It's a holy day

I love Christmas time. Of all of our household decorations, the Christmas ones take up almost half of our garage. We love family time, giving presents and wearing scarfs. But this year, we have celebrated the holy day in another way.

We bought zero presents. We hung zero lights. We went to the mall, um, maybe once. Christmas this year has been for us like it might have been before World War II. You know, before consumerism became spirituality.

To be honest, deep down inside, I had hoped that the government would not bail out the banks. Secretly, I hoped that the economy would fail. Visions of bartering and hard work far from credit and mass-marketing schemes had begun to dance in my head. Alas, my dream did not come true. For everyone else, at least.

A few months back (when smart planners start to forecast Christmas presents), a new video entered my life.

Click here to watch it yourself. (It's about 20 mins in length.)

It is one of those videos that I inadvertently alluded to in my previous post. It's about something that I always knew was inherently evil but could never explain why. It was just a feeling that I think a lot of people have (kind of like how a lot of moms hate tv). I didn't know exactly why, but I knew something was wrong. This video succinctly put into words, with documented research to back up every claim, something that had always made me feel uneasy.

Before the video had even finished, my dearest friends and I had decided to make our own presents this year. But making our presents did more than just keep us out of malls. It gave us time to use our hands, engage our creativity and spend a day together. After showing it to my mom, she too agreed that this year we would not exchange presents.

And we didn't. And it's been wonderful!

I can't tell you how much money we have saved, how much stress I have avoided and how much enjoyment I have received.

I have spent so much time with the people in my life this season. I have had days on end when I babysat for a friend, organized my home office and went out to a late breakfast with my family. I can't explain it, but it really feels like there is something holy about this holiday this year. My husband and I have slept in, cleaned out the garage and watched lots of movies.

I can't escape the imagery I came across in a book I have been trying to get through recently. It's a gorilla (I didn't write this stuff--I just read it!) explaining captivity to a human. A formerly wild primate, this gorilla, known as Ishmael, was captured and displayed in a zoo. And then later rescued and kept in a man's home. He said while he was in the zoo, he didn't know he was in captivity. He couldn't tell much difference between the zoo and the jungle. He didn't even know captivity was a word--so how could he have possibly recognized it? He had seen the bars between him and the lines of people that would come point at him. But he didn't know the bars were to hold him in. This sage gorilla then asks the human what bars hold him in that he might not know about.

I do have visions of a nation where the economy is not controlled by interest rates. Where corporations do not have more rights than the individual. But governments and economies are not the true captors. No, there is no economic plan or government constitution that can truly impact our freedom. Ask the families of martyrs in China who still praise Jesus in silence with huge smiles on their faces. Ask Jesus. He stays surprisingly quiet on government policies and voting. Because He knows that externalities do not take captives. If they did, He would have come down and destroyed them. Instead, He came down and destroyed sin's power over us.

Sin has lost its power! Death its sting! But do we know that? Poor Ishmael is still looking for the bars of captivity. But the only bars are the ones we put up around ourselves!

God sees the captivity and He sent Himself here to us in human form, so we could watch Him live in freedom. So we could watch and study and observe and learn and now we can ask and pray about how to be truly free. That's what makes Christmas day so holy. A little baby, just like us, entered our world to show us freedom. Well, to show us love. And that love is the only love that does truly set us free.

For my husband and I, spending Christmas free from presents and giftwrap has been freeing--in some ways. But it is not freedom in itself. Freedom begins in our minds, in our thoughts. As a man thinks, so he is. So for us, we have experienced some freedom from consumerism. But this freedom will not save. Only He saves. I pray that Ishmael, like the rest of us, learns this sooner than later. May our eyes be fully fixed on Him today and everyday.

It's not what I think it is

Have you ever wondered what you don't know? I have heard that the more you learn, the more you realize you don't know.

I guess I must be VERY smart then, because all I can think about is how much I don't know. That sounds funny. But that's kind of what I mean. There is an irony in "knowing" when you know God. It sounds funny to think we know anything because clearly, we do not. And yet, we do! Have I lost you yet?

In my few short years of life on earth, I have seen too often that there's more to the story, more to the picture. A view of knowledge held only by our Creator and He gives it to us as best we can receive it--that is, in very little particles of knowing. And then every once in a while two little knowledge particles collide and the light goes on, "Euereeka!" We have our "Aha!" moment. We make a connection between two previously isolated facts of knowledge and we learn something, our eyes are opened just a bit more. And it's so exciting to us and yet so small to Him. Please don't read, irrelevant. It's not. We are not irrelevant to God. Every connection and attempt to learn is thrilling to Him. But it is so small compared to Him.

I can't get Rob Bell's view of the time dimension out of my head. And I can't wait to join God and see time as He does--as a wholly contained dimension of life, with a beginning and an end. God has no such beginning and end. He IS the beginning and the end.

And that fact blows my mind! How do you BE the beginning and the end? Do you see how much there is to wonder about? How much we don't know?

And it's not just relegated to the time and space continuum, either. I am constantly being blown away by how little I know of relationships and love and feelings. And since this earth will be destroyed and a new one will be made, I get the feeling that the relationship knowledge is just as important, if not more important than, the science stuff.

The Holy Spirit speaks in groans and utterances. Making Him sound very much like a teenage girl and/or an emotional wife. "Ugh! Umpf. Aaagh!" And it's not childish, either. It's an attempt to put a purely emotional/spiritual experience into physical words. Sometimes, there are no words. But women around the globe can identify the feeling that accompanies the groans. And that's how I feel about the stuff I don't know, but can sense exists. It's how I feel when someone says something and for whatever reason a little cue is piqued deep inside and I know something isn't quite right with their words. I don't know if this is my conscience. It feels more like intuition. And by that, I mean the Holy Spirit. It's the Spirit within telling me there is more (Jeremiah 34:34).

And that's how I feel with life right now. There is more. I can only groan in utterances trying to convey why I know. I can't put it into mere words!

I am a firm believer in a literal translation of Isaiah 55:8. I don't know what He knows! My thoughts are not like His. Not at all!

I see a backbiting woman and my thought is, "Shut up, *b@#$%!" Clearly, this is not how God thinks--and I am not just talking about the profanity part. From my limited understanding and experience with God, I understand His heart breaking. And not for the victim. For the backbiter.

He sees more than just the experience, more than what we can see. He sees the backbiter's childhood and the pain and perhaps a father who never knew how to make his daughter feel special. And this father's lack of attention that directed her into a marriage with a man who is always too busy, which pushed her closer to God as she strove to follow the preacher's admonition. For as her father demonstrated, God is only proud when you prove yourself worthy. So when her husband ignores her, she turns to Him out of loneliness and desperation but also out of a need for His approval. It was her father's and now her husband's divine duty to show her His true love, a love that does not require performance, but neither men knew God like that, so now neither do the women in their lives. And then when this woman sees another woman behave out of step with her understanding of what makes God pleased, she feels righteously angered. But really, she feels unloved. And angry because she is still desperate for affection and understanding, subconsciously frustrated, wondering when all her work to win His affection will be enough.

And I wanted to curse that woman. I wanted to punish her. But I did not understand. God is no joker when He warns not to judge.

It helps me understand why the persecuted are blessed. In my little dramatization above, it's pretty clear that the "victim" was not the one being gossiped about. No, it was the broken woman doing the gossipping who is the real victim. But do I have eyes to see that?

Do I have eyes to see that something is missing in my own heart to even want to curse that woman? How far my thoughts really are from His...how little of His love I allow myself to experience? Love covers a multitude of sin....had I love for her, I could have understood her, I could have blessed her, rather than cursed her. Paul was no fool to tell us to work out OUR OWN salvation. To work on ourselves first. To take the plank out of our own eye. It wasn't to admonish us; but to bring us closer to Him. Which would allow us to cover others in His love. I do not know His ways. Not truly.

