The People in the Pews

She scanned the people in the pews and wondered what in the world Jesus was trying to teach her during this festive holiday season. When she took inventory of her life, it was mostly all good. God had blessed her with a kind husband, a sure marriage, provision--not too little and not too much, and strong, healthy children that made her marvel everyday. She was not for want of anything in this regard.

So why this feeling of void? Of loneliness?

Maybe those bitter feelings that would forever be left unresolved and that she was forever confessing to the Lord were rearing their ugly heads--demanding cultivation that she refused to give because she knew it would not be to the glory of God. Her parents had estranged themselves from her--one actively, one passively--but forsaken she was, and shy of the miracle of their rebirth, forsaken she would remain.

She hadn't spoken to her dad for two years but his last words to her had been, "You have a nice family, you're doing a good job." Oh, how she cherished the memory of those words! It was the first expression of praise he had afforded her since she made it known to him a decade earlier that she was to be baptized a Christian. Until that sweet moment of reassurance, his disappointment about her choices to have more than 2 children, raise and educate them at home and be a wife to her husband had been veiled by a polite silence, but occasionally the concern would show with statements like, "Maybe she's not done yet. Maybe she'll still do something." But mostly they filled the conversational void left between their expectations and her choices with praise and relish over her younger sister's accomplishments.

Younger sister--we'll call her Ann--was a college-educated elementary school teacher. But ironically, it was never the love of teaching or an interest in bettering young people that was the object of their talk--it was only and ever about Ann's ability to run a disciplined classroom. Her boast was that her students respected her with a healthy fear and that she didn't take any guff from them. A good and necessary start to any successful learning environment, to be sure, but not what the older sister remembered best about her own profoundly-impacting teachers.

Ann and her husband both held degrees in psychology and had a very different instruction manual by which they raised their children than did the older sister--we'll call her Michelle--and her husband who now turned to the Bible for their wisdom. With that in mind, Michelle packed for a long overdue trip to visit the family and readied herself to see a different style of parenting. Her experience with educated, secular parents over many years of neighborhood playgroups taught her that parents of that persuasion tended to explain and negotiate with their toddlers. It could be irritating to watch, but it was better than nothing--which was mostly what she found when she arrived at the family home that December.

When the sisters had spoken weeks earlier, Ann had wanted Michelle's youngest children to come for a sleepover at her house. She imagined that it would be grand fun like they, themselves, had enjoyed with their own cousins 30 years ago. But, ever the pragmatist, Michelle politely declined the invitation acknowledging that her 7 and 5 year old children had never been on an overnight away from their parents and that these cousins were still very young and didn't really know one another and that she didn't think that this rare opportunity to be with the grandparents was the right time to introduce such upheaval, but that she was really looking forward to visiting with her sister's family over an evening meal during their travel. Michelle hung up the phone with a sense of acceptance--it seemed as though she and her younger sister, Ann, had finally arrived at a place where they could respect each other.

But when Michelle arrived at the family home, she was surprised to find her niece on Grandpa's couch, burying her face in a pillow, too shy to greet the far-away branch of the family. The hosts placed their favorite granddaughter to sleep between her cousins in a queen-sized bed and it didn't take long for the differences in training and personality to divide the young girls. But with Ann not in attendance during the unwelcome sleep over, it was left to Michelle to do what she could to keep the peace. For the sake of Christ, she encouraged her own daughters to exercise grace and be meek in the face of broken confidences, humiliation and favoritism.

On the second day, the niece still stayed, and the social dynamics of The Lord of the Flies began to play themselves out. Michelle and her husband decided that these cousins needed an adult to supervise their play every minute, and since Ann and her husband weren't there for more than about an hour at dinner one evening, the responsibility fell largely upon them. By the third day, the effort was so fatiguing that the visitors made their excuses and left for the airport six hours early to spend the extra time hanging around fast food restaurants and airport gates.

Within a week after she got home, Michelle--who felt she had no voice in the midst of this family--unpacked her feelings and observations about her niece's need for Jesus on a blog post. It was a blog that no one in the family ever read, she felt certain. Her mother had read through it uninvited once upon a time, but had sworn off it nearly a year earlier out of respect--so said Michelle's aunt--her mother's older sister.

But the hearsay didn't hold, because the mother came back, found the stated facts offensive, and instead of calling Michelle with her complaint, made sure that everyone in the family who weren't ever going to see it, saw it.

When the offense was brought to her attention, Michelle removed the post and wrote a public apology, but it was too late. The damage was done and spread to the far reaches of the family.

For years, Michelle had burdened her husband with late night talks about what, if anything, she should do about the situation. What should she think about the situation? "Nothing." was the counsel of her wise husband. This wasn't about the blog post. This was about her Christianity.

And he was right. The disparity between the crime and its consequence was too great to make sense. This was about Jesus. This was about Michelle the Christian being called to choose The Savior above even her own blood ties as they were clearly choosing their antagonism toward Christ over their blood tie to her.

