to make a decision about circumcision. Do Gentiles who trust in Christ have to become Jews before they become Christians? Is Christianity just a new branch of Judaism, or is it something else entirely?

At that time, the Jewish Christians were the mainstream. Gentile Christians were the margins. Kind of interesting, when you think about it.

In the United States, Christianity has been the mainstream since Europeans began settling the land. And most people will insist that it still is. Look at all our churches. Look at all the Christian holidays we celebrate. Look at all the surveys indicating how many people identify as Christians, believe in God, attend Christian worship services, etc.

But you see, that's about majority. I'm talking about mainstream. And I contend the national waters are started to flow down a different stream.

Oh, I don't think churches are going to start disappearing right away. Blatant atheism isn't going to be running rampant around here anytime soon. But I'm convinced we're headed the direction Europe has gone. I haven't ever been to Europe, but from what I understand, churches are mostly historical artifacts around there. Very few active members. And very few churches that are serving as salt and light in the dark worlds around them.

John Piper said in a recent sermon, "The Christian Church in America suffers from about 350 years of dominance and prosperity. . . this has deeply ingrained in us a massively unbiblical mindset, namely, a mindset of at-homeness in this world and in this age." It has been easy to be a Christian in America, and that easiness has created a feebleness that will be our downfall.

I vividly remember the words a couple decades ago of a missionary from a country in the Eastern block that had been freed from Soviet control and was experiencing new religious freedoms. His believing friends in that nation were bemoaning to him, "Why did God take away the blessing of persecution?" Easy Christianity was making for weak Christianity. Ineffective Christianity. Faux Christianity. What makes us think our faith was supposed to be easy?

The blessing of persecution. Dare we ask God for that blessing upon our nation? I'm coming to suspect that the Church was always meant to stand in the margins rather than float in the mainstream.

Grateful for the Air in my Lungs

For the past several years, the common cold has been increasingly common for me -- that is, it is always the same thing.

It starts with a sudden wave of exhaustion. I usually find myself crashing on the sofa for several hours, too tired to move until I'm moving my body into bed. By the time I wake up the next morning, my throat is sore. That eventually develops into a stuffy, runny nose that lasts for a few days and ultimately progresses into a cough.

The cough is the big problem. I apparently have some form of Reactive Airway Disease, my doctors tell me. The normal cough at the end of my common cold irritates and inflames the lining of my lungs, so that long past what would be the natural end of that cold, I still experience asthma-like symptoms: difficulty breathing and a horrible, hacking, miserable cough that lasts two or three weeks at least and brings me completely to the end of myself. I always end up in the doctor's office getting scads of medication trying desperately to get it to stop.

This past round (last spring, I believe), the doctor loaded me up with two different types of inhalers, a super-strong cough suppressant, and . . . some other pill that I don't remember what it was for. He instructed me, next time I have the beginnings of a cold, to start immediately bombarding it with all this stuff -- the hope is to prevent my lungs from ever getting inflamed in the first place so we don't have to fight the seemingly hopeless fight of calming them down.

So, I have all these meds in my cabinet, and I've been bracing myself for months. Now that I'm in a school again, I figured I'd be surrounded by germs and would be fighting a plethora of illnesses all year.

But that hasn't happened. I'm still waiting for my first cold. It's been teasing me . . . I've had many days of feeling what felt like minor symptoms starting to creep in. My daughters have both had colds, and I assumed mine was next. But I'm now over five months into a school year with no real illness of any kind.

When I go to bed at night and pray, I've found myself taking deep breaths . . . and feeling such genuine, heart-felt gratitude. For clear lungs. For open sinuses. For that fabulous feeling of air flowing through my nostrils and filling up my lungs with ease and slowly flowing out again. For being able to breathe. I still know that another cold is coming (for all I know, it may hit later today), and so I am genuinely praising God these days for every hour I have air flowing easily in and out of my body. It feels so wonderful to breathe!! And it feels so wonderful to be thankful for breathing.

It feels so wonderful to be thankful. I think I need to be more intentional about being thankful for the obvious things in my life. Being thankful for them now feels so much better than being angry when they are denied me later. It's not like God owes me anything anyway -- not even breath in my lungs.

Food, Glorious Food

Here is evidence of a loving God: food tastes good.