I just can't shake the feeling that there is so much more than what I understand.

Mexico and England

I am so proud of my friends today. All of them!

We have watched our dear friend fight a hard battle that many would claim ungodly. Or at least un-good-Christan-wifely. But when you hear the word of God speak to your heart, you cannot deny that experience. Did it not seem ungodly for Hosea to marry a prostitute? Twice? Did it not seem ungodly for Jesus to heal on the Sabbath? Only if you don't know what they know.

Our friend knew. She is from a beautiful Mexican heritage and her husband's parents are both from England. British. Mexican. And today we celebrated a victory between them that seemed as unlikely as a Mexican tea party.

Viva the tea! And long-live women and friendships that fight good battles.

Call me Midas

I am literally covered with gold today. The gold has filled up all my fingernails and now my skin is covered in the glittery, precious glow of it. I am overflowing with treasure, scraped and sought from the trial I found myself in.

My circumstances have changed not at all. No new info, no back-tracking, no solution. I am where I was when I got the call that threw me a bit off my rocker. Only now I am lining my pockets with nuggets and rubbing my back along the gold on the wall as I walk out of this rich, beauteous mine.

My trial has indeed been a blessing. It isn't over. My next post may be a rant of screams and fear. But today and this weekend we were blessed--literally able to count the blessings--that came from this undesirable circumstance. Truth be told, we had to force ourselves to count. The blessings, these gold nuggets, were NOT obvious. The fear, the shakes, the anger and the sense of betrayal were clear as day.

The trials were hidden in the back of the mine. We had to get on our knees and crawl our way to the back to where the gold nuggets were piled there just waiting for us to get greedy enough to grab all the treasure we could hold.

Until it has now filled my nails and covered me in it. We had to change OUR thinking, our vision, our behavior (Isaiah 55:6-8). But the gold was there all along.

And I feel ever so very rich in storable goods that will last eternity.

Going mining

I was given an image today of my difficult "situation" with our company.

Mining.

This situation has become a mountain and I am determined to mine the heck out of it! To get every last nugget of gold that the Word promises remains in every trial. So I'm going to mine it til it's dry, while I still have the chance. I can almost feel my fingernails scraping the edges of the mine in an attempt to get all the gold I possibly can from this struggle.

If the Lord has seen us worthy to suffer, then we are blessed indeed. And I'll be pretty rich here in a matter of minutes from all the gold I'll be mining out of this mountainous trial.

Watch out. I'm going mining!

I'm out!

Ever find it hard to go on? I am traditionally a quitter. Maybe not in action, but in heart. Often, my first reaction to disappointment is to walk away. I see, though, that in reality I am a fighter.

But every once in a while, I get the distinct urge to hang up. To give up. To walk away. To wash my hands and start over. Today I received some information about the business Rory and I started. As soon as I got the info, I felt my heart hang up. I turned the water on and soaped up ready to wash myself of the whole thing. To be honest, this we may have hit our first bump.

So I am out!

But recognizing this tendency has been my greatest strength. Instead of making any decision (thanks in part to my strong husband), I contacted my two greatest prayer warrioring friends and beseeched them to beseech Him on my behalf. Immediately I received a barrage of truth:

"It's a stumbling block. The enemy is trying to discourage you. Tell him NO! "
"Don't be discouraged. This is a test!"

So I picked that receiver back up and turned off the water. I haven't dropped the phone in its cradle yet or left the bathroom (if you are by chance still following my mixed metaphors of hanging up and washing my hands, i.e., quitting), but I am turning my gaze to truth.

Watching Rob Bell's Everything is Spiritual dvd earlier today now seems like perfect battle gear for an afternoon I never could have seen coming. A lot of this dvd was (for me) about a paradigm shift (a favorite phrase of my husband and father-in-law). And that's what Jesus is. He is so much more than our understanding of religion or rules.

Like Rob Bell said, it's like trying to make a rectangle into a circle. Impossible! Unless you look at a marker. From it's length-side view, it is a rectangle. Face the cap towards you, and it's a circle. Hmm...it's like saying "Thou shalt do no work on the Sabbath." And then obeying by cutting/eating wheat on a Saturday. The religious folks were livid! They had their proof. They had their facts. As a black and white kind of debater, I can't deny that the religious-ites were correct. And yet they were wrong.

I don't want to be wrong when He returns. I know He's coming and I know He will blow our minds much like He did the first time He was here. I don't want to be so stuck in the rules and the facts that I miss the activity and experience of His spirit.

So I will be continuing on with my day and weekend as planned. I will see this experience for what it is: spiritual. And knowing that all things work to the good of those who love God, I will go forward in the graceful expectation of some very good things--hopefully maybe even things that I wouldn't have recognized as good at first.

Not so fair after all

Justice. Such an interesting term. We Christians use it a lot. We refer to our God as a just God. We explain that hell exists because of His justice.

I once heard a good man expostulate Micah 6:8. He said that we are supposed to love mercy, that is, give mercy wherever possible. But our own actions are to be just. It's a lot easier to demand justice from others. He advised that we ought to instead demand justice from ourselves first. Give mercy to everyone else.

Then I read a verse that has been surprisingly quiet in most Christian literature and sermons (completely absent from any marriage counseling I have ever heard save for LifePartners). This is how The Message paraphrases 1 Peter 2:18-20,

"There's no particular virtue in accepting punishment that you well deserve. But if you're treated badly for good behavior and continue in spite of it to be a good servant, that is what counts with God."

What? Are you serious? I have a hard enough time accepting punishment for what I deserve. I can't imagine doing the same when I am unjustly accused.

Reading this this morning made me think that God has a very different view of justice then I thought. And it's not just a New Testament concept. Joseph was constantly wrongly accused and punished--to his credit he accepted both many times over without complaint. Daniel--the man had never sinned!--went without argue to the lion's den. It's almost as if God is really saying, "You don't live here! Let them behave as they will. You serve Me and I do not disappoint."

Like with this recent presidential election, the question arises, whom do we really serve? Do we serve a God we can trust even in uncomfortable situations? Is our God able to allow us unjust treatment as part of His perfect will? And more personally, what kind of Christ-follower am I? Can I dish out mercy even while being unjustly accused? Sounds a whole lot like a Christ-likeness I have often said I wanted to strive for. Will my actions match my words?

I know at times my husband has accepted unjust treatment from me. I don't mean unjust in that I didn't do his laundry or my strand of pearls broke while I made dinner. I mean in my open and honest witch-like state. I scream sometimes. I have been known to break a thing or two. When he extends mercy to me in these situations and abandons justice for my sake, I get the privilege of seeing Jesus in my house. He has the right to demand better from me. He has the right to demand "respect." He sacrifices his right, though, and pours mercy over me. This is the kind of Christ-likeness the world is dying for. It is humbling, overwhelmingly peaceful and breathes life into my very bones.

It's one thing to accept injustice. It's quite another to receive unjust treatment and respond with mercy. That behavior spells L-O-V-E.

That's the kind of Christian I want to be.

Which ship

I am so inspired by the underdog today. I don't necessarily feel I fit the bill today, but I am inspired by how the bigger picture (by which I mean God's view) really illumines truth despite the way it might appear.

I heard at a meeting this morning an inspiring contrast between the Mayflower and the Titanic. Both ships set sail from England to America. The former embarked on a perilous pilgrimage--it was a risk, an adventure looking only to above for the results. The results, well, the results are almost incomparable: a nation free from kings, a land governed by its people, trade free and profitable. America (no matter your political view) has changed the world forever. The Titanic, however, was a sure bet. All the science, the money, the glam, the proof was in this ship--this unsinkable ship! And it sunk before ever even viewing its final destination. In which do I place my hope? In the proven science of money and industry? Or in the direction of my Creator no matter the appearance and the peril?