*exhale*

And that's what the Lord taught her this season as she sat in church on Christmas Eve, feeling inexplicably lonely surrounded by so very many people. She had been called to leave mother and father and sister to follow Christ, and not one other person in the room, to her knowledge, had had to do the same. Not really.

When she surveyed the room, she imagined that among these dedicated people were the ones who would be her friend, her sister, her mother, her father. From among these people, surely Jesus would give to her 100 fold, that which she had lost for His sake.

But not today. Today, the Body is largely weakened in its fellowship because the sword of separation has been dulled by the privilege of freedom and because the world outside the church likes to pat itself on the back and imagine that it still holds a high regard for tolerance--high enough to be accepting of Christians. But someday--by some circumstance--the Lord will sharpen His blade and strengthen His Bride.

Woe. And glory!

I Fold...

Sometimes you've got to let the dead bury their dead.

I'm feeling liberated lately. Fifi and I were debriefing the other day--commiserating about our shared experience with a certain group which, whenever our lives intersect theirs, leave us all feeling a little left out, lonely, rejected--like...like...

"Misfits?" Fifi interjects.

"Yes! That's it! Misfits...I'm so glad you're reading Dickens, Fifi."

"Well, actually, I got that from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer..."

"Oh."

I tell you all this for...I don't know why.

Living two starkly contrasting lives--before and since calling Christ LORD--has given me the chance to meet all kinds of people. Over the course of my lifetime, I've been befriended and influenced by free thinkers, politically correct do-gooders, criminals, hypocrites, the overly-ambitious, the greedy, the powerful; selfish, kind, narcissistic, sacrificial, heroic, noble, superficial. There are all kinds of people--everywhere.

And there are all kinds of Christians out there, too. Though in this case, I use the term loosely. After all, all Christians are people, but not all people are Christians.

There are true Christians, poser Christians, confused Christians, and what I call poker-playing Christians. They are the ones who are on their guard against walking in the wide path that leads to destruction. They feel just fine about things for as long as they are the only ones--or at least one of very few--that they can see walking with God in the way that they do. When the narrow road becomes crowded with like-minded people, they look around, and fearing that they've mistakenly strayed onto the wide road, decide that it's time to up the ante.

They only feel holy if there is a constant thinning of the herd, or remnant as the case may be. It doesn't matter whether it's right or wrong, needed or not in the LORD's sight--that's almost beside the point. Sadly, these are Christians who are having a relationship, not with the Son of God, but only with His perfect and holy Word at the expense of a personal relationship with the Son of God. In the Gospels, Jesus called them Pharisees. Sadducees. Sometimes he called them worse.

The controversial Michael Pearl, to my great surprise, has a fabulously insightful admonishment to offer in the latest issue of No Greater Joy. His article starts with a story of perspective:

...the mother casually asked us to pray that their daughter find a husband before they left for Mozambique in the Fall. I asked in a shocked manner, “Why on earth would you want her to marry now? She is such a blessing to you and knows the language. Surely you need her to help you with the other children.” The mother lifted her arched brows as she pondered how she would answer me. Her look conveyed her surprise at my lack of understanding. “We will be in a foreign country for the next 4 years. All that time she will be at the prime of her marriageable age. We feel it is best for her to marry an American. God called my husband to Mozambique as a missionary…not our adult children. We have obeyed God and raised them up to serve HIM…not US. We don’t add; we multiply. It is time for her to live her life.”

I highly recommend Mr. Pearl's article, and if you walk away having no idea who he's talking about?...consider yourself blessed.

We Salute You!

My Tia Eli was sworn in as a citizen of the United States today!

She's actually my step-grandmother, but everyone calls her "Tia," which means "Aunt" in Spanish. She came here from Costa Rica 20 years ago to marry my widowed grandfather, and she faithfully loved him to his death over a decade ago.

She's a lady who laughs easily, gives generously, and is very sure that we're all going to be speaking Spanish in Heaven because it, of course, is the most beautiful of the romance languages.

It was a long, hard road, but she aced the test last Saturday and was due to be sworn in today. Gas prices and other logistics kept us from witnessing this momentous occasion in the flesh, but we praise the Lord for His provision for her today and...

We salute your achievement, Tia Eli!

We love you!

How Do You Say "It's a Family Thing," in Hebrew?

It's true. Misery loves company. For that reason, I'm glad that the Lord has left us His Word, rich with stories of imperfect people living out faith through painful circumstances.

Lately, I've been pondering what it was like for Rebekah after Jacob left for Uncle Laban's house? Remember the story? Rebekah overheard her husband, Isaac, make plans to give his favorite son, Esau, his blessing, and successfully conspired with her other son, Jacob, to help him steal it?

*scoff* So, yeah--thanks a bunch, Mom.

I wonder what Esau said to her after Jacob fled? Or Isaac? Did he have anything to say to the mother of his children after she went out of her way to destroy their relationship? I know that the deception was found out immediately, but how long was it before Rebekah's participation was realized? And how did she explain to her other son, such a flagrant abuse of parental trust?

