Afterthought or Celebration?

At our church, we're preparing for our Easter service. I go to a large church, and special services like Easter are large events that require a number of additional time and rehearsals. I'll be honest, I absolutely love it. Sometimes it gets a little bit frantic, and sometimes the rehearsals extend way past when they should, but for the most part, I love the time we get to spend together, getting ready for the celebration to come.

But sometimes in the midst of the busyness of our preparations for the main event, those smaller, more quiet moments are lost. They become afterthoughts - elements that we recognize as necessary, but which aren't flashy enough to garner their own service. They are too depressing, too quiet, too ugly.

I get that. Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday. These aren't celebratory days. What happened on these days is terrible. I don't like being reminded that I would have likely been a part of the crowd, one days shouting "Hosanna!", the next, raising my fist and screaming, "Crucify him!"

But I can't allow myself to push these to the back. I can't make them days that are tacked on to the "real holiday."

The pain, the anguish, the agony. Without them, there is no Easter.

So on Thursday, our worship team is going to rehearse. We'll tighten up the music. We'll fix the transitions. We'll adjust the lighting. We'll prepare ourselves for the celebration on Sunday.

But we'll also take a moment to break bread together. We'll remember another group of friends celebrating this same rite thousands of years ago. We'll do this as they did, not as an afterthought, but as a celebration. A celebration of deliverance and a celebration of what is yet to come.

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Memories of Faith

1984 - We sing a lot of songs at my Christian school. Songs to help us remember the books of the Bible, songs that have silly motions with them, old hymns that Mrs. Montag likes to teach us. We're getting too old for this to be cool, but when she allows us to sing Pass It On, I still get a little teary when we sing "the Lord of love has come to me, I want to pass it on." That summer I'll go to Creation Fest for the first time and find out that people sing songs like this in their actual church services. Every week.

1986 - I'm in trouble for wearing hot pink tights under the acolyte robe at church. I love that I get to serve the church in this way. I love the ritual of lighting the candles in a particular order. I love the symbolism in the robe and the knotted belt. But it's the 80's and the dress that I'm wearing has bright pink tights that go with it, so that's what I'm wearing. After I find out that I'm in trouble, any Sunday that I'm scheduled to be the acolyte, I worry about my clothes. On weeks when I'm not serving, I wonder why it's okay for the boys to wear ratty sneakers, but not okay for me to wear my hot pink tights. Reverence is replaced with resentment.

1987 - I'm standing in the hall with my teacher. I'm one of the girls in trouble because of the party we had at Nikki's house that weekend. We drank beer that I didn't like, Fuzzy Navels that I did like, and made prank phone calls. But we weren't very good at being bad, so we called people we knew and they figured out it was us. I cry because I feel bad about letting down my parents this way. I cry because I know that as a Christian, this isn't how I'm supposed to behave.

1988 - I've just graduated from my Christian school. I have gone through my confirmation class and for the first time, my faith feels like something that I've chosen, rather than something that I inherited. I am sitting on the side of a hill in the woods of a farm in Mt. Union, PA, listening to Roger Cooper speak about a night he spent with his father, connecting to one another in a more loving way than they ever had before. I had been on the verge of that kind of relationship with God that whole year, and this talk sealed the deal. Tears streaming down my face, I stand when Roger gave the call and I ask Jesus into my heart, not just because I'm supposed to, but because I want to.

1993 - I'm in college and I'm meeting people who aren't just like what I've grown up with my whole life. I haven't been to church in a couple of years, other than when I go home. I worship in the stairwell of the music building, improvising music with my best friend long after the rest of the students have vacated the premises. Instead of candles and incense, it smells of sweaty college students and old pizza. We don't say words, but the notes of our prayers echo in the stillness.

1998 - The internet is new and the world is suddenly much smaller. I meet my first real atheist. I meet Christians who are gay. I meet people who think that the only real Bible is the King James Version. My views about faith are twisted around and shaken up. Doubts that have always played at the edge of my mind grow larger. My new husband and newer baby girl are reminders that there are things that are very real.

