Get Real

                

               Not too long ago I had the opportunity to gather with eight women from our home Bible study. We were gathering on a Saturday evening to spend some time in the Word, to encourage one another, and to discuss how God uses trials in our lives to draw us to Himself, to refine us, and to make us more Christ-like. We all arrived together, shared some delicious dinner, oooh’d and aaah’d over the little babies who were present with us, and then sat down to have some informal conversation.

                What happened next was fascinating. I shared with the ladies the trial that anemia has been in my life for the past eighteen months. I shared my propensity to become down (I even used the other ‘D’ word – depressed – as despised as any four-letter word in the church) because of my constant lack of energy, my weight gain, and my sadness at having little joy in the beautiful, blessed life God has given me. It was the first time I had shared this trial with these women – my sisters in Christ. I cried. I actually wept at one point and was unable to continue talking.

                As we moved around the circle of women, the ladies shared the trials and difficulties they were experiencing at the time. One woman lamented her teenage son’s disobedience and turning from the faith of his parents. One woman shared her recent struggle with painful physical maladies which led to her being short-tempered with her husband and children. One longing to hold a baby and unable to conceive. One struggling with returning to work after the birth of her firstborn. One watching a strong, godly father slip into the darkness of Alzheimer's. All felt the painful sting of sin in their lives. All desired lives marked by obedience and contentment. All longed for a closer walk with their Savior. With our Savior.

                I had no idea that these women were suffering, just as they were in the dark about my suffering. A new member of our group – new not only to the group, but also to our marvelous faith – spoke with me afterwards. She wanted me to know that she was so encouraged by our honest sharing, because she felt as though she was the only one struggling with sin in her life. We all looked like we had it “all together,” she said, and she was starting to wonder what was wrong with her.

                Shame on us.

                Shame on us, broken sinners saved by glorious grace, dead souls resuscitated by the life-giving blood of Christ,  for having the audacity to act like we’ve got it all under control. How dare we put on airs among our brothers and sisters? Those who share the same Father? The same inheritance? The same miraculous rebirth from the ashes?

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

Galatians 2:20

               Sisters, let us not discourage those around us by putting on a holy show. Let us not demean the miraculous work Christ has done in us by refusing to acknowledge that the Holy Spirit is STILL at work in us, purifying us and making us more and more like Christ, with each trial, each stumble, and each tear. It is the filthy sin of pride waging war within us that drives us to act as though we are above struggling, above difficulties.

               Above sin.

                Let us love one another by being honest. Weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice. And, dear sisters, allow others to weep with YOU and rejoice with YOU. It makes our walk along this sanctification path all the more rich, when we allow others to stroll with us occasionally.

Be honest.

Be humble.

Be real.

Stay the Course and Live Your Dream

As I mentioned in a previous post, this past year has been a difficult one for me. That's fantastic, really, because those of us who know Christ as Lord and Savior know that it's the valleys that create the Christ-likeness in us. We are all too quick to pat ourselves on the back when things are hunky-dory, when we are looking out on life from the mountain top; to congratulate ourselves on a job well done. When, in reality, it is the sustaining grace of the God of the Universe which has kept the road smooth and easy.

One of my many faults is that when things get tough for me, I tend to think too much. I try to intellectualize myself out of my trial. If only I think hard enough I might find the loophole, you know. During my recent trial I became disillusioned with my job of wife and mother. I was tired, drained, and down. I felt unproductive and unloved. I saw other women "doing it all": skinny homeschooling fashionistas with brilliant kids and three jobs on the side with husbands who adore the ground they walk on and who use only organic produce while baking their own bread from scratch. You know the ones. I began to think, "What can I add to my life so that I, too, can be like them?"

Oh, Sisters, nothing.

I have wanted to be many things over the course of my life. Everything from an aeronautical engineer to a teacher to a professional quilter. But do you know what? One thing that I have ALWAYS wanted to be, regardless of what else I thought I could be on top of everything, was a wife and mother. I have always dreamed of being a loving wife and mother. And, here is the best part, it is enough. It IS my dream. I do not need to seek fulfillment outside of this. It is challenging. It is rewarding. It is difficult, fun, joyful, mentally and physically demanding, gratifying, productive, worthwhile, and satisfying. And, ultimately, it's effects are longer-lasting and more beneficial to society than any other role I could possibly undertake.