And how difficult would it be for Esau to muster up a feeling of honor toward her after that?

We never hear about their relationship--if there was a relationship--again after that. But we do know that after many, many years, Esau receives Jacob happily and the brothers' relationship is restored.

The Lord is good.

Be Quiet.

The business was sold. The long farewells accomplished.

The line for a green card has been 2 years long.

The lawyer was hired early to help in preparing the applications--to dot the "i"s and cross the "t"s. Only one of them can speak the language, and only the other one can drive. We gave him a list of low-paying jobs to choose from if he would like to work--legally--in our free country while he waits for his life to begin green card to process.

Did I mention the wait has been 2 years long? But any day now. Surely any day...

They live in an apartment where they don't feel safe, amidst a people who wander the grounds aimlessly during the daylight hours only to hunker down with their beer once the sun goes down. It is not good for their very young daughter to get too close to the neighbor children for fear that they'll be placed in a position to decline an invitation to play. And that might offend when they would rather just not be noticed.

They would like to find a better job, but they must stick to the list.

They would like to move to another complex, but are afraid that their paperwork will be lost in the mail if they leave.

They thought they might like to apply for a second temporary Social Security Number--for her--but the price has increased by 200% in the short time they've been here.

Delays and hassles not in their control have set back the process and are costing the family many things. Good things that I take for granted. I want to rescue my dear Sister from this season of her life. She is so kind; so capable; so patient.

But instead, she rescues me in ways she doesn't even know about today. She tells me all these things--all these frustrations, and then she begins to praise the Lord for His goodness and faithfulness to her family.

I listen, and do not talk as she counts the ways.

To illustrate her satisfaction, she shares with me the riveting story of David and Bathsheba--when David prayed for the life of their baby until news of the baby's death was brought to him. Upon hearing it, he got up off the floor, ate, and was quiet before the Lord.

As so are she and her husband.

In her affable tone with the gentle accent of the romance language that is her mother tongue, she says that they have cried out to the Lord; made their supplication; done all they could do, and this is where the Lord has them. I think to myself that they are in a strange place, amongst strange people, feeling very vulnerable at the hands of a government they don't know how to navigate.

But that is not where her thought life lives. She is living somewhere else entirely when she goes on to tell me that, "though it is not pleasant, we know that God knows something we cannot see."

And then she finishes with this profound statement of faith, "So we be quiet before the Lord."

Oh Lord, help me be quiet like that.

Going Visiting

Button up your spring best, girls!


And put on your new Sunday shoes.

*hmmmm* Do you have some nicer ruffle socks, Cuddlebug? Yes? Good. Go put them on because we want to give our very best effort.

Does everybody have the words to our song? Follow along, girls, because we want nice, strong starts for each verse.

I see you. It is a happy day, really--isn't it, Cuddlebug?

Today the girls and I were blessed to go to the birthday open house of a sweet woman from our church. I don't mean to sound patronizing, but this woman really is just as "cute as a button!" Dark brown eyes full of innocence and wonder like that of a child; a small stature that brings out the best in the adults and instant ease in the young ones; pretty white curls soft like spun sugar; kind to everyone.

She'll be 92 years on Tuesday!

But we marked the day with flowers and cards today, because only the Lord knows if she'll make it to Tuesday. God bless her, this believer has run her race well and is ready to hear her Savior say, "Well done..."

I've heard folks before talk about ministry opportunities they had and how surprised they were to find that they were the ones blessed in the end. And the cynical side of me used to think, "Yeah. O.k. That's a nice, pious thing to say. Good for you."

But today I lived it. We arrived to find the Birthday Girl in a hospice bed on the sun porch of her daughter's lovely home. She wasn't very talkative, and we weren't sure of what to say, so I was glad we bathed the visit in prayer before we left the house. We could only trust the Lord for the next thing: should we sing our song, or would that be singing songs to an heavy heart, should we sit and stay awhile, or should we make our small talk and scoot?

We sang our song, made our small talk and decided to scoot.

On the way out, I was so relieved to know that our friend was not in any pain. I shared a story with her daughter about how this morning I was explaining to the little girls that our visit would really be in anticipation of a Home-going for Mrs. H. And then I shared with the daughter that Cuddlebug's reaction was, "I wonder what her room will look like?"

The daughter, ever gracious, offered to show the girls her mother's special bedroom, and I quickly corrected her to understand that Cuddlebug was talking about her mother's room in Heaven. See, around here, we stress that for a believer in Christ, the shell may fall asleep, but the Spirit--the real you--just moves. But the good news is that for this move, you don't even have to pack or do laundry!

But back to the moment: the daughter did walk us back to her mother's special bedroom where she showed us the lovely details in the care she took of her mother for the past five years. She was especially excited to show and tell about the musical clock that hung in the corner. Every night she would tuck her mama in, say a sweet goodnight and press the button to start the chimed melody.