2000 - My faithfulness is questioned not by me, but by someone on the outside. My heart breaks as I second-guess my intentions. I think I'm just doing what I had been called to do, but if my pastor believes that I am idolatrous, maybe I am. The part of me that worships primarily through my instrument mostly shuts down for the next three years.

2009 - My husband and I sit crying together in our living room. He has told me that he no longer believes in God. It's the perfect moment for me to abandon the faith that has produced pain and anger and questions. But I know that pain and anger and questions will never stop. And my memory takes me to a girl singing about a spark, and I know that the Lord of love still lives in me.

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted byPeter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

What To Do With Madness

I read a sexist comment from a prominent pastor and I get mad.

I hear blatant lies from a Christian organization and I get mad.

I see fear being used to score political points and I get mad.

I discover another layer of depravity among my fellow humans and I get mad.

Every day, there are things that happen that contribute to my madness. Sometimes I feel like the only viable response to all of the hatred and falsehoods and injustice is anger. Shake my fist at the sky and scream obscenities. More often than I'd like to admit, that is my lone response.

Madness doesn't have to be my only option. It may be the first stop, but it by no means has to be the destination.

Instead, I can take that anger and allow it to fuel something better, something less mad. I can use that emotion to find my way to action.

I can remind my daughters that they are lovely young women who have much to offer to those they meet.

I can share truth where lies have prevailed.

I can spread peace where there was previously dissent.

I can seek out the layers of kindness and compassion that humans have for one another.

I can do these things and replace my madness with happiness.

Christ encourages you, and his love comforts you.

God's Spirit unites you, and you are concerned for others.

Now make me completely happy!

Live in harmony by showing love for each other.

Philippians 2:1-2a (CEV)

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What kinds of things make you mad? How can you turn that anger into something productive?

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Dinosaur Disappointments

Growing up, my dad was my primary source for books that were worth reading. He introduced me to some of my very favorite books and authors. One in a long list was Michael Crichton. My dad and I were fans of Jurassic Park and when we heard that it was going to be made into a movie, we couldn't wait to see it. The release was on my dad's birthday, so I made plans to take him to see it to celebrate. Our expectations for this were through the roof on this.

But as we sat there, in the air conditioned theater, our fingers slick with butter from the popcorn, we couldn't help but feel disappointment. Sure, there were some great effects, the sound was amazing, and it's hard not to love Jeff Goldblum, but compared to the book, the movie just didn't measure up. The world that Crichton created was richer and more complicated than Steven Spielberg could ever hope to replicate.

Disappointment happens any time our experience doesn't match our expectations. Sometimes it's an acceptable disappointment, like when a movie doesn't deliver.

But sometimes it feels more profound; more dinosaur-sized. A friendship betrayed. A trust broken. A promise not kept.

These disappointments can weigh us down. We have to choose, time and again, whether to offer a second or third or two-hundred-forty-seventh chance.

More often than I'd like to admit, I find that my disappointment extends to God. Times when I feel like he isn't living up to the promises that he has made based on the actions of those who claim to follow him. In those times, I love these words from the Psalms that remind me that I'm not alone in my struggle, and that there is a greater promise that he has made to each of us:

Answer me quickly, Lord;

my spirit fails.

Do not hide your face from me

or I will be like those who go down to the pit.

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,

for I have put my trust in you.

Show me the way I should go.,

for to you I entrust my life.

(Psalm 143:7-8, NIV)

God's love is unfailing. If you've experienced disappointment with God, know today that his love is unfailing. And it is big enough to take down any other disappointments you might experience.

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Have you experienced disappointments in your faith? What encourages you? What movie has left you feeling the most disappointed?

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

You Romance Me

You know how to romance.

Sure, there are the easy things,
like flowers picked up at the grocery store
when I ask you to stop and get the eggs that I forgot to buy.
Or the gold earrings you chose for me that I wear almost every day.