So here is my encouragement to all of you out there: Live your dream.

Don't let anyone tell you that you have to seek fulfillment outside of this role. The job of wife and mother, if well done, will be a lasting crown through this life and into eternity. And as you trek the path of your life through mountain-tops and valleys alike, you will closer resemble you Savior.

Now that's a dream come true.

Dusting off the Cobwebs

To say that it has been quiet around here lately is a monumental understatement. As a matter of fact, the dust is an inch thick and I’ve had to shake out the rugs and battle the cobwebs. At least a couple of you have noticed the prolonged silence and emailed with a thoughtful, “What’s up.” I am profoundly grateful for those communications. It prevents me, at times, from slipping too deeply into my own issues and trials. Thanks.

The past year has been tough for me. A diagnosis of anemia, followed by months of declining instead of improving, has taken its toll. I do not care to relive the specifics, but suffice it to say, it has affected me profoundly. A dear friend who has gone through the same struggle recently confessed, “It’s a dark, dark time.” Yep. That about sums it up. Waking up every day for a year feeling exhausted and run down, and yet having a plethora of never-ending responsibilities on the to-do list drains the fun out of things a just a bit. After months of fighting for joy it becomes easier to throw your hands up in defeat and accept a joy-less existence. My faith has been tested and I am ashamed to say, I have failed multiple times.

But I have learned a few things. God is so gracious to meet us in our trials and gently lead us to a greater knowledge of Him. God is so gracious to allow us trials that we might see Him with our own eyes, instead of relying on our perceived super-human selves. I am not a super-human, multitasking, got-it-together girl. Not at all. But thankfully I do serve a super-powerful, omnipresent, loving, universe-creating God who cares about me.

So while I try a new doctor and plan to do something more drastic than change my diet and drink metallic-tasting iron supplements twice a day, I will rest in my loving God. I will rest in the fact that He has ordained all these days for His glory and my good. I will rest in the God “who always leads us in triumph in Christ,” even when the path lies through dark times.

Praise the Lord.

Thoughts on the Arm of the Lord

I am home from church this morning with a toddler with an offensive nose, meditating on Scripture while he watches endless episodes of Blues Clues.

As I have matured in my Christian walk and grown in my faith and knowledge of Christ I have simultaneously been more disgusted by my own sin and more sensitive to its constancy and frequency. Which, in turn, makes Holy Week all the more beautiful to me. I recently read a Scripture reference on High Calling Blogs which has me yet again contemplating the awesomeness of the Lord Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. Isaiah 59:1 says,

Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save,
       nor his ear too dull to hear.

 

What a lovely passage. What a touching insight into the good and loving character of our God. Despite my unwillingness to repent of my sin, my hatred toward God (for all who do not love God with a redeemed love hate Him), my distinct love of my own sin, He, in His infinite power and love gave me a repentant heart, gave me a love for Him, gave me a hatred toward sin in my life. His arm was not too short to save this pregnant-out-of-wedlock-full-of-pride-blasphemer-and-all-around-sinner, and it's not to short to save you. 

 

Praise God.

 

Man's Hands

We stand in a circle, a jumble of humans clutching one another. It’s New Year’s Eve and we are ushering in the New Year with a collective prayer – that we would love Him more, grown in faith and obedience, and that all these little ones, fourteen between our two families, would come to know His saving grace.

I stand and hold, perhaps it’s more like catch, the sweaty palm of one overtired two year old in my right hand, and grab, unseen, the outstretched hand to my left. It is wide and strong, and my smaller hand settles into it comfortably. I know this hand – it has been my steady companion all these years. We have grown together, as we settled into family life. It has been found many times in this same place, during joyful times and disappointing times, as means of encouragement and rebuke.

I wish I could say that I have always treated the hand’s owner with tenderness and affection. But I have not. I wish I could say I have prayed for him as much as I should. But I haven not. I wish I could say I have always put his needs above my own. But I have not. Most definitely not.

As I stand, head bowed, in these last few hours of a waning year, I am saturated with thankfulness to the One who knit together this hand and mine, the One who called us both into His family, the One who, in His sovereignty, gave us to one another. He is the Giver of all good gifts, and I am in awe that these hands were made in His perfect image. For, despite my inadequacies, He continues to grow us, nurture us, breathe life and joy and peace into us. He satiates us with His living waters, and we grow to be more like Him.