I recently went to a Coldplay concert. (Interestingly this is a British band...) I was amazed by the talent and artistry displayed. I don't know their individual journey's, but I am inspired by so many of their lyrics that resonate with my sense of how what we see on the outside has nothing to do with our real position (i.e., we might look secure on that Titanic--doesn't mean we are). It also speaks to the never-ending roller coaster of life--the ups and downs. At times, we appear to be losing. Chips are counted and it appears we are out. But at others, we are that big fish in a little pond feeling invincible. In both, can we embark on our Mayflower?

Here are some lines a' la Coldplay to inspire:

Just because I'm losing
Doesn't mean I'm lost
Doesn't mean I'll stop
Doesn't mean I would cross

Just because I'm hurting
Doesn't mean I'm hurt
Doesn't mean I didn't get
What I deserved
No better and no worse

I just got lost
Every river that I tried to cross
Every door I ever tried was locked
Ohhh and I'm...
Just waiting 'til the shine wears off

You might be a big fish
In a little pond
Doesn't mean you've won
'Cause along may come
A bigger one

--"Lost"

Day 2

Did you know....that Sabbath-keeping was how God commanded the Israelites to set themselves apart from the world?

Rory and I are full-blown into our own company (Stark Contrast Property Management). I hesitate to even say it, but we are so excited. There is a certain adrenaline running through our home right now. And we thank God for it because we have an amazing amount of work to do. Laying in bed last night I said aloud, "I can't believe it's only Monday." Rory practically screamed. Between Sunday and Monday I think I have done about a week's worth of work. It's crazy. But it's so fun.

Reading in Exodus this morning about Moses' face-to-face encounters with God I was so inspired. Moses clearly loves God. He loves spending time with Him, doesn't think about eating when he's with Him, debates issues with Him without anyone getting offending and after he leaves Him, his face literally glows--for days. Moses has to hide this glow from the people under a veil--it's one of those kinds of love the rest of the world just can't understand.

And Moses relays a few critical things to me that I read in Exodus today:

1. The Holy Spirit imparts skill. Craftsmen were filled with the Holy Spirit in wisdom AND in skill. This resonates with me as I often see craftwork (especially the arts, but also even construction) as such a creative, left-brained activity. I spoke with a crazy man once who I think Jesus appointed to converse with me and he told me a lot of random things. One of which is that our intuition is the Holy Spirit. And fear comes when we let our training take over our intuition. This does not mean to just whimsically follow our heart. But if you understand, you understand. He also talked a lot about the left brain.

2. The Sabbath is not just a day of rest. I had wrestled with Sabbath-keeping for most of my life. When Sunday rolls around, I am not tired. I always kind of thought that maybe I had a special exemption--not tired, no need for day of rest. But reading God's heart about the Sabbath it's much deeper than a day of rest. It's a day of saying, I won't control my work. I give control of my work to You. And this is how we are to know who knows God and who does not. Which of us are in control of our work? Because God is very clear that this Sabbath-keeping is for harvest and planting. Do you know how risky it is to just stop planting? If you aren't trusting God, it is very risky indeed. We're talking not being able to eat. But in this most especially, we are stop every 6 days, 6 years and rest. We are also supposed to party, but that's another story.

So as we begin this trek of running/owning/creating a business, I pray that we will offer it up completely to the Lord. Even on days when I am not tired. Because it's not our business. No, there's a Stark Contrast between us and the world and this business, well, this business is His.

Up, down and all around

I have often said that my life is a lot like a roller coaster. And to be honest, I like it this way. Lines don't lie. If your life can be mapped out in a straight line, well, I am afraid you might be flat-lining it. That is, you may not be alive.

Most of the women in my life know nothing about flat-lining. We are strong roller-coaster riding spirits. As Rory and I enter this new phase in our life, I feel the coaster click-click-click-click into motion. I am excited. And a little afraid. Ah, the complex thrill of adventure!

Pray for us as you read this. I am a firm believer that like Rob Bell says, "Everything is spiritual." I fully believe that this new opportunity is a chance to grow and mature spiritually. That's a big part of what excites me! This is a chance to use this little business (it's only been like 3 days officially and we have yet to create an official LLC, but still...) to form ourselves more into His likeness. And so the roller coaster begins.

I am reminded of Peter.

"Jesus, you are my best friend."

"If anything ever happens to you, I will die with you!"

"No one loves you like I love you, Jesus."

"Jesus is in trouble? Umm...no I don't know Jesus."

"No, I told You. I don't know that guy."

"Leave me alone! I don't know the man!"

Talk about highs and lows--and that was all in one night! If he were a woman, they would have institutionalized him. (Ok, that last comment is due in part to hearing a lot about the movie The Changeling.) Ah, what personal gratitude I have that this double-minded, fearful, doubtful, back and forth man would be the ROCK that the church was to stand on. A rock who makes mistakes. A rock who lies, denies and proves himself unfaithful. A rock who clearly knows what a roller coaster feels like. I am in good company.

Let the ride begin.

A phone call today

I had a great conversation with Rory's now former boss today. He called me for a few reasons I am sure: make sure I was feeling okay with the transition, encourage me to have Rory have Travis put the details in writing, etc. But mostly, his call made me feel incredibly honored to have Rory as my husband. The way he described Rory and how he wants the best for us told me that my man had earned this leader's respect.

Mike Flynn is a man of detail, order, organization and godly leadership. After we got off the phone today, I read Exodus--the part where God is incredibly detailed with every single little piece of instruction regarding the Tabernacle. And today I read it with encouragement and passion. Having worked for a man like Mike, I understand how supportive, encouraging and healthy it is to work for a man who is so detailed. It empowers the people around you. There is no room for fuzziness, for misunderstandings and for fear. The expectations are put clearly in writing. And Mike is there to do everything he can to help you succeed.

It might seem tiresome to read so many apparently random little details (tie this to this, make sure this is that color, etc.). But if I were building a temple to God (and we all are whether we know it or not), I would want it to be absolutely, no questions about it perfect. God (and his influence in Mike Flynn's life) make sure that we are/have been fully equipped to do just that. Not just so that we feel good about ourselves (though, this is a natural, wonderful result), but also so that God is glorified. I am grateful for a God of detail and the few men who are willing to emulate that in their daily interactions.

I am also incredibly, undyingly proud of my husband for honoring me by working so well, so hard and with such intense passion and heart. You have succeeded past my wildest dreams. And I am excited about the future. Thanks, Ror.

An old favorite

We are starting a new chapter. Part of that involves closing an old one. That's what my husband is doing today. Closing an old one.

Have you ever read a book and loved it so much that you couldn't put it down? You kept reading and reading as if it was feeding you and you were addicted to the nourishment? Mmm...page after page, chapter after chapter.

And then you reached the last page. You couldn't put it down but part of you realized that if you kept reading, you would finally be...done. And it saddens you to think that this experience, this life that opened up to you in these pages will actually come to an end.

This is a bit of what we are doing today. We have so enjoyed our journey at Bron. It has had antagonists and climaxes. Good days and bad days. But now as it comes to an end, I think we are a little sad to see it go.

L-O-V-E

If I were a boy. Love story. Womanizer. Hot n cold. Heartless. Love lockdown. And the number one most popular song on iTunes today: White Horse. A song about how fairytale love doesn't exist anymore.

These titles reveal so much about where we are today. About how we cry out for love--true love. We need it. We crave it. We sing it. We dance it. We sell it. And hope to receive love for doing it.