You say the obligatory
I love you's
and
You're beautiful's
that make me smile and blush, even after 15 years.

You know how to romance according to the books.
You compliment, you serve, you defer.
You follow the rules of romance.

But you color outside of those heart-shaped boxes.

You shower me with laptop batteries
and ninja t-shirts
and Terminator DVDs.

You whisper sweet nothings like
That's terrific bass
and
Hey baby. I'm, like, pretty tall
that make me laugh and love you more deeply than I could imagine.

You know things that the books could never tell you,
not in a million years,
about how to make me weak in the knees.
So you've added pages.

You know how to romance me.

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Do you have any "unique" expressions of romance with your spouse? If you're not married, do you and your friends have any special things that might not look fun to anyone but you?

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Repost: Stuck in the Mud

I'm taking the rest of the month off from writing new material and am going to repost something from each month. I hope you don't mind a little walk down memory lane. This one was originally posted on January 24, 2011 for the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival.

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It’s winter here in WV. While I like winter way more than I like the summer (I hate being hot, like, a lot), it’s still not a favorite. It would be one thing if we got a lot of snow. Then I could sit here and write about the redemptive something or other about snow and how it covers sins and is all white and beautiful. It would be poetic and eloquent and you would weep. I’m getting misty just thinking about it.

But generally speaking, we don’t get a lot of snow. Usually some, but it turns to slush within a day or two. And then everything else turns to mud. Sticky, cold, disgusting mud. And if we’re lucky, the mud gets mixed in with the salt and cinders so it’s extra fun. Gritty, corrosive, gooey mud. It’s much harder to write a post that makes someone cry about that stuff. Unless you’re just deeply offended by mud. But those aren’t really the tears I was going for.

The thing about this mud is that it gets everywhere. It’s tracked into the house. It’s flung up all over my minivan. It’s all over the sides of my cute new boots. And no matter what I do, it’s there all winter long. Even if I manage to eliminate it for a little while, it will be back. There’s just no escaping it.

You know what else I can’t escape? God’s love.

It’s sticky. No matter where I go or what I do, it clings to my heart. I might try to scrape it off by rejecting the gift of grace, but the remnants remain.

It’s messy. Relationships are never neat or pretty and my relationship with my God is no different. Every time I think I know how things are “supposed to be” with God or with other Christians or people outside the Church, God shows me just how wrong I am. His love coats everything that we want to tidy up and messes it up.

It’s corrosive. My heart is hard. It can be stony and stubborn. But when God's love is applied, it eats away at that hardness. It might make me more vulnerable to hurt and pain, but it also allows me to experience far more joy and peace.

Sticky, messy, corrosive love. I may tear up a little bit after all.

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How have you seen love stick to you and bring about a change?

Bear Down

"Push, push, push, push!"

My neck hurt from straining too hard during the first hour of pushing. My left hand was swollen twice its normal size from where the IV had caused a negative reaction. I was exhausted beyond what I could imagine. My body was screaming that it wanted sleep and food, but not that it wanted to get a baby out. The drugs had completely blocked my ability to feel any of my body's natural urges to bear down.

Yet in the background, there was a cacophony of voices yelling at me to push. So for hours and hours I did that. I pushed and pushed and pushed. My daughter was born and it was amazing, but even after the hours that I spent pushing, I never really understood what it was that I was supposed to be doing.

Then my son was born.

I waited too long to ask for the epidural and as the anesthesiologist was putting in the block, I felt this incredible pressure. I told the nurses that I thought that I needed to use the bathroom, and instead of a chorus of voices telling me to push, I was being instructed NOT to push, but instead to blow. Soon the obstetrician was there and I was able to follow my body's natural instincts and deliver my son.

The difference between pushing and bearing down in birth was simply amazing.

Both required work. Giving birth is never a completely effortless event, even in the best circumstances. But working with my body was so much easier than working against it.

When I was pushing simply because someone was telling me that I needed to, I was ineffective. I ended up with injuries, some rather severe. I was exhausted, frustrated, frightened, hurt.