And that's when I started to bite my tongue to hold back the tears. Because really, that's not what I came for. I did not come to this open house to bring sadness and tears.

But I was doing it anyway.

And she was so nice--seeing my eyes begin to water, she brought me a tissue. I apologized and she hugged me. And then I left as fast as I could.

I drove away wondering exactly why I was crying. I wasn't crying for the imminent death of Mrs. H. She's lived long enough to see her 3rd generation, loves and trusts the Lord for her salvation, is convalescing in a gorgeous space watching the twitterpated birds of spring, and is slipping away peacefully with time for goodbyes. She is truly blessed. I do not cry for her.

I feel for the daughter. How much she'll miss her mama. But I don't think it was she I cried for either.

I think it was the beauty of this profound moment that overwhelmed me. For five years this couple has taken care of their mother--and they have done it joyfully, without any hint of inconvenience or even duty. They've been three peas in a pod for as long as I've known them.

But almost more humbling was the realization that she has let them care for her. Whenever I read the story of Jesus washing His disciples' dirty, crusty, smelly feet, it is not the willingness of the Savior only that strikes me, but also the humility of His friends to make themselves so vulnerable as to let Him do it.

And so it is with Mrs. H. There's been no pride masquerading as "not wanting to be a bother." There's been no selfishness to keep another from being used of the Lord. There's been only humility. And today she humbled herself to let 3 little girls and their mother minister in song and express a sort of goodbye during the most profound week of her long life.

I trust the lessons learned and blessing bequeathed today will stay with us all, for all of our days.

Updated to add: Mrs. H. finished her race very peacefully and went to be with the Lord on Sunday evening, the 30th of March. Now we pray for those loved ones left behind--that they will be enveloped by Jesus' love and tender care; that they will be able to find rest and revival--physically--as they are exhausted.

Estranged

It's a sad state, isn't it?

10 years ago, when we were awakened to walk with the Lord, Husband made the very difficult decision to be honest with his favorite brother about our change of mind--indeed, our strong conviction--to reassign custody of our (then only) daughter to my God-fearing, Bible-believing, aunt and uncle. Two years earlier, when Fifi was but an infant and we were still lost, we looked around at our relations and saw only one semblance of a family unit amongst any of them: a young-ish, happy couple who had wanted children, but never had any of their own.

They said yes. We were relieved. We had put this duck in a row, and life went on as usual.

Unknown to us, they had received it as a great honor, and they began investing in Fifi's life through heartfelt notes, gifts of beautiful literature, cute clothing and even the occasional trip north and east to spend time with our small family two states away. This couple had always been our favorite, and it was wonderful to have them so interested and involved.

But we didn't know how tenuous was the relationship, really, until the dread night when Husband told them the news of our decision.

We thought they loved Fifi. But really they only loved the idea of Fifi.

Their pain was so deep; their wound so raw; their ignorance of our reason so profound, that Husband's brother has not spoken to us in any way, shape or form, since.

I take that back. He did respond with a letter last time Husband wrote to say we were coming to town to visit their mother, and wouldn't he please reconsider? The letter was so powerful that had Husband not been sure, sure, sure deep down in his heart that he had done the only thing he could do in reassigning custody of our daughter, his brother's words might well have killed him.

So, we live with it. The other brother lives between it, as does their mother.

And so do our girls.

As happens completely randomly sometimes, tonight, Dumpling asked Fifi from the back seat of the car, "Fifi? What's the name of the man who doesn't want to talk to us?"

She again wondered why, and we told her as delicately as we could. We told her that our choice about "emergency parents" had hurt Uncle's feelings very, very badly.

She wondered if he even knew that she was alive?

We assured her that he did--he surely knew about both Dumpling and Cuddlebug. I even told her that if it weren't for her parents, he'd probably like very much to meet her.

Wait a minute. Wait. a. minute.

I mulled that over quietly for a moment and realized within myself what a cop-out that is! We've not stopped them from writing, calling or having a relationship with their nieces for all these years! They have simply chosen hate and pride over even the simplest, most superficial contact with these girls.

And that's too bad for them. Or so I spend the next few minutes trying to convince Dumpling. I tell her how sorry I am because it isn't fair to her, it isn't right, and it isn't how a grown-up ought to act; and maybe we ought to consider that maybe a grown-up who behaves so unfairly isn't a grown-up that we want to know anyway?

But of course--she does. That's why Jesus loves the little children.

I remind her of the Scripture that comforts us about having to leave mother and father and sister and brother for the sake of Christ, "He promises us an hundredfold, and haven't we seen that in our new church? Aren't we so thankful for Mr. and Mrs. S? And the Ms who love us? And the Ls? And the Gs? And, of course, Pastor and his wife who love you girls? Don't we see the Lord raising up people to be a family to us?"

There is a only a reluctant, "yes," from the backseat.