I even heard a news story on the radio today about advertisements the Humanist Society will be taking out this holiday season. One ad for a bus will read: "Why believe in God when you can just be good for goodness sake." Another: "Don't believe in God? You're not alone." These ads are meant to target atheists and agnostics who tend to feel alone around the holidays.

Even if you don't like God you crave love.

With the holidays approaching (Thanksgiving is less than 2 weeks away), one of the greatest love stories of all time will be told. Enya has a new album out where even she tells of God be with us (Emmanuel). "Oh come, oh come Emmanuel. And ransom captive Israel."

Love does exist. True love. The white horse. Jesus rode in on it and redeemed us, His captive love--He ransomed us! There was blood and sweat. Tears and pain. Joy and a love that never dies. Tell me romance is dead! He didn't make a show of it. He didn't throw money at it. Or turn a deaf ear to us. He rode in silently and went right to his love. And He never left. He offered us a new kind of love that knows its own and demands nothing. He offered the kind of love that we are crying for. The blessed day in December is approaching, reminding us all of the love we all so desperately need.

Call it "Manure"

We need a heck of a lot of s*** in order for anything worthwhile to grow. You can't just sprinkle it on. You can't just toss it out in the soil every once in a while. No, you need to layer it in. Cover every seed in soil that is laden with s***. Some call it manure but s*** works much better for my metaphor.

Sometimes it's hard to tell weeds from plants. The weeds can blossom. The weeds often grow quickly. The weeds can be quite beautiful. And long-lasting. But they aren't plants. They don't need any s*** to grow in. They can grow in cement or rocks.

But I want plants. Beautiful edible nourishing growth. And that takes a lot of s***. Thankfully, I am quite familiar with s***. So I expect a heck of a lot of growth anytime now. In fact, I see sprouts beginning to shoot forth from the soil. Sure took a lot of s***. But boy those plants look beautiful. And strong. And very, very nourishing.

On we go

I have been climbing uphill for so long. At times I get spurts of energy and burst ahead with full momentum. Other times, I find a rocky crag I can hide myself in and sit and wait for the storm to pass. Lately, I had been hiding a lot more than climbing.

I once heard a story about a woman who was attempting to swim, I believe, the English Channel. It was freezing and more difficult than any training could have prepared her for. Her coach was in a boat alongside her encouraging her and propelling her along with his voice. Finally, her arms gave out and she could take no longer. Calling it quits, she looked up and saw the shore was less than a mile away.

I am glad that in climbing I am able to hide in the rocks sometimes. Because, like my swimmer friend, I would have far too often called it quits if I wouldn't have been able to rest and hide.

The other day as I had crawled out from behind the rocks and begun climbing again (steady climbing this time--no spurt of energy but clear determination), I caught a glimpse of the view from the top. I hadn't reached the top, but I caught just a glimpse of some of what could be seen from the top. It amazed me. That little peek into what awaited me energized me for days. It was no spurt of energy. It was confirmation that I am almost there. The view won't leave my eyes even as I look to the next hold. So I climb on. Keeping my eyes ahead on the peak before me.

A special thanks to the women in my life who have held me in the rock and belayed me when I could take no more. We are on our way and we are closer than we know.

Transition

I think for the first time in my life I am learning to enjoy being young. As a kid, you just are. It isn't a conscious thought to be young. To play and not worry. It's just who you are. A blissful ignorance some might say.

But at some point, we all "grow up." For a lot of us, it comes too soon. And for most of us, we embrace it and jump into it fully ignorant of what adulthood is all about.

I know this well. At 12-years-old my mom insisted it was time I got a job. Now this wasn't like a sweat-shop type of it's time you learn how to support the family situation. Rather, she wanted to prepare me for life so we called the Alliance Defense Fund. Or rather, I, a 12-year-old called and set up an interview with Scott Phillips. Of course, it wasn't a paid position. (As an organization run by lawyers they were not interested in breaking child labor laws.) But you couldn't have convinced me of anything less.

I took this job so seriously that I would get a migraine by the end of every afternoon. Of course, now I look back and smile at the little girl sitting in the big chair in her brown cardigan and khaki pants. (I remember my mom's frustration in finding me office-appropriate attire in the juniors department. It was almost as if most 12-year-olds were not working in an office at that time.) It was a priceless experience that I owe so much to. My mom was always light years ahead of her time and I am so grateful that by 15 I knew how to interview, file papers and dress for success. Not to mention, I learned that hiking was the perfect way to eliminate work-place migraines.

By 16, I was student body president--of the local community college. I remember trying to hide from fellow students while waiting in the pick-up area for my mom to pick me up from student government meetings when I was just 15. I was always a go-getter. Ahead of the status quo. And I never even knew it. I kept wanting more, pressing on for more.

And now at 25, I think I am enjoying being young for the first time in my life. I have so much experience and knowledge to stand on that now I can wait in peace. I don't know where we are headed, my husband and I. Not specifically. His job has redirected him into a new path. I am in the middle of pursuing a few new things. We own our own house and don't have children. This is a unique transition time for us where we just get to be young and free. We get to play and (hopefully) not worry. The world is our oyster, so to speak.

Part of it is scary. But so much of it excites us. We feel that we are on the verge something new together. We are so close to the edge but know that God has to lead us there. And it's exciting. And fun to be young. The experiences I had as a child and teenager were stressful and not always easy. But if it was those that allow me to now step back and own my future in a sense, then I am very grateful. I am grateful that there is very little I am afraid of now. I owe that to my mom and to God who constantly catches me, stops me, redirects me, pushes me, guides me and leads to the quiet waters.

Here's to the future!

Honestly surprised

I know everyone knew Obama was going to win. But I really held my breath. I am honestly surprised and still trying to wrap my head around it all.

Since we don't own a tv, we sat glued to the internet until we couldn't take it anymore and finally went to a neighborhood pizza joint to watch the televised election coverage. The race was clearly led by Obama, but we kept our eyes glued.

When I saw the 297 flashing on the screen next to Obama's name, I shook my head back and forth and blinked a few times. Did it really just jump from 220 to 297? Rory turned to me, "Obama just won! It's over."

A few teenage guys who worked in the restaurant started yelling, "Our president's gonna get assassinated!" Which made me laugh. I have had the same thought, but they were all pulling for him and were thrilled with the results. The strange reality for them, though, was that he'd be assassinated. Gotta love teenage boys who have no right to vote yet.

The two other ladies in the restaurant were noticeably saddened. When the teenagers asked them why, they said, "Because we're old. We've loved longer and know what we're about to face." I couldn't help it. I chimed in, "And I don't want socialized health care. Plus I like to keep babies alive." This surprised and encouraged the right-winger ladies. "Yeah! Keep the government out of it."

I did vote for McCain. Not because I hate or am afraid of Obama. But because I cannot elect a man as my leader who would encourage anyone's right to kill another--even if it was just a fetus. And I don't want to lose my right to see my naturopathic doctor. I don't even know if Obama will change any of that, but it matters to me and McCain understands that.

Rory and I got in the car and I was surprised that I was truly saddened. I think a big part of him was, too. But then he said something very wise and very true.

"You know, we've been through a lot of ups and downs in our relationship. Things haven't gone the way we thought or always wanted. But God has led us through it all and I wouldn't change any of that."

"Yeah," I said. "You're right." And I looked ahead at the road before us and smiled.

Is it time to be afraid yet?

Obama might win. McCain might win. Ok. Nader might win. Either way, I am pretty sure that I am supposed to be afraid.