But when I bore down, I was doing what my body was supposed to do. I took advantage of the force that was already acting in me and used it to to do the work that needed to be done. There was pain, there was labor, but the process was so much sweeter.

There are so many areas in life where we're tempted to just muscle our way through. People shout at us to push. To pull ourselves up. To be self-reliant. And we know that in order to see our dreams come to life, we have work to do. So we do what we're told, even if it doesn't feel right. We struggle and work and strain to reach our goals.  But even in our successes, we can end up exhausted rather than exhilarated by the journey.

And then there are the times that we bear down. We follow where our dreams are taking us rather than forcing them to fit our mold. We find people who offer us enthusiastic encouragement and gentle direction rather than those who simply give us the same rules that they followed to achieve their dreams. There may still be struggle and pain, but it is purposeful. It is pain that we can use.

As we bear down through that pain, we can give birth to joy.

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Is there an area where you've pushed when you needed to wait and bear down? Have you experienced the difference?

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Come and Listen

I have loved this song since the first time I heard it. It sets the stage for the rest of the album,  the piano and strings play off of one another perfectly, the use of the vocal effects help tell a story - it's a simple and lovely song.

This song also reminds me that so often we're invited to come and be quiet. God wants us with him, but he wants us to listen.

Most of the time I want to talk. I want to let him know what I want. How I feel. What he needs to be doing. What other people need to be doing or not doing.

For me, the showing up part is not the problem. I come to God regularly. I am significantly less good about the listening part.

But the listening is important. It's where God can remind me of my true value. It's where he can share what he wants for my life. It's where he can correct wrong thinking. It's where he tells me that he loves me.

Listening is where the relationship happens.

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Where do you best connect with God? How does he speak to you?

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Writing Strategies for the Perpetual Procrastinator

Most weekdays I try to post something new to my blog. I have been able to do this consistently for about a year and a half now. Today I share my method with you.

1. Jolt awake at 3:27 AM with a brilliant idea. Realize that you forgot to buy that notebook you've been meaning to pick up for the past 8 months for moments like this. Determine that this idea is so good that there's no way you can forget what it is, so rather than getting out of bed to jot it down, go back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that it will be waiting for you in the morning.
2. Oversleep because you forgot to set alarm. After getting everyone out the door, remember that you had an idea in the middle of the night. Realize that you can't remember it, and promise to buy a notebook to put by your bed for moments like that so you don't forget it the next time that happens.
3. Sit at computer so you can get started writing.

4. Realize that you forgot to make coffee. Scroll through your Twitter feed while the coffee brews, because you don't want to interrupt your writing to get coffee when the press is done. Hope to find an idea you can steal from one of the people that you follow.
5. Get coffee. Read email and play mindless game on Facebook while you drink it because you need to be focused to write and coffee helps with that.
6. Start writing. Get about 200 words in, decide that it's crap and delete the whole thing. 
7. More coffee.
8. Check out blogs in the reader. Now on top of feeling uninspired, feel like a terrible writer compared to everyone else. Consider deleting blog.
9. Wonder if it's too soon to write another post about how neurotic you are.
10. Decide you don't care if it's too soon. Write an opening sentence.
11. Watch YouTube video of a kitten chasing a laser.
12. Look at the clock and realize that it's now noon and the day is half over. Blurt out 300 words (most of which are eerily similar to what you deleted earlier). Hit submit.
13. Try to decide if noon means that it's okay to switch from coffee to wine. (This step? Is why you still don't have that notebook by your bed for the 3:27 AM ideas.)

What writing strategies do you employ? Are you participating in NaNoWriMo? Or do you have any other writing goals for this month?


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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Blueberry Pickin'

photo © 2008 Kat Kellner | more info (via: Wylio)

I am an indoor kinda' gal. And the warmer it gets, the more I just want to sit in an air conditioned space and work on a bit of knitting or writing or reading.