And as I add my contemplative "amen" to the cacophony, I give that man-hand an extra squeeze, some extra love shared through fingertips. And Nicholas squeezes back. And we smile. My boy.

Unfair

I was always an angel. Always. I never seemed to get an interesting part in the St.-Thomas-a-Becket church pageant. Not that I cared too much. The angels were pretty. I liked pretty.

In my small 8-year-old mind I was always fixated on the part of the pageant story that seemed so unfair to me: “there was no room for them in the inn.” Couldn’t someone have given up their room? I thought. Surely, something could have been done – I mean, Mary was having a baby. She had just traveled many miles on the back of a donkey – nine months pregnant. It was all just so wrong!

I understand now what I didn’t then. That’s not the part that is unfair.

It’s not unfair that they had no room…I mean, they didn’t make a reservation. It’s not unfair that they had to birth a baby in a messy, dirty barn and place him in a feeding trough with the animal smell fresh and pungent. It’s not unfair that He had nothing to wear but some dirty strips of cloth to repel the chill of His first earthly night. It’s not unfair that they had to race off in the opposite direction of home to avoid being killed by Herod’s soldiers, or that it would be years before they saw their home again. It’s not unfair that He was despised and rejected. It’s not unfair that He was willingly nailed to a cross to comply with His Father’s will.

What is truly unfair is that I might benefit from His actions. A wretched, vile, over-eager and proficient sinner like me. I was not searching for salvation. I was not seeking forgiveness of sins. I didn’t even acknowledge that I was a sinner. I longed only for happiness and wordly wealth and fame and glory and…and…and…A very content traveler on that wide, well-populated road to hell.

He did all that – a humble birth, a perfect life, a cruel God-forsaken death – and I gain. Now that is unfair.

And awesome. Truly awesome.

May the Light of Christ and His amazing work fall on you this blessed season. May you be the beneficiary of what is truly unfair.

Merry Christmas.

Resolved

If you're interested in listening to the great preaching taking place this weekend at the Resolved Conference, follow this link for the live feed:

Resolved

John MacArthur, Steve Lawson, C.J. Mahaney, John Piper, Rick Holland. Good stuff. Enjoy!

Dear Mother

My meager contribution to the Mother Letter Project

Dear Mother,

I remember the moment well. It is one of those memories that stirs passionate feelings that swirl together: fear, thrill, anxiety, helplessness. You see, I found out that I was to join the league of motherhood when I was just three measly months out of college. Unmarried. Twenty-two years old. Surely this was going to make things much, much harder than I had anticipated. This was not part of my well-thought-out, meticulously- created master plan.

Ah, but how could I know that it was part of His Master Plan? The only plan worth anything.

You see, dear mother, it was through my grappling with the complexities of bringing life into this world that He breathed new life into me. He performed divine surgery to remove my heart of stone, and replaced it with a heart of flesh and a new spirit. How like God to take that which is lowly and shamed and shower it with grace and mercy. How like Him to make new where all was dead and decaying.

That was twelve years ago, mother. Twelve years. And one husband. And five children. And four homes. And tears and joy and grief and laughter and sin and victory.

Maybe it is because my new spiritual life was born out of the uncertainty of bringing new physical life into the world that I so closely associate my children with my spiritual journey. I see them as the divinely laid stepping stones that pave my winding sanctification road. The many daily opportunities to love them and serve them lay behind and before. There are patches where the stones lay smooth and are easily traversed. And there are other stretches where the going is rough and sharp, the terrain painful to get through. It is amidst these patches that my clumsy, sinful feet stumble and I fall, my pride scraped raw.

Praise God for that.

For these are the times that the dross is consumed and the gold is refined. These are the painful experiences that make me more like Christ. That my selfish pride is painfully removed by His loving Father-hands. Praise God for His grace.

There will be days, dear mother, in which you think you're the greatest of all sinners.
And then there will be days that you know you are.

But be of good cheer. For it is in your weakness, and mine, that His mighty power becomes so very evident. There will be times, dear mother, when you will fail spectacularly. But more likely, your failures will be subtle and underwhelming. A harsh word. A selfish thought. A lack of love. A dearth of compassion. And each of these moments, when considered thoughtfully, and repented of properly, will be beacons pointing the way to God's grace. For it is all around you, dear mother. For of His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace.