See Obama is really a Muslim terrorist/racist who will rise up to be the anti-Christ (because clearly the signs of the Apocalypse are to be found in email forwards, not facts or much less the Bible). And McCain is going to ruin our economy PLUS create another endless war as the Bush mimic. And if Nader wins, well, ok, Nader's not going to win. But if he did I am sure there would be critical life-altering and threatening changes coming.

I just read an article today about how our economic crisis developed because of our faulty economic policies. A suggested solution: Islamic financial policy based on the Holy Qu'ran. (I am not joking. You can find the literature at http://www.adbusters.org/blogs. It's the third to last article on the page.)

And don't forget that food prices are going up. We may all starve here in the near future.

And toxins and poisonous food are lurking in every area of our life waiting to destroy us.

And you know about Al Quada? They are nearly at our door if not already infiltrated through our nation.

And, of course, there are the good old-fashioned concerns: car accidents, kidnappings, robbery, random drive-by shootings, road rage, anthrax and heart attack.

Basically we ought to be afraid, very afraid. In fact, we should vote, eat, drive, walk and read all out of fear. Solemn, biblically-based, pulpit-inspired fear.

Could Rev. Falwell be right? Could these terrors be signs of punishment from God? I mean, He punished Israel, after all. If He's willing to punish His chosen people then surely this pagan nation is headed for doom and gloom. Look at the book of Hosea. He says He's going to "rebuke her (Israel)", "strip her naked," "make her like a desert," "block her path," and make it so she "can't find her way." And that's His plan of action to His favorite people. America must be screwed (especially if Prop 102 doesn't pass)!

But have we read the whole chapter? He does all of this for a single purpose: to draw her (Israel) back to Him. He then says He will "allure" her by speaking "tenderly" to her in her lost state. Then He says He will restore her vineyards and bring her hope.

What? I thought He did it because He was angry. He hated her and wanted her destroyed, right?

The Word says she got so far from her "husband (God)," that He removed every single distraction from her until she turned back to Him. Did He destroy her? Depends how you look at it. In my mind, her life was not taken. In fact, it was restored so that she would, as it says in Hosea 2:15, "sing as in the days of her youth."

Sure confusion and pain would have swirled around her as she began to lose all the things she trusted. In the beginning she declared "my lovers...give me my food and my water, my wool and my linen, my oil and my drink." To lose what she believed to be her sustenance would be devastating. But her way of thinking had become twisted. She forgot who really provided for her.

He expressly says "I was the one who gave her the grain, the new wine and oil, who lavished on her the silver and gold." She got so far from the truth that she began living a lie. And she forgot the one who truly loved her--for her. She had done nothing to earn His love. But her "lovers" required many lewd acts in order to "love" her.

So might God be punishing us? I hope so. I am tried of performing my own lewd acts to receive love from a government, from an economy, from a corporate society that doesn't care whether I live or die and really does me no good at all.

I know that I have gotten far from Him. I have forgotten that it's Him who provided my house--not the real estate boom. It's Him that kept me healthy--not the Organics line at Safeway. It's Him that provided and withheld jobs--not the economy. It's Him that maintains the weather--not the Global Warming crisis. It's all been Him, but we (and I mean Christians when I say we) have trusted in the world for our prosperity.

It may sound extreme, but if it takes a socialist president and Qu'ran law to turn us back to Him, then so be it. We are assured that we have nothing to fear if we know Jesus. In fact, we have been promised that it will all work to good. That is, if we truly love Him.

So what are you afraid of this election? This day? This year? Maybe most of us grew up without a father or with one who would berate us and withhold affection and that's what we think of when we think of punishment. But that is not God's definition of punishment. It's about time we stop fearing the worst and trust the God whose express goal is to bring us to Him.

Is He really good? Good enough for us to give up fear? I think so.

Vote. Don't vote. I don't really care. I just want you to know Him. He has proven that He directs the hearts of kings like waterways. I don't need a good king or a good president. Not nearly as much as I need a good God. And I already have one of those.

If you do too, then what are you so afraid of? Losing your house? Your 401k? Having gays in your neighborhood (remember they need Jesus as much as I do whether or not they legally marry)? Think about it and take it back to Him. I am pretty sure that Paul said even death held no fear for him. So what keeps us gripped in terror? He promises that His plan for us is not to harm us, but to prosper us. To give us a hope and a future. And hopefully, like with Israel, to allure us back to Him with kind words and new vineyards.

Maybe our fear stems from the possibility that we don't really trust Him after all. Trying to resuscitate a government to a moral state is a perfect distraction from the reality that none of us are good--no, not one. He says that He will heal our land when WE turn to Him and pray. He doesn't mention voting and He doesn't reference consitutional purity. So are you praying? Are you trusting Him?

Lord, thank You for Your goodness. Thank You for Your Word that leads us to the Truth every time. I love You.

So many things, innumerable things

Today I am grateful for so many things.

I am feeling a little extra emotional this morning so I am sure that has something to do with it, but I did my usual web check this morning (email, Facebook, Sheena's blog--sheenachristine.blogspot.com, and then the usual round of blogs, most of which can be linked to from Sheena's blog) and feel blessed at the work women are doing all around me. Their honesty. Their strength. Their radical obedience in such a confusing world.

It makes me feel grateful for home-schooling. Not just that I was home-schooled, but that women are still standing up to society and demanding God's best for their family. I am grateful to my parents for fighting for my sisters and me in this same way; it didn't shelter me. It directed me. And I desperately need direction. Don't we all? I am grateful for the families who are honestly sharing their experiences and changing lives (and by that I mean the world) day by day.

Which brings me to my gratitude for those willing to be honest. My inner community has tightened and tightened over the years, slowly whittling away til just a few honest messy ones remain. Of this group I can count my husband. He is an honest one. A messy one. And I can now call him a friend in ways I was ignorant of friendship before. Even my career has slowly born itself out of my willingness to be honest and real with employers, leading me into great blessings. Honesty is not the comfortable, acceptable road to toll. It's embarrassing at times and rejected very often. Hardly ever is it directly understood. And I doubt embarrassed, rejected and misunderstood are the kind of markers most of us desire for our existence. But there is life in the truth. And unending blessing.

Grateful to the Lord for relentless pursuit. (This list is not a linear hierarchy, by the way, but rather each element relates and complements the other.) He doesn't allow mediocrity. Balance, but not blindness. He has done this in ways I have asked and in others where I was fully ignorant. From the food I eat to the marriage I hold to the doggies I "parent" to the aforementioned schooling I received. He receives my honesty and I feel I am in His inner circle--even in my true state. He pursues and transforms me in the good things and He does it in the painful. And today it makes me feel loved. And grateful.

So thanks. Thanks for the radical honest ones that God uses in my life. And really, this all stems from Him. So thank You. I am dyingly appreciative.

Thanks Mom

I hated being poor growing up. Poor, of course, being a relative term here in America. I was given two cars before I graduated college. That phrase alone describes, um, like maybe 3% of the world's population.

But I knew we were poor; we never had enough money to buy Windex. I would shamefully streak our windows with vinegar water and wipe them with newspaper. We were so poor we couldn't afford paper towels, either.

In fourth grade or so our school had an assembly about water. I think there was a guy in a water drop costume and he told us all how bad it is to waste water. I learned:

-To turn off the water while you brush your teeth. (This fact inspired me to run around the house as soon as I heard the sink faucet come on and then berate whichever family member happened to be brushing their teeth with shame for wasting our precious water resources. I was not very popular at home for quite some time largely in part due to this berating.)

-Not to flush dead bugs down the toilet. This was not a problem because my dad always took care of bugs, though I committed to staying vigilant nonetheless.

-That showers conserve much more water than baths. Short showers are the best. I think it took many years for the shame to wane enough to be able to actually relax in a bathtub.