God didn't have to make food taste good. He was not beholden to us in that way. Just because the intake of nourishment is required for our survival does not mean He had to make this intake a pleasant experience. It could have been accomplished with something as dry and boring as popping a pill. Or with something as uncomfortable as an IV -- or even more painful than that. Our food that we eat could be tasteless and bland, or even foul and distasteful, something we have to force ourselves to consume to continue to live.

But God didn't do that. He made food, and he made food delicious. He made the nourishment process one that not only satisfies our stomachs but also satisfies our tongues. He made food taste good.

Now, I know what a lot of you are saying, because it's what I would be saying if I clicked on a random post and read the above paragraphs. "Yeah, but it's all the food that's BAD for me that tastes good. The healthy food sucks!" But that's not necessarily so. That's only because of what we sinful little boogers have done to our taste buds. You can't fault God for that.

I have a friend who grew up in Albania. She craves vegetables and fruit. Seriously. LOVES them. When I give her my customary gift of a bag of caramel popcorn at Christmastime, she thanks me graciously and puts it out for her American husband and children to eat. Not that she doesn't like sweet stuff (she makes a mean baklava), but she can only eat so much of it. And she doesn't have the craving for it, or for the fatty stuff, that we Americans do. Her taste buds were trained well from early on. She eats like we were meant to eat (and you can tell by looking at her).

So, yeah, believe it or not, healthy food tastes good if we eat like we're supposed to eat.

God was also good to make the nourishment process something that satisfies not only our bodies but also our souls. Case in point: we have to sit to eat. I mean, yes -- it's possible to shove food down our throats while running around doing laundry, diapering babies, and responding to emails (and many people do). But we all know that eating on the run is not good for us, digestively or otherwise. Eating requires at least one free hand to do the shoving, and it is much more efficiently done with two hands and in a seated -- or at least stationary -- position.

So, this need for physical nourishment also requires us to take two or three breaks during the day. Which are also good for us.

And since those breaks are required of every human being, and since they tend to come for all of us at similar times during the day, those breaks tend to become a social time. The standard practice in most cultures that I'm aware of is to eat with other people. Meals are for feeding our spirits with social connection as much as for feeding our cells with nutrients.

Again, God didn't have to make any of this work the way He did. Feeding ourselves could have been a lonely, miserable, even painful ordeal that we had to endure on a daily basis. Instead, he made it very pleasurable -- pleasurable enough even to be tempting as an idol in our lives. He was willing to risk that potential competition for our hearts to give us something that gives us joy.

He doesn't NEED to be that kind to us. He just is. It seems He wants us to enjoy our brief stay in this world. We should probably be more grateful for that.

"So, Where's This Abundant Life You Promised?"

Yesterday, we lit the "Joy" candle of the Advent wreath at my mother-in-law's church (which confused me a bit, because we lit that candle LAST week at church in San Antonio -- but whatever). There was a little reading about how Christ came to bring us joy, and then there was a prayer thanking God for His gift of joy, and then I think we sang a song about joy.

And I found myself wondering about all the thousands and thousands of people celebrating Advent in churches around the world, lighting the Joy candle this week (or last week) and thinking, "Joy? What's that?"

Because I've been there. No joy. No peace. No hope. None of this stuff we're promoting as the benefits of Christ's coming. I talked the talk. I went through the motions. But none of it was real to me, and I knew it.

Not that I doubted who Christ was and why He came and what He did for me. But if I was honest with myself, none of it really made a measurable difference in my life.

And I'm wondering if some of you, dear readers, are there, too.

Singing the songs, reciting the prayers, saying the expected lines, but not feeling any of it.

Not that our feelings define reality, because they don't. Just because I FEEL afraid doesn't mean there's anything in my life to fear. Just because I FEEL hopeless doesn't mean there is no hope. Just because I FEEL alone and unloved doesn't mean that I am either. We cannot be ruled by the tyranny of our emotions when our emotions are influenced by so many things.

Nevertheless, if you are a believer, if you have surrendered your life to the lordship of Christ, there should be a difference. You should be able to look at the you from fifteen years ago and the you today and see that you are more at peace. More joyful. More hopeful. More like Christ and less like the world. And if you are not, I think you should seriously consider the possibility that something is very wrong in your spiritual life -- something that is critical enough for you to stop everything else and deal with right now.