Grace upon grace upon grace upon grace upon grace...

And that is where we meet Him. In our home amidst the din of child-life. When we struggle with our flesh that tells us we deserve "me time" and more respect than these little fun-god-worshiping children can dish up. When we lay our flesh aside and take up our cross. When we demonstrate a hint of the servant heart displayed by Christ, our Savior. When we, by His grace and with His power, reflect the light and life of Christ. It is then, dear mother, that we have drawn closer. Closer to the One who lives within us. Closer to our Goal.

Draw close to Him. And know His Word. And know Him intimately in your prayer closet. And shine His light into the dark, dusty corners of your children. And pray that He would set forth a pattern of grace upon grace in their lives. That He might perform the life-saving surgery they so desperately need this very day.

Much love in Christ,

God Has Established

"Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves." Romans 13:1-2

I am thrilled to throw my support behind President-Elect Obama today. I have been thinking about this all day, and I really am. Not because I agree with him on the majority of his policies, but because he is God's man for the job. And God is sovereign and has a purpose for everything. May we, as Christians, set ourselves apart by respectfully submitting to the authority established by God.

I praise Him for another day of breath.

I praise Him that I have seen the first black man elected president of the US.

I praise Him for the privilege of living in this country where we are wealthy not only in the freedoms we possess, but also in the abundance of provision from His hand.

And I praise Him that I can wake up on the day after an ugly election season, where my man lost, and still know that He, the Creator of the Universe, is the One who "rules forever by His power, his eyes watch the nations..." Psalm 66:7

To God be the glory, great things He hath done...

Terminal

We are all terminal, you know. As in dying. All of us. Life for all has that one common thread. The death toll is always 100%.

And yet we are so often taken by surprise, caught off-guard by death and by those who are dying. It was one of those months for me. Watching in horror as a smoldering commuter train, just miles from my living room, with sides and roof peeled back like a banana, hides the bodies of the unsuspecting. Those who were unsuspecting that this was their last day of life...last kisses, last phone calls, last words, last breaths. Taken aback by flood waters rising after the swirling Ike came through and left a deluge which tore asunder, drowned, and swept away those who stayed. Caught off guard by a phone call in which frightened father explains what the doctors found: cancer in his seven year old boy. Or the mother of four, two years my junior, fighting cervical cancer and wondering if life is worth this staggering effort and pain. Stopped in horror as I watch ravenous fires eat up everything in their path. Moved to tears by my boy-man, racked with sobs over his dead dog, wondering if he was happy while living, or feeling abandoned while dying.

And I think to myself: we are all dying.

We are all marching on the road to death. I may reach my destination in 40 years, or 4 years, or 4 days. But never fear, I will reach that destination. As will you. And the commuter next to you on the road, and your boss, and your husband, and your children.

And lest we forget why we are all moving methodically toward our final breath: SIN. That's it. One small three letter word easily sounded out by my little beginning reader. SIN. That concept that is shunned in our politically correct, can't-we-all-just-get-along, toleration-dependent society. The unpopular word that makes us feel somehow less than we deserve. Not less than we are, my friend, just less than we think we are.

You see, “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Romans 3:23

All.

Another one of those easy-peasy words to read. But, ah, the significance of that one little trio of letters. None of us is outside that group. We are all the same. We are all sinners. Stained with the same consuming disease. All.

Ever had a prideful thought? How about a selfish one? Looked at someone with lust in your heart? Spoken a harsh word? Had an unkind thought? Been lazy?

Yep. Me, too.

We all fall short of the standard to which we should desire. The glory of God. The perfect, sovereign, omnipotent, righteous God who holds the reigns of our days in His hands. “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.” Matthew 10:29-30

In so acknowledging our lowly state before a holy and perfect God, we are forced to make a decision. Or, at the very least, acknowledge that there is a decision to be made. An either-or. A yes or no. Black or white. No shades of gray here, folks. Acknowledge that we need a Savior, who can take our deserved punishment for us, and in so doing, allow us to stand perfectly clean before the holy throne. Or brush it off as the insanity of the weak-minded, those without the mental capacity to think for themselves. One may choose the wide path which leads to destruction, or the narrow path which leads to life. Two options. One choice.