There is one way to get me outside in the sun on a summer day and that's to promise me that we're going to pick blueberries.

Since the first time my grandmother took me to the farm that had a huge blueberry patch, I've been hooked. I love walking through the bushes. I love seeing the fruit hanging there, waiting for me to take it. I love feeling my pail get heavier and my stomach get fuller (I'm pretty sure the places where I pick blueberries should have a before and after weigh-in, because I do love to snack while I'm harvesting!).

One thing I notice when I'm in the blueberry patch is that on the same bush and even in the same cluster of berries, the fruit ripens at different rates. If I'm not careful, I can pull off a handful of berries that are fully ripened, some that are more pink than blue and some that are just plain green. When I'm not gentle, I can yank a piece of fruit from the bush that hasn't had a chance to become edible. It's still a blueberry, but it will have no opportunity to provide nourishment.

I think this happens in the Church sometimes. Our congregations contain folks who are at all stages in their spiritual lives and experiences and we sometimes treat them as if they are all the same, simply because they are clustered together. The single (and the single-on-Sunday). The divorced. The childless (by choice or by circumstance). The depressed. The jobless. The totally normal, married with two kids, living in the suburbs. We're all in there together - some ripe and ready to go out and do work, some close but maybe a bit sour, and some that need a lot more time to reach their full potential.

As we interact with each other, let's be gentle.

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. Today's word was Farm. You can read more submissions or post your own here.

House Rules

photo © 2008 Alan Cleaver | more info (via: Wylio)
In my list of "things I can't wait to do once Jason graduates and goes back to day shift," one item that is near the top is playing more games as a family. It's absolutely one of my favorite activities to bring us together. There are lots of games that we play here, but the one that we love most is Monopoly. Now that the kids are older, we can all play together, but if you ever stop by, we don't mind team play.

If you do play a game of Monopoly with us, one thing that we'll have to discuss is the house rules. While we mostly play according to the instructions given to us by the brothers Has, we definitely have some house rules. If you have to pay a penalty (any taxes, the fee to get out of jail, etc.), the money goes into the middle of the board and can be won by landing on the Free Parking space. Also, we play that if someone lands on and purchases two properties in a set, they have the right to buy the third from someone else if it is available. And I'm not 100% sure that we mortgage properties the right way.

We have house rules because we want to be able to sit down and finish a game in a couple of hours rather than over the course of 3 days. They work for our family with no arguments or frustrations. They ARE the rules. In fact, it feels kind of weird to play by the real rules if we happen to play outside of our home.

I think it's easy to do this with our faith as well. We come up with rules that work for us. They help us live better, make wise choices for our families, live peaceably with our neighbors. They're based on a Christian ethos, but they aren't necessarily the rules that are provided in the manual.

The problem arises when we expect people to play by our house rules. We know that they work for us, so we expect them to work for everyone. And sometimes, when someone rejects our rules, we feel like they're rejecting us. We get so wrapped up in the how of our faith that we forget the why of our faith.

Let's play together so we can grow as a family.

Be devoted to one another in love. 

Honor one another above yourselves. (Romans 12:10, NIV)

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. To read more entries or to submit your own, head over here.

The Adventure is in the Doing

I know that it's hard to imagine, but I'm not a tremendously adventurous woman. I like to watch movies and knit and read and eat soup. I'm not someone who, you know, DOES stuff.

But as I've mentioned before, there is a group that is seeking adventure in one of the best ways possible. The folks at Nuru International are working together with people who are in extreme poverty to help them make a better life. Not with a handout, but by teaching them better sanitation, helping to dig wells and teaching them better farming techniques. The repayment on loans from Nuru is 98% and the crops are averaging a 300% increase. Here's a little bit about how Nuru works:



How Nuru Works from Nuru International on Vimeo.

We have a way to be a part of this adventure. I'm partnering with several other bloggers to work together to pray for the work that Nuru is doing and also to donate and ask our readers to donate as well.