I remember a point in my spiritual walk many years ago when I did a "face-to-face" with God and said, Alright, what's up with this? You make some very clear promises in your word. Not promises for an easy life or a "happy" life . . . I'm not even asking for those. But you promised an abundant life. You said that was why you came. Where is my abundant life? Where is my love, joy, peace, all that? You and I both know I can't produce it myself -- it has to come from your Spirit, a gift from you. So where is it? Am I doing something wrong? Am I reading that scripture wrong? Did you lie to me? What's the deal?

Don't tell me that's irreverent, or disrespectful -- that was REAL. And I'm convinced that God isn't interested in our routine, ritualized platitudes we recite every week if they aren't real. He'd rather we came to Him in a wrestling stance, as long as we're coming to Him actually wanting Him and not just out of habit or duty.

We all have our ups and downs in our faithwalk. Not every day is a mountaintop experience. But I want to encourage you, dear reader, if you are in this place -- where you're just going through the motions and you know you have been for a very long time, maybe even for your entire walk with Christ -- that you decide that 2015 will be the year that you either poop or get off the pot. That you will dig deep and wide into scripture, every day. That you will pray with purpose and desperation, many times a day. That you will ask questions of everyone you know who might have answers. That you will go to the places where God is expected to be and expect to find Him there. That you will intentionally and purposefully do everything you know to do to meet God . . . to meet God . . . to actually MEET GOD . . .  and finally find out if this Christianity stuff is for real or not.

So that next year, you can light the Joy candle with genuine joy, like I did this year. (Twice.)

Remembering Mom

As I sit here typing on my laptop in our "music room" (also known as my school work room), I can look to my left and see an old manger scene sitting on top of the harpsichord in the corner.

I say "manger scene" and not the more common "nativity" because "manger scene" is what my mother called it, and this one was hers. When I was young, it used to sit under our Christmas tree. I've kept that tradition up by putting a nativity scene under our Christmas tree every year -- but not this one. Our tree nativity is a cheaper one that won't make me cry if the dog happens to get a hold of a shepherd and chew him up. This manger scene is sitting up high and out of danger.

It's an old set. The paint is chipping off of most of the pieces in spots and has been for a long time. My mother commented one year when I was home for the holidays that she was thinking about just spray-painting all the characters gold or something. I'm so glad I talked her out of that idea. I don't care that the paint is chipped. It needs to look like this.

Just outside the door to this room, I can lean out and see our huge metal clock on the wall which our eldest has decorated with little felt elves climbing all over it. My mom made those elves.

There's also a small tree halfway up the stairs that is decorated with eight or nine sets of different felt ornaments -- ornaments my mother made. A different set every year for most of my growing up years at home.

And on the window by the kitchen table, there are several crocheted snowflakes hanging. I'm pretty sure my mom made those, too.

I get a bit huffy about Christmas most years. At least once a season, I'm overwhelmed by the thing that our culture has turned Christmas into . . . which has NOTHING to do with Jesus coming to earth. I get annoyed that other people's expectations get in the way of my celebrating the Savior's birth in a way that's meaningful to me. (And yes, I know that's my problem and not theirs.)

My point is, I'm very aware of the fact that Christmas (contrary to popular belief) really is NOT about family and kids. We made it a holiday about family and kids . . . and there's nothing wrong with a holiday about family and kids . . . as long as family and kids don't start taking the place of the actual center of the holiday.

And for far too many of us -- even us churchy super-Christian folks who take offense at people saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" and at people writing "Xmas" because "you're crossing out Christ!"-- far too many of us have done just that. We do self-righteous lip-service to Christ and put family in the throne of our hearts every December.

Nevertheless . . . I enjoy getting these Christmas decorations out every year and remembering my mother. And baking caramel corn and remembering my mother. I had a great mother. It's good to remember her. Because she remembered Christ.

Thankful

A few years ago, it was The Thing on Facebook to post something that you are thankful for every day during the month of November. Everybody was doing it. I think only one of my friends is doing it with me this year. But I'm keeping it up because I think it's a good spiritual exercise. We aren't nearly grateful enough.