For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it. Matthew 7:13-14

And, friend, there may not be a tomorrow in which to make this choice.

Tomorrow it may be you who unsuspectingly takes your last breath, makes your last phone call, hugs your children for the last time. It may be me.

When my numbered days on this spinning ball draw to their predetermined end, will it matter if the Dow ended up or down? Will I care if I have a fixed-rate or an adjustable-rate loan? Will it matter how well-read I am, or how smart my kids are, or how well loved I am by others?

I think you know the answer to that.

“Naked a man comes from his mother's womb,
and as he comes, so he departs.
He takes nothing from his labor
that he can carry in his hand.” Ecclesiastes 5:15

It all stays. None of it accompanies us into eternity. Only us, coming before the Creator of the Universe. He is not impressed with net-worth. Or self-worth. For He alone is worthy to be praised. Jesus will judge. And we will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He judges rightly. How will you be judged?

There is your choice.

From one terminal patient to another...

what will you choose?

An Important Choice

Drudgery.

I've been turning that word over in my head much of late. Perhaps it's the seemingly endless school planning that I know must get done in order to ensure a smooth year. Or maybe it's the warm weather that keeps us inside more often than not. Or the fact that there always seems to be more month than money, and more payees than pennies. Or perhaps it's that our neighbors all seem to be executing HGTV-style landscaping projects and our back yard remains a grass-less dust bowl. Or that I have been so astonishingly exhausted. Or that I miss spending time with my husband, seeing old friends, petting my beagle.

Whatever the reason, my mind is chronically flirting with that word, that feeling that mischievously seeks to weigh down and drown me in... well... me. Self-pity. Selfishness. Sin.

thefreedictionary.com tells us that drudgery means uninteresting work that must get done. Well, I think that nails it pretty well. But who is it that decides a certain tasks interestingness? Ah, that ultimately is the question. For instance, my husband loves to take complex technology apart, piece by piece, and reassemble it because he finds it fun.

I, on the other hand, would prefer a root canal.

I have chosen that particular task as an uninteresting one. He has not.

I could sit for hours and hand quilt a design on a baby blanket. Yet, I am confident in predicting that my husband would find not one iota of pleasure in such torture.

So, I am happy to report that this slow-witted pilgrim has finally figured out what many of you (I am confident) have already learned:

Drudgery is a choice.
I assign any given task the label mundane.

Scripture is not silent on this matter:

“Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.” (Colossians 3:17)

“Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for men...” (Colossians 3:23)

When I am working as though the Lord were the recipient, when I am giving thanks through my Savior, can I really consider any task drudgery? If I set to work with a song in my heart, thrilled to be able to serve my King in any way, can any task be mundane? Have I not received so much more than I could ever conceive of offering? Am I not the debtor? Am I not the freed slave?

So diaper changes, piles of laundry, and excel spreadsheets are regarded a little differently in that light. Dishes, baths, and cooking a reason for rejoicing. Disciplining, bills, and husband-less nights an opportunity for humble joy.

I pray to God for a strengthened faith which identifies each and every job done and word spoken as an act of worship. That the word drudgery be forever banished in my interpretation of my redeemed life.

Not Today

Duty calls.

But I'm ignoring him.

Do you see me sitting here, fingers in ears, singing, "La-la-la-la-la."

There are faint calls from the half-painted hallway, "Come, finish painting me."

Then there are the guilt-inducing taunts from the elliptical, "Come and exercise, or you'll be sorry!"

The bills call, "Pay me."
The emails chant, "Write back! Write back!"

They all vie for my attention this beautiful, warm, sunny afternoon.

They will all be disappointed today.

For today there is more important work to be done.

There are childhood dreams to be followed. There is laughter to be shared. There are jokes to be heard and silly dances to be performed. There are memories to be made and stored up in this mother's heart. There is sunshine to absorb. There are breezes to savor. There is a God to be praised.

The tyranny of the urgent holds no sway here today.


Instead I am slowing to see. To hear. To savor.

For these are the blessings of this day. Bestowed by a good and gracious God.

And they'll be gone tomorrow.

How many blessings have gone unnoticed by these eyes and ears?

How many times have I missed the magical so that I can fuss over the mundane?


Too many.


But not today.

Today the birds sing more beautifully.

Today my children's laughter and squeals of delight soothe my soul.