• Seeking Pastor (Matt Cannon)
• Randomly Chad (Chad Jones)
• From Tolstoy to Tinkerbell (Sarah Bost Askins)
• Off the Cuff (K.C. Proctor)
• Shawn Smucker (Shawn Smucker)
• Jennifer Luitwieler (Jen Luitwieler)

Though I don't have the most current numbers, I know that as of last week we were significantly behind on our goal of $7000. We only have a few days left for this particular project. I do hope that you will consider making a donation. Even a small amount can have a huge impact on the lives of those who are a part of what Nuru does. (If you choose to donate, please include "24/7 Project" in the donation notes so we can see the total after Easter.)

Come be a part of this adventure. Let's DO something.

Be hope. Be light. Be Nuru.


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This post is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. To read more entries or to submit your own, head over here.

The Roof is Coming Down

photo © 2009 Julia | more info (via: Wylio)

We don't own a lot of things of value. Much of what we have is handed down from family or friends and the rest is stuff that we bought on the cheap. Don't get me wrong, we definitely have some nice things (I am blogging from my own computer after all), but we do try not to be too consumer driven.

One thing of value that we own is our house. Even though it's old and cramped and messy, I love it. One of the first things that we did when we moved in was to replace the roof. It probably hadn't had any kind of repairs done on it in thirty years (or more). It was rotted out pretty badly in a number of places. Fixing the roof was a top priority when we moved in.

So when Bill mentioned the story of the paralyzed man being lowered through the roof by his friends, it hit me again about just how annoyed I would be as the home owner. I mean, sure the guy was healed. He had awesome friends. But they totally destroyed this guy's house in bringing their friend to Jesus. Clearly this was a nice guy. He was hosting a party so fantastic that people were spilling onto the street. So maybe he was all, "Woohoo! This is so awesome that people are coming in through the ROOF!" But probably not. More than likely he was thinking that his home was being totally wrecked because of this traveler that he had invited in.

I like to think that I'm the friend lowering a hurt friend in to see Jesus, but I think I'm probably also a lot like the homeowner. Jesus is in my house. We're chillin'. I've got all of my stuff the way I want it, but I'm okay with it being rearranged a little bit because he IS Jesus, after all. But for the most part, I'm still running the show. He's a guest.

And then people come in and just beat the living crap out of what I've set up here. And not stuff that is small and unimportant. No, it's things that I treasure. Beliefs I have that seem valuable. Ideas that keep me safe. Rituals that keep me comfortable. Enclosures that help me keep Jesus to myself or to just share him with people who I know are going to respect my rules for how we engage with him.

But the treasure isn't the beliefs. It isn't the ideas or the rituals. It's Jesus. And if someone needs to mess up my stuff so I can see him do big things, then I guess the roof is coming down.

Have you ever had a something you thought was valuable completely wrecked by your relationship with Jesus? And how annoyed would you be if someone tore a man-sized hole into your roof?


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This is a part of the One Word at a Time blog carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

The Ugliest Trophy in the World

Ugliest Trophy Ever

Last summer in the midst of all of the vuvuzela jokes, the FIFA World Cup was going on. This is a massive event and it only happens every four years. Thirty-two teams compete to win the ugliest trophy ever. Oh, and the glory that comes with being the world champion soccer team for the next four years. 

So imagine my surprise when I went looking for the score of the championship game from 2010.

1-0.

Now, I know enough about sports to know that it was going to be a low scoring game. You don't generally see huge numbers in these contests, so I wasn't expecting some 15-12 score or anything like that. But I admit, I was a little bit surprised to see that Spain beat Holland by scoring a single goal in the final after 116 minutes of play. And from what I can see, that's pretty much the way this event is won most times. By scoring a single goal.

I get it in my brain that I need to constantly be winning. That everything I set out to do has to be The Best. And that if I can't do it really well almost immediately, I'm never going to be able to do it and shouldn't bother trying. I lose perspective of the goals that I have already met, the things that I have already accomplished.