This year, however, it doesn't seem quite as easy to come up with stuff to post every morning. I'm not quite sure why. Might be because I'm working again, and my brain is more occupied and doesn't roam as easily. But I think it's more that my perspective has been changing. I'm still thankful to God, but for different things.

I'm still glad that my family and I are healthy and safe. But I'm thanking God for the struggles we have had over the year that remind me that my family is in His hands . . . that I am not as powerful as I think I am.

I'm glad when I have a good night of sleep. But I thank God for the nights that I can't sleep and I realize how helpless I am to take care of even my most basic needs . . . and I learn to depend on Him.

I'm glad that we have such conveniences and luxuries as television, internet, and cell phones. But I'm thankful to God for the conviction I get on a daily basis that I'm using these devices as an escape . . . that I have been put here on earth with actual people he intends me to interact with and have an influence on . . . and that my tendency to escape into these virtual worlds shows how un-Christlike I am at heart and how amazing it is that my Savior chooses to love me anyway.

I'm glad that I have a job I enjoy, that uses my gifts well, that makes me excited to work every day. But I thank God that I am reminded every day that anything good that happens in my classroom is not a result of my planning or my brilliance or my talents . . . it's a result of God working in these kids' lives . . . hopefully through me, but often despite me.

I'm glad that I am not experiencing the trials many others are facing today. But I thank God for the trials I AM facing . . . because I am increasingly more desirous of an intimate relationship with God than I am of an easy, comfortable life . . . and I know that God only allows the trials He does to build that desire and that relationship.

And I'm thankful for the little inklings of that desire in my life. Lord knows, it is not natural to me.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. May we all be truly thankful.

Enjoying God is Conditional

You know, they say that your brain continues to think about problems and concerns while you sleep. I wonder if that's true.

Last night at BSF, our teaching leader made a statement that troubled me. In her lecture about Exodus 19-20, she remarked that "God's covenant with Israel was unconditional," (that is, they did nothing to earn it or maintain it or cancel it) "but their enjoyment of that covenant was conditional: it depended on their obedience."

And as I said, that troubled me. So, He chose them to be His people -- all on His impetus; they had nothing to do with making that happen -- but they don't get to enjoy that covenant unless they do this and this and this? It kind of sounds like some passive aggressive manipulation. Like some kind of sick game.

But this morning, I woke up and thought while lying in bed, "What should I blog about?" And that statement from my teaching leader suddenly came to mind . . . and I got it.

Because it's kind of like my husband's and my relationship with our daughter. She had nothing to do with the decision to be born in our family. She did nothing to "deserve" it. We established that relationship, and she just gets to benefit from it.

And there's nothing she can do that can sever that connection between us. We will always be the people who birthed her. Always. That relationship between us is "unconditional."

However . . . if she wants to enjoy all of the benefits of that relationship, there ARE things she has to do. If she wants to enjoy our company, she has to spend time with us. If she wants to share in the material blessings our family has, she has to either live under our roof or accept the gifts we offer her. If she wants the benefit of our wisdom, she has to listen to us and trust us. If she wants our help with problems, she has to open up to us about those problems.

And yes, she has to obey us. If she wants the benefit of our protecting her from certain dangers in the world, she has to trust and obey.

We don't dangle those blessings in front of her face, trying to manipulate her into doing what we want before we will give them to her. It's the natural course of things that for her to have those blessings requires a level of intimacy between her and us -- and she has the choice of nurturing that intimacy or not. On our end, we are all open arms.

And so is God on His end.

Yep, now I get it.

So Precious

My two daughters had a babysitting job last night, but the eldest got sick so I stepped in to help. My job was to put the babies to bed.

First remark about the experience: I have never seen a baby go to bed as easily as these two did. I changed their diapers, put on their pjs, turned on the sound machine and lay them down. After I turned off the light and shut the door, they went right to sleep. Amazing. The older boy went to sleep easily, too. This mama knows how to train her children.

Second remark about the experience: babies are just precious.

Even when he spit up on me, he was precious.  Even when his brother filled his diaper with poop, he was precious. The tiny little fingers . . . the tiny little pjs . . . the tiny little diapers . . . it's been a long time since I held a tiny one and you forget just how tiny they are.

Now, I'm not kidding myself: I remember the screaming and fussing, too. I remember the times when I loved my kids but I couldn't stand another moment in the room with them that day. Parenthood is hard sometimes.