We park the car and it is late. In a single file line, everyone heads up the short, narrow walk to the front door with Husband in the lead, but Dumpling hangs back by the tree where the walk intersects the driveway. She has something to say to me. And when the little girl who sometimes has trouble finding her words wants to talk instead of stuffing it down--I listen.

"You know what, Mommy? I would give up all those other people for just one uncle who loved me."

*ouch*

Well, truth be told, she does have another uncle that loves her--in Husband's other brother, but that's not what this innocent 8 year old means. She wants that Uncle who wants nothing to do with her, and none of my reminding her of others is assuaging the grief.

And it gets worse.

Moments later, the little girl who sometimes has trouble finding her words is now trying very hard to stuff down her feelings. I can see it in the her right eye--it is just barely welling. I ask her what's wrong and pull her onto my lap where she buries her head in my neck and cries for a loss she can't wrap her mind around.

And all I can do is hold her. And sympathize. I take her little face in my hands and look long into those warm brown eyes and tell her that if she hurts, she is not alone. Her daddy hurts too. The Uncle who doesn't want to know her, is daddy's own brother. How might she feel if when she grew up, Fifi never wanted to speak to her again? It's unfathomable; God forbid it! But that is his reality.

Thankfully, the camaraderie seemed to soothe her a bit.

And right then, a broken part of me quietly prayed--and still prays--about how we'll explain to them someday, the other estrangements with which we have dealt. Sad estrangements that have come by way of the destructive hands of others, not our own. Estrangements that didn't have to be. Estrangements that are simply evil ripened in the hands of the lost.

Very Nice, Thanks For Asking

Oh yes.

That was a much better road trip than we "enjoyed" last year. At one point though, there was miles and miles of backup on the I-35 just north of Austin because two semi trucks collided, but it was o.k. For me, at least. The only reason I know what was at the head of that line was because I passed it going the other direction. Whew!

I actually made it to East Dallas in 5 hours. And finished the trip in the same time on the way home--almost to the minute.

I was there, of course, to honor my Aunt's birthday. This is the Aunt that is always busy about the Lord's work, but available at the same time. It's a delicate balance, and I don't think there are many folks who do it well.

I was there, too, to try to pick up some Spanish from my Tia Eli. And to relish the childless quiet. And to meander around my Grandfather's home looking at old pictures and making new memories in their midst. And maybe to tinker on her piano a little...

Below is a picture of their very old organ at the base of the stairs. Aren't you curious to see the keys and hear how they sound? Well, don't. Don't open the lid. To close it again will require a special serviceman.

I'm not kidding, and don't ask me how I know.

I didn't pull out the camera as much as in previous years. Maybe I just wanted to live in the moment with them rather than try to reconstruct a memory from a dim participation later.

That was Sunday morning. Aunt #1 didn't know I took this picture, and I hope she's not going to call me tomorrow and ask me to take it down. Isn't that a lovely jacket she's wearing? I think I forgot to tell her so because I was a little nervous that morning. I was to give my testimony to the Sunday School class and had no idea what I was going to say, and then I would offer some special music--in Spanish--during the service.

It was a blessing for me to be willing to try, and I pray that God was glorified. (O.k., that statement was pious hind-sight--where everything is 20/20; really, in the moment, I was just scared and wanted to wake up with laryngitis!)

I met lots of people on this trip that I hadn't expected to meet. I met two, too-beautiful-for-their-own-good teens at the church. They were so kind to me, but my heart's desire is that they will show as much respect to the parents who brought them into the world and provide for their needs every day.

I met a sweet family in which the 43-year-old daughter is fighting for her life against terminal cancer. She had the sweetest countenance; I don't know that mine would be so joyful. But, of course, as of today I've not been called to walk that trial and find that kind of grace.

Praise the Lord.

I met some of my cousins at their parents' home on the spur of the moment. That kind of hospitality is what the Bible is talking about, I'm convinced. How kind and generous are my Aunt and Uncle to open their home at a moment's notice so that we may enjoy an evening of fellowship. They have made me feel wanted and loved in the Lord.

But as delightful as my weekend away was, this was the best moment...

Surely absence makes the heart grow fonder. I love these people.

Godspeed, Soldier!

It used to be that when America went to war, those who stayed home served the effort in other ways. Scrap drives, rubber drives, air-raid warden...

O.k., I'm quoting It's a Wonderful Life.

But only because war has never touched me, personally. I don't have any relative whose name is scratched in granite. And none of mine will be buried with military honors.

I have never had to say good-bye to my husband. Or to my daddy. I've never returned home after the grand farewell to an empty bedroom or an extra place at the table. I've never stood at the starting line of a 13 month marathon.

But this sweet woman is doing it right now.

It sure would be something nice if you'd stop by there and leave Ashleigh a greeting. And please...pass it on.

Rebirth of the Blog

For the last few days, I have been thinking, praying and seeking counsel from my Husband over a problem visitor to my blog. And I have been busy about setting up shop elsewhere. I have a fun new blog name and moniker to use and have designed a new header. I even had to establish a new email to fake my death just right.