Today my heart overflows with the richness of my God. That He might give all this to me.

How great Thou art.

How worthy to be praised.

Oh, for eyes to see and ears to hear the blessings from Your hand, O Lord.

Mother's Day Thoughts

"God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race--
To enlarge our hearts; and to make us unselfish and full of kindly sympathies and affections; to give our souls higher aims; and to bring round our firesides bright faces, happy smiles, and loving tender hearts. My soul blesses the great Father every day, that he has gladdened the earth with little children." ---Mary Howitt

Children are a blessing from the Lord. We know this to be true. But not just because they are gifts from a loving Father who desires to display His character through the blessing of these little creatures. Not just because we cradle them in our arms and sing the praises of a Creator whose fingers can work such intricate magic and splendor as to knit such a being together inside us (or, wonder of wonders, inside another but given to us.) What love from such a God as ours! But, it is even more.

For we are not perfect who receive such exquisite gifts. Far from. We have a desire for the things of God and seek to live lives which bring Him glory, but we see our failures and shortfalls in sharp relief against the holiness of God. Our patience falls far short of the awesome and wonderful longsuffering of our Lord. Our words, which should be pleasant as honeycomb [Prov. 16:24], sweet and healing to the hearer are often abrasive and reckless, piercing like a sword instead [Prov. 12:18]. Our hearts, which should be overflowing with thankfulness for the abundance of the Lord, the restored heart within us, the promise of salvation, the hope of eternity in the sweet presence of our Lord and Savior. That heart, instead, so often full of black selfishness, deceit, and longing for that which is of this world. We fall short, sinners as we are.

These sweet blessings called children aid us in our desire to be Christ-like. Oh, not of their own understanding, for they as sinners too. But of the perfect, sovereign will of God. He knows what refining we need. He knows the dross which must be consumed. He is all too familiar with our shortcomings.

For how can our lack of patience not be improved when we must correct a child for the same infraction seemingly several hundred times in one day? Realizing we must do so as our Heavenly Father corrects us, with all compassion and love. How can our words not become sweeter when we see the effects of the reckless sword strokes on the faces of those we must instruct? For the words of the Lord are sweeter than honey and we are edified and built up by them. How can our hearts not be soothed of their selfish desires when, for the third time I am up in the wee, dark hours of the night with a baby who needs nothing but me? For when I call on the Lord, night or day, He hears my call with all swiftness, eager to soothe my fears. For I need nothing but Him.

Oh, that I would realize every interaction I have with my children is an opportunity to magnify my Lord. That I might be relieved of the wretched dross that weighs me down. That I might see myself closer on the road to Christ than I was yesterday. God be praised for the children whose lives make up many of the pavers on my sanctification road. May I continue, one foot in front of the other, with a joyful song in my heart.

Happy Mother's Day.

What's so Good about Friday?

2 Corinthians 5:21
God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

Philippians 2:8
And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death— even death on a cross!

Hebrews 12:2
Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

My Second Favorite Present and Some Other Trifles...

So, I know I left all of you hanging about what Gustav got me for Christmas. Sorry 'bout that. He got me the Cuisinart Griddler. And, boy, does it make some yummy panini! The first one I tried I made three times in 2 days because everyone loved it so much. We had a fresh mozzarella, tomato, and basil panini. Man, my mouth is watering just typing it...soooo good! Next, we tried turkey, Swiss, and tomato. Mmmmmmm. We also grilled up some yummy Omaha Steak fillet mignon. To DIE for. I think I need a snack...

So, Gustav hit the jackpot this year. I LOVE my present!

Next up...

Here's another adorable picture of my nephew, Thomas. Do you like the quilt I made him? I finished it the night before we left Atlanta...it was down to the wire! I thought that polka-dot fabric was awesome, and so "un-quilt like." I felt like making an outside-the-box quilt this time. I like the idea of making my girls some sun dresses out of that fabric. I think they would be so chic!

In other news...

The baby Jesus has been found! I'll bet you didn't know he was missing, but yes, our family has been without the baby Jesus in our nativity for 2 Christmases. I just could not find Him and it was so sad/irritating/infuriating! I found Him, wrapped in a bit of scrap paper at the bottom of one of the Christmas decoration boxes in the garage. And I thought... how so like real life. The baby Jesus, thrown into the bottom of the box in a scrap of paper. Brushed aside. Forgotten.