But the precious tiny little fingers!

It's October, and even though it doesn't feel anything like fall here in Texas (sigh! I miss fall . . . ), Halloween stuff is out in the stores and in a few people's lawns. I am not a fan of Halloween, in general, for many reasons. But I have found myself, in the past couple weeks, having an urge to watch an old videotape we have stored away in the fall decorations:

"Elmo Says Boo."

Yep. I am dying to watch a Sesame Street Halloween video. Something about the memory of that video makes me feel serene and peaceful and happy. When the music from that show runs through my mind, I feel preciousness surrounding me. And for a moment, I long for the preciousness.

I have friends who would tell me that this is God's way of telling me I need more children. I doubt that. I think this is God's way of preparing me to have grandbabies. Precious tiny little grandbabies. Not quite yet . . . but they'll be here before I know it.

And I'm going to sit them down beside me to watch "Elmo Says Boo."

Sharing Our Riches and Our Poverty

I'm not a big fan of Dennis Miller. Even when I agree with his opinion on a topic, I usually think he is unnecessarily harsh and snarky in expressing his opinion. But he said something the other day that I liked.

He was saying that, if he's going to give all this money to the government to help poor people get by and get back on their feet, he wishes that all of his money could go to one person in particular – so that he could at least go out to dinner with this guy once in a while and shoot the breeze with him.

I think he meant it as a joke. In fact, if I remember right, he specifically said he was joking (but even then, with him, I'm not always sure).

But I would say the same thing and not be joking at all. I would love that. I would love for all of the money I pay in taxes that is going to be designated to programs to help the needy to be given to me, along with a name of a local person who is in need of help from that money.

I want to take this person out to dinner and talk about his situation. I want to hear his story – to know what his goals are, what his dreams are, what the obstacles are that are standing in the way.

And I want to tell him my story. How our family got the money we have, the struggles we've faced, the obstacles we've overcome, the lessons we've learned, the battles we're still fighting.

Then I want to come up with a plan together to use that money to get him out of his situation of need. A specific plan. A personalized plan that takes into account all the relevant factors that apply to him and may not apply to others.

And then . . . I want to walk through life with him. Not shove a check in his hand and walk away. I want to hear how school is going. I want to take his kids for an evening when he and his wife need to get out for a night alone. I want to pray with him over bad medical tests results. I want to rejoice with him over job promotions. I want to actually live in community with this person and have him live in community with me – see each other's struggles, hear each other's pains, commiserate with each other's failures, and celebrate other's victories.

I want us to each see each other as human beings made in the image of God and not simply as money-dispensers and money-devourers.

Somehow, it seems like that's more like what God had in mind when He said to care for the needy. A mutually caring relationship. 'Cause we all possess our particular brand of riches . . . and we all suffer our particular brand of poverty . . . and God designed things so we need each other. 

The Praises of the Street People

Whenever I'm worshipping God with the homeless congregation at Church Under the Bridge downtown, I'm struck by a few things.

I'm struck by the lack of body odor. For 150-some people who live on the streets in a hot July in San Antonio, they don't smell bad.

I'm struck by the respectfulness of nearly everyone present, whether they're there to genuinely worship or just going through the motions to get a meal.

I'm struck by the flood of people who go forward to put money in the offering plate during the last song. People living on the streets, who of their own choice -- no coercion involved -- give back to God some of the limited finances He's given them because they feel so blessed by His goodness and want to thank Him. It shames me.

And I'm struck by how loud the music is. Usually, I just suspect the mics and background tape are just turned up an extra notch beyond where I would set them (plus there's a little more shouting than singing going on). But last night, it wasn't the sound system. During the bridge of "Manifesto", the mics were turned off and only the voices of the people were heard singing through the words of the Lord's Prayer.

"Singing", I should say. Chanting, really. OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN HALLOWED BE THY NAME THY KING-DOM COME THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN . . .  

No discernable pitch. Much discernable emotion. Imagine an exclamation point after each word and a fist pump after each syllable. GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAI-LY BREAD AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES AS WE FOR-GIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US . . . 

And if you know the song, you know how it builds in intensity: . . . AND LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION BUT DELIVER US FROM EV-IL FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM POWER AND THE GLORY FOR-EEEVERRR!!!!