I've also enjoyed a better response than I expected from people around the world who lurk here and want to read on in my new home. Within those inquires has been the confirmation I needed to keep the blog public...

I really enjoy your blog - I scrolled through your archives last week and really enjoyed your wee series on "your tapesty/journey" to becoming a Christian. I'm not a Christian - I grew up with very sincere Christian parents and 3 siblings, but I never was a believer...I started going to church and I feel drawn to going - but it also irritates/unsettles me no end. I know that there is something there and that you people have something that I don't...Anyway, I somehow ended up in the blog world and it is ironic - nearly all of the blogs that I read regularly are, you guessed it, Christians. Can't keep away, I guess! You all certainly get me thinking and often make me feel that, yes, I'm still missing something!

That one came from a far-away continent and, yes, I got permission to quote from it. Maybe it's where I'm coming from, but upon reading that, I just knew that I could not hide HIS LIGHT under a bushel! I don't often understand how others see it through my unyielded self, but He is God that way, and His purposes are bigger than my sin. *happy sigh*

And there were other letters. Some are intrigued by my "weird" ways, some enjoy the "fly on the wall" perspective of my Weekly Round-ups. Still others sent Scripture and prayers my way--because that's what fellowship in the Body of Christ is...instant, glorious, care and concern: love amongst the bretheren.

And it has blessed my soul this week. At every turn, the Lord sent friends. Friends in the flesh, on the phone, and in my Inbox. I wish I could share the details of my trouble only so that you could better understand the impact of your kindness. But I can not.

Someday maybe...in the new Jerusalem, when the outcome serves to glorify God!

But for now, some new developments. I'll try hard not to say too much.

I should first explain the reason I decided to move my blog and put y'all through this tedious exercise. It wasn't because I've anything to hide. Or because I'm running from anyone. Or because I'm shy. Or afraid. It was because I offended someone who is not only unable to forgive, but seems bent on seeking my destruction.

But I love this person.

And so, in love, I felt compelled to attempt to protect my Offended from what I see as a lack of self control. I know what it is to be enslaved to sin, and I thought I heard the Lord telling me to do all I could to spare this person the obsession of checking and digging this blog for things at which to take offense...or print off so that others may likewise, be hurt and offended.

But it didn't work. My offended has found a couple of my cyber friends--ones with whom I share true fellowship and am not willing to give up. Husband points out that Offended will eventually find me again. My Offended is nothing if not determined.

So, I'm staying put. Staying where my growth in the Lord is already well documented. Staying where my record of His greatness to me can be found.

To my Offended I say this:

This is my blog for the Lord. My heart hurts for you in that you feel compelled to seek offense in its pages, and while I understand your hurt and disappointment in whom I have become, my walk with Him is not something I'm willing to give back--ever--not even for you.

I have long wanted to tell you that the fear and sadness that have driven so many of your decisions--large and small--stem from the void in your heart that only Jesus can fill. Only God Himself--in the incarnation of Jesus the Christ--can make you whole. He is True. He is Real.

He loves you and can bind your wounds if you will only humble yourself and allow Him. No one loves you like He does. And nothing but His death and resurrection can save you. Not your truth. Not your education. Not your job. Not your money. Not your alliance of family or friends. Not your copious notes.

And it's not too late. Your rebellion is not too big for Him.

These are hard truths that I want you to hear on this side--because keeping quiet isn't doing you any favors. It is appointed one time for you to die, and then the judgment. And eternity is a very long time to be so wrong.

Only Jesus can make you whole. And I want you to know that we, here in my house, all pray for it, every day. Often morning and night. Because we love you like you can't yet understand. Frankly, sometimes--like this week--we don't even understand it, but that is all the more to the glory of God. Praise His name!

I implore you: won't you let Him bind up your wounds?

Christmas Day at the Grafted House

First thing in the morning...

Inexpensive digital cameras for the puppies. I highly recommend them, even if it's the only thing they open. After all, it was the only thing with which they played. Well, until much later...

Hey! Be of good cheer, you two! Remember, you're only here for our amusement. When I'm no longer amused, you're stew. O.k., that's not true or you would already be yesterday's leftovers. But whatever.

The girls thought it was fantastic to lay around in their pajamas all. day. long. Notice all the great German-manufactured toys that Grandma sent! They must like Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed because they didn't move a muscle through the whole movie. Ahem...excuse me...Dumpling, get that toy out of your mouth unless you plan to eat it! (See why we can't buy her Chinese?)

Is this a sweet moment sharing a good classic movie or the judgment of generational curse frying her brain?

O.k., girls! 4:00!
Time to make yourself presentable
'cause company's coming!

These two with their young daughter are some of my very favorite people with which to fellowship. Someday, I'll try to remember to get their permission to tell you their story. It makes my heart swell with praise and petition to the Lord.

And finally, here are the young ones playing in the giraffe tent that Aunt #1 sent them for Christmas. She picks out the best gifts! (And she would quickly add that she prays over every one that she chooses. Maybe that's why they're always right on the money.)