It's easy to look at a life where we see only a few things going our way and to declare that we're unsuccessful. I think the next time I do that, I'm going to remember Spain and how it only took one goal to win one of the ugliest, most coveted trophies in the world.

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This post is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. Find more posts and submit your own here.

Letter to Future Me

photo © 2008 nate bolt | more info (via: Wylio)





Hi Alise! It's Alise! 
These letters are awkward because I totally know you and don't know you at all. I've done this before in junior high and high school and it's always interesting to me to see how I turn out when I rediscover the letter when the future is the present. Or however that works. Time travel is complicated. Especially without a Flux Capacitor. 
Anyway.
Right now in 2011 things are pretty good. I'm working right now to collect stories for the Not Alone project. I can't wait to hold that in my hands! That's pretty awesome. I hope future me (you? me?) is still writing. I don't know if blogging is still cool in the future (or if it's actually cool right now. Or has ever been cool.), but I hope that whatever the medium, you're still putting words together. You're not too bad at that (I know you're shaking your head now, but people tell me that I'm okay, so future me is no doubt better). (I also hope you figured out a way to use fewer parentheses. I use them an awful lot and they probably irritate the real writers who stop by here.)
I hope you're still willing to examine your beliefs. I've been pretty good about doing that up until this point, but I know that the older I get, the harder it is to make big changes, even if they're necessary. I hope that you haven't stopped thinking and re-examining ideas that you have in light of whatever information you get in the future. It's okay. I won't be angry.
I also hope that you're still seeking out new relationships. And with people who aren't just like you. My life is richer now for the people I've met in the past year or so, and I hope that you've continued to reach out to people who are from different walks of life. They have a lot to teach you. Don't miss out on that.
Continue to pursue love. I sometimes think I have a pretty good handle on this, but there's so much more to learn. You're not going to have it figured out either. Keep at it. Love people. Sometimes it hurts, but the rewards, well, they are definitely worth it.
Listen more. I love (!) to talk, not so much with the shutting up. People will listen, but they want to be heard too. Shut up occasionally. Not everything needs your commentary. 
Okay future me, that's about it from here. Hold your beliefs loosely. Meet people. Love more. Talk less. 
(Oh, and I hope powering through season four of LOST is worth it, sorry if it isn't. Watch the Afternoon Delight episode of Arrested Development again -- that will cheer you up because I'm pretty sure that's one of the best 22 minutes of television EVER.)
Be good to yourself and to others!
~Me (You? Whatevs.)
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What would you say to future you?
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This is part of the One Word at a Time blog carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. To read more submissions and to add your own, head over here!

What's Your Value?

photo © 2010 bixentro | more info (via: Wylio)
So I've only participated in the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival a couple of times, but there is a huge list of words that have been selected well in advance which generally gives each writer time to gather their thoughts and write something ahead of time.

This week's word is "sacrifice" and an empty draft with that as the title has been sitting in my folders mocking me for two weeks now. I'm not sure what it is about this word that has tripped me up so much, but nevertheless, every time I've sat down to write, I've ended up deleting everything that comes out. 
So in a last ditch effort to find something, I went to dictionary.com and typed in sacrifice. And one definition jumped out at me:

a loss incurred in selling something below its value

I think I might do this.

Not so much with merchandise. We have a tendency in our home to use stuff until it's pretty much over. There aren't a lot of items around here that we could sell below value. It was either never very valuable to begin with or any value has been lost because it's been through the rigors of six people using it. 
But I do sell myself short sometimes. 
When I don't follow through with projects, it's generally because I have little confidence in my ability to actually make a difference. I worry that it won't live up to expectations of others. I see people who are more talented, more articulate, more beautiful, more successful and base my worth strictly in relation to what I imagine theirs must be. And in so doing, I sacrifice my own value at the alter of comparison.
This should not be.
I love what God says to the people of Israel in Isaiah:

"Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine. When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a rock and a hard place, it won't be a dead end— Because I am God, your personal God, The Holy of Israel, your Savior. I paid a huge price for you: all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in! That's how much you mean to me! That's how much I love you! I'd sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you." (Isaiah 43:1-4, The Message)

God made a sacrifice of his Son so I don't have to sacrifice myself. My value isn't based on others. It's not based on me. It's based on a God who would sell the whole world for me. If He thinks I'm worth that, perhaps I can begin to see that in myself.
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Do you sell yourself short? How do you see your true value?
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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more posts about sacrifice and submit your own here. 