Basically I took these environmental warnings very seriously. I think they partly used scare tactics with us and when you're talking to a first-born 9-year old perfectionist, scare tactics have the potential to rule your life. Which, as you can see from the teeth brushing description, they kind of did.

My mom was her own brand of hippy back then so I knew that she would appreciate my vigilance, but as I became a water conservation Nazi, she had to step in and put a stop to my juvenile extremism--besides, I was making all of my young friends feel very guilty about bath time. So she wisely calmed me down (actually I think she left a sink faucet running and said, "What? What are you going to do about it? The water will be recycled anyway. Get over it!") and I eventually mellowed.

Now, nearly 20 years later, I am working for a web-based environmental group (purely by accident, I assure you) called YourGuidetoGreen.com. And I am learning that my youthful vigilance was right on the money. My boss is very wise, though, and works to ensure that no guilt or stress is associated with a green lifestyle--something both my mom and I appreciate.

I am also learning that paper towels, Windex and other household cleaners are very, very bad for the environment.

Looking back, I am not sure if we really were that poor. Maybe my mom just knew how to make the green lifestyle transition pain-free long before anyone knew about being green. She is just that smart. And wise. And kind. And thoughtful. And I even think she watches how much water the family uses nowadays.

Ripe for Ruin

I don't know about you, but sometimes I am weary of the fight. I am weary of the struggle, the brokenness, the lack of "success." This morning I opened Hosea and read it. Seeking some help in understanding, I turned to google.

And it led me to this from Matthew Henry:

Hosea 5:8-15
"The destruction of impenitent sinners is not mere talk, to frighten them, it is a sentence which will not be recalled. And it is a mercy that we have timely warning given us, that we may flee from the wrath to come.

Compliance with the commandments of men, who thwart the commandments of God, ripens a people for ruin. The judgments of God are sometimes to a sinful people as a moth, and as rottenness, or as a worm; as these consume the clothes and the wood, so shall the judgments of God consume them.

Silently, they shall think themselves safe and thriving, but when they look into their state, shall find themselves wasting and decaying. Slowly, for the Lord gives them space to repent. Many a nation; as well as many a person, dies of a consumption. Gradually, God comes upon sinners with lesser judgments, to prevent greater, if they will be wise, and take warning.

When Israel and Judah found themselves in danger, they sought the protection of the Assyrians, but this only helped to make their wound the worse.

They would be forced to apply to God. He will bring them home to himself, by afflictions.

When men begin to complain more of their sins than of their afflictions, then there begins to be some hope of them; and when under the conviction of sin, and the corrections of the rod, we must seek the knowledge of God. Those who are led by severe trials to seek God earnestly and sincerely, will find him a present help and an effectual refuge; for with him is plenteous redemption for all who call upon him.

There is solid peace, and there only, where God is."

Weary, still I may be. But hopeful that this is bringing me closer to God. And this leads me to press on. Our ways and thoughts are never like His but His are right. And He is working to make our ways His--if we will only ask. In the midst of it all, may I never turn to my Assyria, but to my God. Be encouraged!

Aha! My creation is nearly finished!

I listen to NPR. I know, I know. I, along with all the other liberals, will soon be banished from Sunday school. But alas, I listen.

To be honest, I listen to Family Life Radio on the actual radio. NPR is reserved for podcasts. My all-time favorite--The Diane Rehm Show.

The first time I heard her voice I thought she was dying. I kind of thought it was a joke--no radio station would knowingly give a radio show--that is, an audio, voice-driven show--to someone who required two and a half minutes just to say "Good morning." But I kept tuning in because she did ask good questions and seemed to know her stuff. Plus her guests could not be more interesting.

Which brings me to today. A guest host was interviewing Thomas Hager. (Side note: I've noticed a lot of guest hosts over the years. At first I thought it was because she was perhaps in the hospital or such, but alas, she always returns. I really should try to learn more about her.) Hager wrote, and just released last month, his book, The Alchemy of Air: A Jewish Genius, A Doomed Tycoon, and the Discovery That Changed the Course of History. It's about the discovery (or should I say invention?) of synthetic nitrogen.

Turns out the world was coming to an end about a century ago. A British scientific group back in the 1890's warned the world that the food supply could not keep up with the population growth (see the ridiculous, though well-read, Thomas Malthus). A solution must be sought, they warned, or close to 2 billion people would starve to death. This solution, not surprisingly, would also prove to be very profitable.

As a result, scientists (and inventive people of all skill-sets, I am sure) began racing to develop synthetic nitrogen--the element most needed to grow the food necessary to feed the growing population. A German scientist, Fritz Haber, took home the prize. By developing and patenting the method of turning air into liquid nitrogen, Haber had single-handedly created the science necessary to solve world hunger, ensuring fame and profit for him and his German nation.

Haber partnered with a young Jewish man and they set up nitrogen factories immediately. A new set of Rockefellers were posed to take over the world, using Germany as their stage. With their manufactured scientific element for life, synthetic nitrogen, the future looked fearless.

Then World War I hit.

(While world hunger was apparently solved, the greed and pride of world leaders led to the death of 40 million people in the greatest war ever before seen on earth.)

And interestingly, it was this same German invention of synthetic nitrogen that propelled the German ammunition and in fact enabled Germany to fight in the last years of the war. Synthetic nitrogen not only the most popular way to grow mass quantities of food on soil that should be resting, it is also one the most powerful raw material for explosives in the world. Haber was awared the Nobel Prize in secret (the only time that happened in history) because of the rioting surrounding his very controversial discovery. Our efforts to help fix mother nature's "problem" didn't work out as well as had been hoped. But the story for us doesn't end there.

See, World War I then propelled World War II with its own list of atrocities that no man should have ever had to witness much less experience. Then the economic policies following World War II propelled consumerism spirituality (see http://www.storyofstuff.com/), which (along with a laundry list of other issues, e.g., prayer out of school, Roe v. Wade, etc.) has brought us to today: a confused, post-modern, hardly sustainable world.

Just this last summer, I was listening to NPR in the car while on vacation and sat up straight as I heard the radio announcer. He was describing our current global food crisis. Over a century after the Brits' warning, it seems the crisis was destined to find us. It isn't a food shortage this time, rather it's food costs, but still the irony can't go without being noted.

Here in America we struggle with obesity (Kudos, consumerism spirituality! We didn't need Jesus after all.) and cancer, while the rest of the world starves, unable to purchase and unwilling to distribute food to the masses. While they die for food, Americans are experiencing our own set of economic difficulties and struggling to fight the cancer that strikes harder in the U.S. than anywhere else in the world--a major health concern that can most definitely be traced back to the synthetic fertilizers.

Might it be time we stop trying to "fix" mother nature's "problems?" I have a sneaky suspicion that even our most profitable solutions can't fix a world that isn't broken (see Genesis 1). When will science get back to the basics? When will we take seriously our choices in light of the living God? I fear what we are sowing, knowing that even our soil is manufactured by the single most raw explosive material in the world. What are we doing to ourselves?

Call it what you will

Have I told you lately how much I love my name?

I don't feel even slightly vain for saying that. My name, though it bears much of my identity, has nothing to do with any of my effort or creativity. My name is purely a gift. And I've only truly begun to love it since I got married.

There's something about "Stephanie Starks." It has a ring to it. It rolls off of the tongue. I like it.

I was talking to a friend of mine and used her last name in reference to her household. The "Smith" household, I'll say for sake of example. And she looked at me in kind of a blank, confused way. I laughed it off and explained, "You know, because it's your house so it's your household."

But then she told me how since her parents divorced that name has meant nothing to her. She wouldn't recognize a household with her last name on it--it no longer exists.

I got to feel for a second how isolating that would be. Sure it has a flair of freedom and independence. But I like knowing that I have a household. That Rory and I, though without children, are a family, a household. A unit. A team.