People with no job, no money, no place to sleep tonight, standing with their arms raised, shout-singing their prayer to God: AAAA-MEN!!!!!!!

The musicality is horrid. The spirituality is glorious. And again, I am shamed. I need my homeless friends to teach me what worship is.

25 Years

When you're a month shy of 21, the idea of being married for 25 years is almost inconceivable. Well, maybe not inconceivable . . . but it sounds like a long, long time. Like a lifetime. Because it is, when you're a month shy of 21.

Once you hit that 25-year mark, it doesn't seem like it should have ever felt so inconceivable. It even feels like something you can aim for one more time. But it still seems like a long, long time. It's kind of hard, some days, to remember what it was like to not be married; it's so much a part of who I am.

Hubby and I have done SO MUCH in the past twenty-five years, it seems. Since we said “I do”, we've completed three college degrees between us, lived in eight different cities (five different states), and between the two of us, worked full-time jobs for seven different employers (not even counting the short-term work we did here and there).We had two children who are now nearly raised – and we even started the parenting thing relatively late in our marriage. We've been members of five different churches and regular short-term attenders at more. Hubby has played on innumerable softball and basketball teams. I've performed in innumerable music and drama productions. We have friends all over the country.

Wow. It's been a rich life.

It's been a hard life sometimes. Marriage is not easy. There were ugly times -- a lot of them. “Love will keep us together” is a lie. Hard work and sacrifice and sometimes pure stubbornness – and above all, the grace of God – is what keeps us together, because love (at least love as you know it when you're a month shy of 21) comes and goes. You need to love someone before you marry them, but I think you have to be married for a while before you learn how to Love someone, with a capital L, the Love that matters. 

And even then, there's no guarantee. Although I've known couples who loved intensely until the end, I've probably known more who have limped into their final years, hanging together just out of habit, or obligation, or convenience, or fear of the unknown. 

Lord, save us from that fate. Please. Teach us how to Love . . . with Your Love . . . until the very end.

Happy anniversary, honey. Here's to Loving forever and Loving well . . . until the very end.

Thank You for the Despair?

My mother died unexpectedly four days after my youngest daughter was born, and between my grieving and my post-partum state, I dove into a wicked depression for many, many months. One Sunday afternoon, I was in my bedroom with the door locked because I was afraid my husband would walk in and see me sobbing on the floor in this pit of despair and be at a total loss for what to do – which would frighten me even more. I finally realized, I couldn't stay there on the floor; I had to do something. And for some reason, my pastor came to mind.

He only lived a few minutes away, so I called and asked if I could come over and talk. I'm not sure what I expected to get out of this – I'm sure he didn't either – but I couldn't think of anything else to do.

Talking in Pastor Jeff's living room, I finally revealed to him the thought that was haunting me: I KNEW God could lift this depression if He wanted to, but He wasn't doing it – it was like He wanted me to feel this way.

“Well,” said Jeff, “what if He does?”

I thought, what the %($*# kind of question is that?!?? He went on to talk about giants of the faith who have struggled with depression, and my brain just turned off for a while. I couldn't deal with this crazy idea.

But later that night, and the next day, that crazy idea started to take some form and resonate with me. What if God really did have a reason for allowing this pain?

I downloaded a book the other day called The Anxious Christian, and the subtitle is, “Can God Use Your Anxiety for Good?” What a thought. What if this thing that we view as a curse . . . as a sign of abandonment . . . as a sign of our weakness or sinfulness . . . as something to be avoided or denied or eradicated at all costs . . . what if it is actually a tool God has given us if we're willing to accept it?

I've skimmed the book and need to read it again more closely, but the author seems to be saying that, in his own life, at least, God uses anxiety (and his was long-term and debilitating) to signal to him a need to move forward in boldness and lean on Him more. If we didn't feel that anxiety when change is pending, we wouldn't recognize how stuck we are and how badly we need the change. If we didn't feel the fear of failure, we wouldn't be driven to rely on God.

Something like that.

I never came to fully understand that day exactly why God would want me to experience such overwhelming despair. But I did come to understand that the despair wasn't going to destroy me (or God wouldn't have allowed it). And I've increasingly come to see my sad and fearful and angry feelings not as something to avoid, but as something to listen to and read and interpret . . . and walk in the midst of.