Rest and Renewal

photo © 2009 Umberto Salvagnin | more info (via: Wylio)

Yesterday, I thought I was going to die.

No, not really. But I was sick. I don't get sick terribly often (it's usually a once a year thing), so when I do, it usually wipes me out pretty good. Yesterday was definitely that day.
I started feeling bad Sunday night during the Super Bowl. I thought it might be simply due to the Steelers' impending loss, but as the night went on, it was clear that I was just getting sick. I stayed up a bit too late, even though I knew I was sick, because I had to watch the end of the game, clean up a bit, throw in a little laundry that I got behind on because of a long rehearsal with Under Shelter, read a few minutes, and so on. 
Of course yesterday it hit even harder and by the afternoon, that's when the death-thoughts started swirling around. I managed to hold it together until I had fed the children supper, but a little after six, I took some Ibuprofen, cranked up the electric blanket and went to bed. Other than a brief moment of wakefulness at 10:30, I was OUT.
Today, I feel much better. Not 100% by any stretch, but significantly better.
I'm thankful for the prayers of my friends, but I'm also thankful for the rest that I had. I think a big part of me feeling better today is related to 12 hours of sleep.
Being sick is one of those moments when we know that we need to rest. It's easy to forget much of the time. We get doing things that are important. We work, we serve, we go about our days and we neglect taking time to rest. When we don't rest, we don't get renewed. And when we're not renewed, we end up trying to give out of an empty vessel. 
Jesus told us where we can find rest:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

We're all sick in some way. We all need rest. And we can find it in the giver of rest and renewal.
What are things that you do to find rest?
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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read the other submissions and submit your own post here.

Stuck in the Mud

photo © 2008 Sarah Moody | more info (via: Wylio)
It’s winter here in WV. While I like winter way more than I like the summer (I hate being hot, like, a lot), it’s still not a favorite. It would be one thing if we got a lot of snow. Then I could sit here and write about the redemptive something or other about snow and how it covers sins and is all white and beautiful. It would be poetic and eloquent and you would weep. I’m getting misty just thinking about it.

But generally speaking, we don’t get a lot of snow. Usually some, but it turns to slush within a day or two. And then everything else turns to mud. Sticky, cold, disgusting mud. And if we’re lucky, the mud gets mixed in with the salt and cinders so it’s extra fun. Gritty, corrosive, gooey mud. It’s much harder to write a post that makes someone cry about that stuff. Unless you’re just deeply offended by mud. But those aren’t really the tears I was going for.

The thing about this mud is that it gets everywhere. It’s tracked into the house. It’s flung up all over my minivan. It’s all over the sides of my cute new boots. And no matter what I do, it’s there all winter long. Even if I manage to eliminate it for a little while, it will be back. There’s just no escaping it.

You know what else I can’t escape? God’s love.

It’s sticky. No matter where I go or what I do, it clings to my heart. I might try to scrape it off by rejecting the gift of grace, but the remnants remain.

It’s messy. Relationships are never neat or pretty and my relationship with my God is no different. Every time I think I know how things are “supposed to be” with God or with other Christians or people outside the Church, God shows me just how wrong I am. His love coats everything that we want to tidy up and messes it up.

It’s corrosive. My heart is hard. It can be stony and stubborn. But when God's love is applied, it eats away at that hardness. It might make me more vulnerable to hurt and pain, but it also allows me to experience far more joy and peace.


Sticky, messy, corrosive love. I may tear up a little bit after all.

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival. You can read the other submissions and add your own here.