...and a Happy New Year!

Cuban Missile Crisis

Necessity being the mother of invention, my Husband and I made up a new game a couple of years ago. We like to call it "Cuban Missile Crisis." It works off the pivotal moment in history when United States spy planes acquired reconnaissance images of Russian nuclear missiles poised northward in Cuba--and called them on it. Russia protested that they had a right to have them; they weren't attacking; and besides--we had likewise, missiles in Turkey.

There was a U.S. blockade in the Atlantic Ocean. And there was the threat of our sinking Russian ships. We let the assumption swell that we might even invade Cuba.

It got ugly, as we all know; school children across the United States got to know the underside of their desks.

There was a flurry of letters exchanged between President Kennedy and Premiere Nikita Khrushchev, but it was the last two that arrived almost simultaneously which are the premise for our game. One letter came full of forceful, chest-thumping threats and rhetoric; another had a conciliatory tone which tapped the parental sensibilities of the two leaders and offered a sense of calm and maybe even--resolution.

President Kennedy was in a quandary; which letter should he believe? How should he respond? What to do?

His brother, the Attorney General and greatest confidant, Robert Kennedy, suggested that they pretend they didn't receive the ugly letter, and instead, work from the other--exclusively.

And so they did.

And we're all still here, aren't we?

And so, on the rare occasion that we receive an unwelcome letter from Someone or no one--for this reason or that--my husband and I gird ourselves up for another game of...

*cue the trumpets*

"Cuban Missile Crisis!"

And in the past, it has accomplished its mission. Many times. It has deflected many a conflict.

The Bible exhorts us to live peaceably with everyone for as much as it is within our control. And we try the best we can, the only way we know how sometimes--silence.

But sometimes...

Sometimes a response becomes necessary.

Sometimes the person who is upset has been unwittingly hurt by words of a single post taken out of the larger context of this blog that says I am a sinner by birth, and a miserable failure in all that I put my hand to, apart from the power of Jesus Christ. And at the top of the list would be parenting. The Lord knows that I guide these precious souls entrusted to me with fear and trembling. And tears. And apologies. And lots of forgiveness--from them and from Him.

And so, the Lord--in the riches of His kindness--has patiently brought me to repentance. I am truly sorry that I judged another's parenting-- because mine is still so wanting.

And restitution--I have removed the post called, Parental Deism.

My fervent prayer is that someday the Lord's grace will allow my Offended to forgive me. Until then, I pray...

Thank You Friend...

...for calling me tonight. We hadn't found a moment to speak to one another for months, and your call came out of the blue. You thought you had just found a minute to visit, but really the Lord put you on my phone tonight. He put you there so you could--unwittingly--share some perspective by way of your honesty. And I am so grateful.

A Strange Christmas Season

I just can't seem to find my traction in this wonderful season of celebration.

A few weeks ago, right after we trimmed the tree, we went on vacation--a nine day vacation.

Nine days, four trips across time zones, two airline flights, 15 hours in a rented car, 4 nights on inflatable mattresses--3 times tearing 'em down, 2 times setting 'em up--unfamiliar food in restaurants, late nights, and...family dynamics.

All in all--exhausting.

But we did it for the girls. And we did it for the 5th commandment. And we did it so that someday, later, I will not need to worry and wonder, "What if..."

See, my parents aren't just unbelievers--they are unbelievers with believers' baggage. And they've given voice to their mindset that we've been relegated to the distinction of, "relative," as opposed to "family."

But I don't mean to paint the trip unpleasant, because it certainly wasn't. There were some really nice moments like when Dumpling found time to run around the backyard with Grandpa and a kickball...

And like finding out that the Titanic artifacts were on exhibit in Phoenix while we were there visiting the grandparents! Grandpa is very generous with his resources, and paid all our way into the museum. And he was so supportive of Fifi's interest that he bought her a book of Titanic facts in the museum gift shop. The best part though, was that he was there with us.

We were refreshed in our travels by the sweet, slow pace of togetherness offered at my mother-in-law's house in a suburb adjacent to beautiful Santa Barbara...

And it always made me smile to visit these three happy playmates on Mama Lee's back porch...

Here's their kind uncle trying in vain to extract a confession of Santa Claus from my girls as he gifts them some spending money. A little awkward, but we stood back and let it play itself out and everyone survived okay.

And then there was..well...every moment at Disneyland. Here we are arriving on Main Street.

Here, Cuddlebug is trying her best to run off the tracks at Autopia, and laughing mercilessly at my motion sickness.

Such concern. I'm moved.

I don't ride in the same teacup as the rest of them anymore. They like it fast and furious. And me? I like to metabolize my lunch.

Last time, Cuddlebug slept right through every trip to the Gibson Girl Ice Cream Parlor...

Dumpling was in. her. element. at the Princess Coronation Fair...

Hey, there's no yawning at Disneyland!

We found a new favorite in the Toon Town rollercoaster...