My maiden name was all well and good. Stephanie Cary is just as nice--though it does seem to lack the tv anchor-person sing-songy tone that Stephanie Starks carries. And I love my family and where I came from.

But when I say Stephanie Starks or sign it on the back of checks, I get the distinct feeling that I am in the presence of something new with the power to create something bigger. I am on the verge of building a family, a legacy all my own. Well, all mine and Rory's, but you know what I mean. We are a family already, I am learning. But it's very powerful to be so bonded and united as to share a name and build a household from it.

Marriage is horrible. Ugly and awful and cruel and revealing and strengthening and true and sanctifying. (See all previous blogs.) But uniting and humbling and bonding and creating, and, well, I like that part. And I am glad it's with my new name--Starks.

So this new household we've made/are making will be nothing like anything before. It's all our own. And we get to make it whatever we like.

We may not have chosen our name or created our name but it's ours all the same. And it's nice to share something that sounds so pretty to the ear.

Thanks, Ror.

It's Easier to Hate Them

Isaiah 64: "Do not be angry beyond measure, O Lord, Neither remember iniquity forever"

I feel that way some times. About my own problems, that is. "Please don't remember that I lied. Please don't hold my selfishness against me. Please don't hate me forever."

But then when I meet other women who suffer because of the men in their lives, well, then I want God to be holy pissed off and burn their houses down. Burn 'em up! Destroy the mean horrible selfish b*******!

There's a girl I've had the pleasure of meeting and I recognized something special about her the day I met her. She's beautiful and kind, thoughtful and hard-working. She's inviting and non-judgmental and has everything in the world going for her. She has her degree and is well-traveled. And is working at a strip club. For about $100 a night. And sleeping with some of the guys she meets.

I can't make sense of it. I try to understand the mainstream attitude of strip clubs--it's just fun, the girls make good money, there's nothing wrong with it. I even hear the characters on one of my favorite tv sitcoms Friends talk about strip clubs fairly often. It's light-hearted and humorous banter. But I don't see any of the female stars working there. Why not? For all that isn't so bad about them, what's right with these "clubs"?

Rob Bell talks about the value of people in his book Sex God and how there is a part of every person who knows that harming another is inherently wrong. He says it's because we're made in the image of God.

So would that be enough for my friend? If she knew she was made in God's image (which she kind of already believes in a Hindu/yoga/goddess type way) would that be enough to keep her from dancing? And why does it bother me SO MUCH that she's working there?

That serial rapist/killer told James Dobson that pornography is what slowly hardened his heart so that he no longer saw women as people, but as objects.

And that's when it hits me: how much I detest men who refuse to acknowledge the inherent value in themselves. Because it must be a man who so loathes his own self that he would make women worthless.

So does Hugh Hefner despise himself? Hard to say. I think most of the porn kings do hate themselves. So what with these decent guys my friend finds at these clubs? She likes them and defends their honor even.

And for some reason this is why I hate her father. I don't know him. I don't even know if he's still living. And I regret saying hate, because I can't really hate someone who already hates himself--I have too much sorrow for him. But I am mad. Angry. A little bit seething.

And how did I, a girl with a very strained relationship with her own father, end up with a clear sense of some value above stripping? Is that the Jesus in me? Will Jesus help my friend, then? Will He please make her new and show her the inherent value and worth and beauty within because of her true Father?

I don't know why I think my sin is less evil than the porn kings. I want to say that there is something so inherently wrong with destroying another's value, that the demeaning of another, weaker vessel is past punishment. But then I think of how I devalue those I lie to. How I wounded my younger sisters when they were younger and weaker and looked up to me. How I may not be selling porn, but I sure as heck do my own part to scar and destroy others.

And so I agree with Isaiah. Good, kind, wise Isaiah. Please don't remember iniquity forever. Because if they have a chance, then so do I. And if I have a chance, then so does my friend. And I want more than anything for her to have a chance.

Truth...From a piece of flair?!

For those who don't know what flair is on facebook (and this is addressed primarily to my mom because every single other person I know is fully aware of facebook flair), flair is a cute, demographically-charged phrase for what I used to know as buttons. The little perfectly round buttons that clip onto backpacks and t-shirts that once served to signify support for an election candidate or something you stood for. I had one as a teenager:

"It's better to have loved and lost than to live with the psycho the rest of your life."

And that pretty much summed up my fear of relationships at the time.

But I was given a new piece of flair the other day from a friend and it summed up a new life position for me:

"Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the floor in the morning the devil says, "Aw crap. She's up."

I love the image that phrase creates. It's an image of strength and confidence. And also of battle.

I am not one to shy away from battle. It's in my nature and debate and conflict fit comfortably alongside. But I have had a hard time learning what is worth fighting for.

In the beginning it was politics. This came easy seeing as how I was raised in a conservative home-school environment where Republicans were the highest esteemed officials in the church--I mean, the world.

But as I grew older I realized I had a fatal liberal flaw; I could see both sides. Not to every issue, of course, but even abortion wasn't an easy decision to side on at first. And when I searched the issues I found that there was a lot more going on in the world than politics. There was life.

And life for majority of the world, well, life sucked. I learned about dictators in Africa and the caste system in India. Both resulted in unnecessary suffering--especially for children. I'd like to say that I wanted to help them by bringing them Christianity. But it wasn't necessarily spirituality that drove me to it. It was the urge to fight wrong deep within me. To save the helpless. To punish the evil. It was uncontrollable.

And then the Lord began a deep work within me. He began showing me where change first takes place. Initially I felt lasting change could only start from the home. And He's right. But now I realize that change can only begin within. It's me that's the problem, as I admire Donald Miller for poignantly stating in Blue Like Jazz.

But before I delve into self-loathing or my inner evil that I have been dissecting since high school, I have to share the positive side to being me. (And by that I mean the glimmer of me that was made in the image of God and is daily being perfected in Christ.) Whereas I used to shudder at my natural urge to argue and fight, my strong and defensive instinct, I have found some hope.

And it's in the unlikeliest of places, I assure you.

Proverbs 31.

Now I know that only the godliest of women in the church memorize and model their life after this chapter, but only recently was it explained to me.

The background: this chapter wasn't written for women. It was written from a mother to her son. It's her advice to him in what he should look for in a wife. Ok, interesting, but still something a good Christian wife should strive to be.

The "hidden" truth: virtuous doesn't mean what you think it means. Virtuous conjures up black and white images of an Emily Dickinson-style puritan wife who always keeps her head covered and pearls matching her heels, while joyfully preparing 5 breakfasts--one for each member of her household. This woman's husband doesn't have to die to himself; she's already done that herself for him.

The Hebrew here for virtuous is literally "warrior." An Israeli woman read the Hebrew in Proverbs 31 for virtuous wife as literally, "female soldier."

A soldier? Hmmm...I could get used to this kind of subservience.

So the question remains: what is worth fighting for? What is worth becoming a warrior, a soldier to? The truth as my instinct compels me to answer. And by truth I mean the person of Christ. And by that I mean my husband. And as he strives to love me as Christ does (and this is one dirty, messy roller coaster style of love), I turn my sword to his enemy: his flesh. For this I shall fight. I shall battle and defend.

And in my own way I hope to fight against the image Satan has conjured up of good wifery. The kind of puritan wanness that holds her thoughts to herself and God. Our husbands are to be as Christ and that means they get all of us. My thoughts are reserved for God and for that He gave me a husband to talk to. May we all pick our battles so wisely.

Into the wilderness

I had it all planned out.

Leave by 2:30, hit the 89A junction by 4:00 and watch God lead us with bright sunbeams to the exact camping spot He had saved for us.