And maybe, just maybe, they are gifts. What a thought. Gotta think on that more.

There's a Mystery Afoot!

We've done a variety of interesting birthday parties over the years. The Peter Pan party with the bouncy-house so the kids could "fly". The chef party -- did that one twice. The Blue's Clues party collecting food for the local animal shelter. The overnight makeover party. The arts and crafts party. The backyard carnival party. The Hawaiian luau party. The scavenger hunt. The improvisational film-making event.

Some flew; some flopped (well, they sputtered anyway -- having a good group of friends over makes it hard to flop a party altogether).

But tonight we trek into new territory. Our youngest is all about mysteries, specifically Nancy Drew computer game mysteries. And it occurred to us that the group of friends she was inviting (her class) consisted of three boys and three girls, exactly like the characters in the board game Clue. When is that likely to happen again? So, we try a new adventure tonight: the mystery party.

Each kid was assigned a Clue character with their invitation -- Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlet,
Professor Plum, Ms. Peacock, Mr. Green, and Mrs. White. To our delight, they seem to be getting into this. They're hunting down costumes and have been finagling all week trying to figure out who everyone's character is (I didn't instruct them to keep it a secret, but they decided to do so and are having fun with that).

We have the whole scenario laid out tonight, with secret information they receive at designated points in the evening, evidence they reveal, questions they need to ask, secrets they want to hide . . . I tell you, this was a complicated ruse to pull together. I'm just praying the mystery works out in the end; my first attempt at something like this, you know.

Last night, we were all about the food. Kiddo wants to have "elegant" looking food, as if this were a fancy affair. But then, we are feeding a bunch of teenagers. So, we have a freezer full of appetizers (mini quiches, potstickers, mini quesadillas, shrimp -- ooh, probably should pick up some cocktail sauce today -- bacon-wrapped scallops, friend mac-n-cheese squares) . . . we'll come up with some fancy French names for it all and set them out on the china in the Formal Dining Room. Cocktails when they arrive (Coke, Sprite, and juice in wine glasses offered on a silver tray). Desserts in the Courtyard toward the end of the evening (mini cheesecake bites, mini cream puffs, and strawberries with chocolate for dipping).

Yeah, we surely have far too much food. I expect to be eating this junk for the next week. But then, they're teenagers. You never know.

And once the mystery is solved and the culprit revealed, they'll play a rousing round of the Clue DVD game . . . and finish up with the Nancy Drew movie if there's time. This party screams my daughter's name, and they'll all know that.

But they will have fun just because they are fun kids and they genuinely enjoy each other's company. What a blessing this class is.

Why Should I Bother to Pray?

Last night was the final night of BSF for the year, and we spent the evening sharing what God has done in our lives through this year's study. I shared, but I felt like I did a lousy job of explaining myself. I hate it when I do that.

You see, for some reason, I've struggled this year with the idea of prayer -- of why it's necessary that we ask God for things. I mean, He's going to do what He's going to do, right? He's wiser than we are, much more knowledgeable, and I can trust Him to do the best thing for me and everyone I'm praying for. In fact, some of the stuff I may ask Him to do may be terrible ideas . . . so why should I ask? Those "unanswered" prayers that were probably blessings in disguise also tend to make me feel like He's not there listening sometimes . . . so I'm tempted to not ask at all.

So, yeah, I've struggled with that this year. But as we studied Matthew in BSF, I noticed something important.

Jesus prayed. A lot.

He would steal away from the crowds and spend all night in prayer sometimes, especially before an important event like the selecting of His disciples. Good heavens, if the man who was God Himself in the flesh needed to communicate with the Father . . . well, I don't quite understand the dynamics of that, but I don't need to understand the dynamics to understand that I surely have more need to pray than He does.

He not only asked God for things, He specifically instructed us to ask God for things -- and to ask with persistence and importunity (a word I've been reading in the works of some older authors and had to look up) and with the expectation of a positive answer.

So, I decided at some point that it doesn't really matter if I understand the mechanics of this praying business. Jesus told me to bring my requests to God, and so there must be a good reason why I need to do that. So I kept praying . . . and I kept asking for the faith to continue to pray and, if He would be gracious enough to give it to me, the understanding of why. And behold, my God is gracious -- I think I have an inkling of why today.