All of the bells and bobbles, wreaths and snowflakes, Santas and reindeer make it out. The trees erected. The lights illumined. But Jesus never makes it into the celebration. The One who is sung about in those songs that everyone knows: "Glory to the newborn King!" "Holy infant so tender and mild." "Joy to the world, the Lord is come, Let Earth receive her King!" Somehow, the tunes and words are remembered, but the Lord of Whom they speak is forgotten...a mere trifle of the season. An old-fashioned and sentimental wisp.

There was nothing sentimental or trifling that first Christmas, when the shepherds saw the terrifying angels in the sky:

"And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Chris the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased."

May we all be filled with the same terrifying awe that those shepherds felt that first Christmas. May that little Jesus in the nativity be a reminder to us that God Himself came to earth, a humble and helpless baby, but grew into a sinless and powerful man who would lay down His life willingly that those who believe in Him would be saved from certain damnation. May we be those "with whom He is pleased."

For Jesus was actually never lost.


We were.

Just a House

As many of you know, we had made our first offer on a SoCal house last week. The market here is doing such odd things that we decided to give it a try and see if we could "shoe-horn" ourselves into this big, beautiful, new home.

They denied our offer, and that's O.K. No, it really is. Praise God! I had requested prayer from many of you that I would be content with the Lord's answer. And I am. Completely content. Without anxiety. He is so good to hear our prayers.

It is just a house. Just a structure to contain our stuff. It is cold, impersonal, unable to offer any more than walls and a roof. My desire is for the house of the Lord. It is there that I wish to dwell. In the house of forgiveness, salvation, communion with God, and eternal life. And I don't even need to make an offer. As a matter of fact, I can make no offer. I have nothing of value for the owner of that house. He needs nothing from me. I need everything from Him.

One thing I ask of the LORD,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.

Psalm 27:4

So, I have confidence in the provision of my Lord. He knows where I will physically live. He knows, too , where I will live eternally. And I praise Him that my eternal house is built and paid for by the blood of Christ. No mortgages. No rising and falling interest rates. No crashing markets. No foreclosures.

Just a house with a view. A view of the Savior. A view of which I will never tire.

And Then There Were Four

We returned from our Thanksgiving in Tucson minus one child. Nicholas returned to CO with his Pa for a week of Camp Pa. "What is Camp Pa?" you ask. Well, it is all about things that make little boys tick (at least mine)...shooting guns, riding ATV's, playing with dogs, staying up late, and watching lots of The History Channel.

Nicholas will spend one week away and then return by airplane all by himself. (GULP) I know he can do it. He is showing such maturity, but, the mommy in me really can't wait for him to be home.

It's kind of an amazing thing watching this young boy-man as he gropes along on the road to manhood. There are times he startles me with his maturity. When he empties the vacuum cleaner canister "because it's full, Mom." Or when he gives away his last piece of gum "because she wanted it more than me." Or going back to open the door for someone at the library who has an arm-full of books.

Then, of course, there are the times when both sneaker-clod feet are planted firmly in childhood, and I wonder if that maturity I thought I saw was merely a mirage on my road to senility. When I look at my life in action and wonder when it was that I signed up to be a zookeeper. When I honestly question if God will give me the grace to do this one more day. If they will ever grow up.

But He does. And they will.

Having Nicholas away has been a great time of reflection for me. What do I want for him? What does he need? Fenelon puts it so succinctly:

The principle object, that we ought incessantly to keep before the eyes of children, is Jesus Christ, the Author and Finisher of our faith, the center of all, and our only hope.

Well, there it is. So simple. Incessantly keep Jesus Christ before his eyes. And the eyes of all of my sweet, precious children. But how? By living my life quietly in the shadow of the cross. By continuously keeping before my own eyes this same Jesus. The Author and Finisher of MY faith. The center of MY all. MY only hope. I need to delight in the things of the Lord. I need to KNOW His Word and meditate upon it day and night. I need to have His joy and contentment. I need to know that He is GOD.

So we grope together, Nicholas and I. Together, meaning at the same time, but down two very different roads. His is the path set out for him by God. As is mine. May the Lord grant us the grace to make it to the end. To finish the race. To reach the finish line in the presence of God who speaks these words, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

For that, truly, is all I want for Him.