And found decorative inspiration in Minnie's house...

We shopped...

We waited...

We watched...

We had fun. A lot of fun.

And then we had to leave the "happiest place on earth." But that's o.k., because we were headed back to Phoenix for a few more nights with the grandparents and the aunt that the young ones hardly know.

And there was hurt.

Because it hurts to see your parents getting older. And it hurts to be burdened with unwanted secrets.

And even though there was a lovely and successful effort to keep us comfortable and well fed, it hurts to be a sinner in a place where there is no grace to give.

It hurts to see others squander your precious time with their chores and personal strife, and it hurts more to find they've left...without so much as a goodbye to anyone.

But we tried. We tried to leave a place better than we found it.

And we tried to be a beacon of Jesus' love.

And now we're home, and there is certainly no place like it! But we're finding re-entry into our real life elusive. There has been no baking. Or caroling. We're scrambling to get gifts under the tree. We're struggling to get out of bed before noon, and to find our time in the Bible like we need to.

But there's still 3 days before Christmas, isn't there? And a whole lot can happen in 3 days, can't it?

Weekly Roundup: Friends, Thoughts and Discoveries

Inspired by another blog that I've enjoyed peeking in on, I'm trying a new theme for Fridays: Weekly Roundup. In these posts, I'll stack my stones and pebbles as a marker in hopes of helping my children remember what the Lord showed us all by way of homeschooling, funny family moments, trials trod, and other milestones over the past 7 days. I reserve the right to republish often, because I have the memory of a gnat; don't mind me.

Saturday, we had a workday around the house. With a summer of rain finally coming to an end, Husband saw the benefit in hacking through the jungle that had become our front and back yards. It looked wonderful, but served a greater purpose...

Only some of these girls are mine. The rest are visitors from church, and they are truly an answer to prayer! We have--especially Fifi--been praying the Lord would bring a few more like-minded families with children to our wonderful church.

And then one Sunday a few months ago, Fifi came to me before the service and whispered excitedly, "Mommy! There is a family here with eight girls! Girls!"

As it turned out, they weren't quite eight, but close enough. Unfortunately, we were the very first church they attended after moving here that week, and they would be visiting around.

Fortunately, they were attracted by our church's dedication to preaching the Word.

Unfortunately, they were gone for many, many weeks when Fifi finally asked about them one Sunday on the way to church, and I had to break it to her that we probably weren't going to see them again.

Fortunately, God delights in answering a young girl's prayer and brought them back that very morning!

They spent last Sunday with us. Here's the very formal crowd pausing for some equally formal after-dinner music.

On Monday, Dumpling went with Fifi and Husband to her very first evening of Bible study, complete with teachers, new friends and homework. You could almost hear the butterflies fluttering in her tummy! Here she is doing homework with her daddy. They spend about 15 minutes before bed doing it together. It is a blessing to...well...all of us!


And then, there was the usual fare--the three "R's" if you will.

Fifi, a girl of many words, is in her 2nd year using Wordly Wise. It's not much in line with the Charlotte Mason way, but Fifi thrives on it, and I see new words popping up in her writing. Sometimes I check with her to be sure she's not just plagiarizing copying great phrases from her books--but no, they're really coming out of her own head!

Here is Dumpling, a girl who knows how to enjoy the moment, not practicing her reading lesson from the McGuffey Eclectic Reader.

Cuddlebug, an inquisitive girl and always eager to help, wanted to learn all about the agitator in the washing machine.

Later that day, she bounded into the room to practice her piano looking like Mary Poppins. When she does her lesson well, she gets to turn the page for a brand. new. song!

This week, we began a new read-aloud during lunchtime: Margaret J. Anderson's Children of Summer, Henri Fabre's Insects. You can read it online here, but there really is nothing like holding this little treasure in your hand. I think it was recommended by Sarah at In the Midst of It, but I really should have read it by now. I mean, I've been educating the Charlotte Mason way for 7 years! It's a great book--all three of mine (and I) are enjoying it! We've always found the process of keeping a nature journal a challenge, but I'm hopeful this will inspire us. It certainly renewed the girls' interest in seeking out new creatures. They called me out to see...

holes in acorns...was this the work of the Acorn Elephant Beetle?


And what about these ants, larvae, and what appeared to be self-propelling egg sacs? I can't say I know what to make of that...


In between times, we learned about the the Creation view of the Ice Age, realized that the first dinosaur bone was discovered in England, by the wife of a doctor--and not until the 1820s! Fifi is intrigued by Einstein's Theory of Relativity. And we read about plant life and some of its terms.

And finally, another new theme: Quote of the Week. This time around, the honor goes to Dumpling.

When I asked,

"Honestly girls, y'all have complaining spirits this morning. I'm pretty transparent with y'all, so I'm asking you: do you see me modeling that for you? Do you think I complain?"

"No, Mommy!" said Fifi.

"No, Mommy!" said Cuddlebug.

"Maybe we're not related to you?!" interjected Dumpling.