For some reason, God made the decision to do His work on earth through the Church -- not the institution, but the individual believers. We are His body, He taught us. We are His hands and feet in the world. He could very easily feed the poor by zapping food-bearing plants in the ground at their feet, but He usually chooses instead to feed them through our giving of our excess. He could easily touch the cancer cells in a diseased body and make them disappear, but He usually chooses instead to heal them through the hands of a doctor. He could wrap up the lonely in His own spiritual comfort, but He usually chooses instead to send a friend to wrap their arms around them.

It seems an inefficient way to get His work done, relying on unreliable human beings who are prone to selfishness and sin. But only if you think that His ultimate goal is to get His work done. I don't think it is. His ultimate goal is to restore relationship between us and Him -- genuine, reality-based, intimate relationship that lasts for eternity.

When my daughters were tiny ones, I could prepare dinner for my family much more efficiently without their assistance, but I brought them into the kitchen to help sometimes -- partly to teach them the skills to do it themselves someday, but also to spend the time with them. To develop our relationship. Working together in this way tied strings around our hearts that bonded us together.

If God just gave me good things without my ever coming to Him to ask for them, I would probably never really connect those good things with Him (let's be honest, that already happens, doesn't it?). When I come to Him with my requests, I'm reminded that He is the source of all good things . . . I'm reminded of my smallness and His greatness . . . I'm reminded of how much God loves me and stirred to love Him all the more . . . I'm brought back to the relationship between us . . . and that relationship is far more important to God than the giving to me of good things, because earthly good things will pass away, but my relationship with Him is forever.

So, there -- that's what I wanted to say at BSF last night. Thanks for listening. :)

Showers of . . . Blessing???

In my nightly prayer with my husband the other night, I was about to repeat my standard “Thank you, Lord, for all the blessings in our lives” . . . and I was caught short. I couldn't say that. And it's all thanks to an article a friend asked me to read.

The author talks about how we (comfortable, rich Western Christian America) have kind of hijacked the word “blessed” and made it mean something it shouldn't mean. We look at the material good fortune that has come our way, for whatever reason, and think that we are blessed. That God is blessing us.

Who says it's a blessing?

Really, it's not just an incorrect way of viewing it, it's an insulting way of viewing it. If wealth, physical comfort, and security is a blessing from God, what do you say to the thousands and thousands of faithful believers in the world who have none of these? Why is God blessing me but not them? (Frankly, most of them are far more deserving.) Considering how these material advantages often make me self-assured, weak in my faith, and less dependent on God, how can they be considered a blessing?

They are not a blessing. Not in the way we define blessing. We've got to stop thinking that way.

I have friends struggling with medical issues beyond my comprehension. I have friends who don't know how they're paying the mortgage next month. I have friends whose marriages are falling apart. I have friends whose children have gone off a variety of deep ends. I have NO IDEA why I'm healthy, financially stable, and generally happy and secure today, but I'm quite certain it's not a reward for my faithfulness . . . or a sign of God's extra love for me more than anyone else . . . or because God thinks I deserve a life of ease when others don't.

It's not a reward – it's a responsibility. It's not a blessing – it's a burden.

This may seem like I'm being picky about semantics, but I'm going to start being more cautious about how I use that word. I'm grateful for the financial stability God has given our family, but God's blessing for us is not financial stability. God's blessing for us is the honor of having a relationship with Him.

It really does matter. How we talk about these things affects how we think about these things. If we sing that old hymn, “There shall be showers of blessing” (Does anyone sing that anymore?) and imagine money, friends, soft beds, nice cars, and hot lattes falling from the clouds, we are thinking of God as a jolly, bearded, behavioral psychologist in the sky who tries to control us with positive reinforcement.

No, no, no, no. The money, security, and favorable opportunities He gives us are tools He puts in our hands to use for His Kingdom. Tools for use. Not to “bless” us (the way we define blessing). Not for our pleasure and comfort and ease.

The joy, peace, and love we receive as He holds us in His arms – like a shepherd carries a lamb – those are the blessings. They are for our pleasure and comfort and ease. And they accomplish those things much more effectively than the money does.

May we use well the tools He gives us. And may we revel in the shower of His blessings.