Are you surprised to hear that we left at 7? 7pm. It's practically dark by then! And I had already started to feel like we shouldn't even go. For starters, I looked nothing like a camping girl with my rebellious hair and stupid clothes. My one friend goes camping and always looks much better in the pictures than I did standing before my mirror. Plus, the house was getting dirtier by the second and we didn't even know if we would find a camping spot.

Frustration rose as I convinced myself that it was a ridiculous idea. Find God in the wilderness? Whatever. How could I even know for sure that God had inspired this little camping extravaganza anyway?

My husband was this close to giving up himself. But he smiled--a real, genuine smile proving his ability to fight the good fight--and said he really wanted us to go and offered to help me. He did the dishes while I changed my clothes--seven times. And then by the time the sun went down, we were ready.

We made great time and everything but by the time we hit a little town about 30 minutes from our destination, we somehow got confused and drove the wrong way through the town--twice. My husband was smart enough to ask for directions (which was helpful because I hadn't even noticed that it was the second time we had seen the same art gallery) and found that we weren't far from our path. In fact, we had just misread one sign. We thought it said "ONE WAY," but didn't realize that it didn't apply to us. All we had to do was go back and turn right.

And that's kind of why we were on this road trip to begin with. We had started our life together headed in the right direction. Sure it wasn't exactly like we had planned (my clothes weren't quite right back then, either), but we went anyway. We trusted and we went. When it came to make some big decisions, we misread a sign and went around what felt much like the circle that winded through that little town.

We weren't so quick to stop and ask for directions back then, though. We got a decent ways off from our path. And true to the camping analogy, I hadn't even noticed til it was almost too late.

This trip was all about re-aligning ourselves. And wasn't perfect. And it was messy.

We searched and scoured for an open campsite that felt secluded and almost settled until we made a last-ditch attempt to find the perfect spot. And although there was no sunbeam or voice from heaven, we found campsite #1 and were shocked at our fortune. We set up camp in the dark (I am still laughing as I think about us boiling water for about an hour over the campfire) and then hit the sleeping bag before we could even get romantic. Morning was beautiful until the bees swarmed the honey we had left out and I had to hide in the car because of my allergy.

There were so many opportunities to throw in the towel. To cry and quit and just give up. But we had each other and trusted that God had us. And in the end, that's exactly what we needed to find in the wilderness. And looking back, that's exactly what we found.

Hate is such a strong word

There aren't many things I hate. But as an extremist, I tend to find myself in either passionate love or hate with most issues. And as I grow older, I find that I hate being a Christian.

Sure, Christianity gets a bad wrap (which probably has something to do with how Christians behave). And Christianity as a belief-system/religion means different things to different people. But that has nothing to do with my personal sentiment.

My personal sentiment comes from God's relentless intention to teach me empathy.

Quick vocab lesson: "sympathy" means to feel with someone else. It's a kind, goodhearted way to have compassion. "Empathy," however, means that you've been there. You feel for them because you know the feeling yourself.

I always sympathized with people in my life. It was the "Christian" thing to do.

But now I am experiencing something new: empathy.

Maybe it's just because I am getting older and experiencing more. But whatever the reason, it is a hard road to toll.

It all started when a close friend suffered a miscarriage. My heart broke for her (sympathy at its best). I did something dangerous, though, out of this sympathy; I asked God to help me understand what she was really going through.

Not more than a year later, I lost my own unborn baby. Same length of pregnancy, similar signs. I am not saying that God caused my miscarriage just to answer my prayer. I am just relaying the info. You can make your own judgment.

But then, I befriended a girl I had known for years but had never been close to. As she opened up, I learned that her husband had been struggling with fidelity. He wasn't out and out cheating on her, but he may as well have been. It destroyed her.

And the sympathy bug bit me again.

I can't recall any direct, specific requests of God with this one but in a matter of months, I found myself in the exact same situation with my husband. I discovered an "emotional affair" between him and a close friend of mine. Destroyed still describes my situation.

And in those two short experiences, I have decided that I hate being a Christian. I am tired of empathizing. After just two brief (though fully painful, let me assure you) experiences, I want out. I want it to stop. I want to cry, "Abba, Abba, why have you forsaken me?"

Christianity is all about being Jesus. And Jesus is all about feeling where WE'VE been. So the closer I get to Him, the more I have to feel. The more I have to suffer. Not in a victimizing way. In a broken, strength under control kind of way.

And it's official. I hate it.

The Puppet

I feel like a puppet today, posting words from another's heart and mind. But they speak so clear to me that it's all I have to say:

“What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew and image, I bled a poem for you. You were pretty, and my friends believed that I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed,

I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared you me.

I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teach us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which he is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.

Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, you heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.

Will we be in ashes before we are one?

What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my
orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!

I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.

I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you , and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.

God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then and only then understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us."

Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz as excerpted from his play Polaroids

To Job or Not To Job

I am in the middle of a faith-walk. It's glorious. Glorious and uncertain. And right now it involves my job. I've already done the stepping out part and now is the patient part.

I really don't think that I am not patient. In other words, it's not the patience part that gets me. It's the uncertain part. I know that time will tell if my step is solid, but it's not time that I trust. It's God.

I trust that He is leading. He knows what He's doing. I am just following. So now that I am having to make some decisions, I have to act. But I am not sure what He's saying.

This is where I hear from a lot of people not to trust my emotions. He he he. That makes me laugh. Don't trust them? Then what do I trust? My thoughts? But my thoughts are a direct correlation to my emotions. My knowledge? My knowledge is filtered through my emotions. How can I possibly shut off the most beautiful avenue to knowing myself, my emotions?

No, I will spend more time exploring my emotions. I will dig deeper and listen. God talks to me all the time, non-stop, through my emotions. They are the voice of my spirit and God is spirit. So exploring my emotions is a great way to talk with the Lord.

If it sounds strange, read a Psalm. Had David ignored his emotions, we would have lost one of the most transparent, genuine, prophetic and poetic books of the Bible. David often struggled with decisions--often even the aftermath of a poor decision--and wrote about it with strong emotion. For now I am struggling with a decision about my job. And feeling some pretty strong emotions myself.

Berries and Gardens

A few things off the top of my head: strawberries don't last forever and nut grass can only be ignored for so long.

It's the end of summer and strawberries are everywhere! And I love 'em. But to get the organic (which is a must) you have to spend a decent penny and, like any budget-keeper, I always try to save anything that costs extra. So I saved my strawberries. I kept them in a nice container in the fridge and saved them. Not sure what for, but they were expensive and wonderful, so I had to stockpile them. I saved and saved and harbored and protected. And then when I went to savor, they had molded.

It's almost as if "things" don't last forever.

The worst part is that I had a chance to share the goodness with friends, but this sudden fear grabbed me: if I share, I can't enjoy! I know it's not true, but I just love those berries. As I threw out the molded ones, I realized that strawberries don't last forever.

I also saw this morning that some people think they don't have nut grass. A weed that can overtake a garden in days, nut grass is as evident as the day. Its tall green blades shoot straight up out of the soil and underneath the roots connect deep to one another, forming a long chain. It doesn't look unattractive, but does serious damage.

I worked in a guy's garden today and he warned all of us that he had lots of nut grass. In fact, I spent all of the morning pulling it up. But I realized that not all of us can be so bold as to confess our nut grass overgrowth.

Some of us would rather point our finger at the man who talks about his weeds. I can see the scoffers and boasters shaking their head and belittling the weed-filled garden.

You know, the same people who stockpile their strawberries from friends.

But it's the guy who works out the weeds, who admits it and pulls 'em up, whose garden grows. Us scoffers eventually have to face the nut grass. And by then it's practically killed everything.