And then he walked away...

Years ago, I learned a very important lesson that this week, I forgot completely.

I tend to look at all of life through the filter that is my life. I have a home. Clean clothes. Healthy food. Facilities. I assume everyone desires the same, and that if they don't have it, they want to be rescued.

Martinez proved me wrong today--and freed me, too.

I had gone downtown on an errand this morning, and when I returned, there was Martinez--hunched over, head down--on his bus bench. I pulled up and handed him another 1000 calorie pack. This time I showed him how the zipper worked.

When I got home, I implored Jim to call a Spanish-speaking friend who could translate over the speaker phone on his Blackberry and drive down the street to meet Martinez for himself. While he's at it, let's bungee roll a bedspread, a pair of jeans, socks, shirt, and offer him a coat Jim's not using anymore. Before we head out, I wash a couple of tangerines and a pear and place them in a paper sack.

But now Martinez is not there.

Jim and I duck into the nearby fast food restaurant and ask the people there if they know Martinez. They do. They don't know him by name, but they know who I'm talking about. They tell us that they give him water and sometimes they sell him food with the money motorists hand him. That's good. I feel hopeful.

We decide to hang around for a few minutes and see if he turns up. At the end of my grilled chicken sandwich, he does. He's back on his bench and so we drive over, call our friend, and ask him to explain to Martinez the options he has for shelter and care. Does he want to go?

Oh, and can he use this bed roll and clothing?

No?...Is there anything he needs?

He tells Jim, "socks." Just the socks. So we give him the socks.

After a bit of one-way conversation about the shelter options, Martinez apparently says yes, he would like to go. But he makes no motion toward that end. He just sits, dipping bread chunks into a can of black beans. Jim and I hang up with the friend and begin to discuss our options. Should we request a Spanish-speaking police officer to come transport him? Should Jim drive him over? Where is it? The main shelter isn't answering the phone today.

Meanwhile, Martinez doesn't actually seem interested in going. Did he even understand what our friend was telling him?

As we spoke to one another--Jim and me--Martinez inexplicably picked up only one of the few food bags that had accumulated on his bus bench, and walked away. He didn't look back. He didn't say bye. He just...walked..away.

I think we were uninvited guests who wouldn't leave--and...so he did. Which is kind of funny and embarrassing all at the same time.

So, I am relieved to remember this lesson. Not everyone wants what I have. Some folks choose their unenviable circumstances purposefully. They do not want to be rescued.

And maybe that was the catch this week. Maybe it wasn't a lack of selflessness that kept me from taking in Martinez--maybe it was a lack of calling.

Because greater love has no one than this...

(A continuation of yesterday's story.)

The first time I saw him he was strolling in front of what used to be the Indian restaurant down the way. I thought he was just another hippie. It didn't really surprise me to see him; the make up of our side of town took on a new character right around the time that Katrina hit New Orleans and a fair amount of its flooded-out residence fled here.

Within the week, I saw him again. It was more clear this time that he was walking the streets aimlessly, carrying nothing at all, wearing exactly what he had been wearing earlier in the week. He was not a "hippie." He was homeless.

Driving by, I found myself completely unprepared to help. No cash. No snacks. Nothing.

And so, we did what we knew to do. Something we had done before.

This year's 1000-calorie packs included nutritious and delicious snack food...

basic hygiene products like toothpaste and deodorant...

and some comfort items like gum and Chapstick...

We packed 10 bags, and loaded 2 of them into the car.

And Wednesday, on the way home from our outing downtown--to see the Nutcracker, to eat at Shilo's, to take a boat ride, to tour a Catholic Church, to come face to face with the least of these--we saw him. He wasn't walking around this time. He was sitting on a bus stop bench in my neighborhood. I turned into the adjacent parking lot so that I could drive up along side the man who had inspired us to prepare, and motioned Fifi to hand me one of the bags.

"Give me the good one--the one with the tuna lunch and cliff bar."

He was on his feet and already coming toward me as I rolled down my window to hand it out to him. I tried not to show my shock at the realization that he was not a black man as I had assumed from afar. Up close, I could see he was hispanic. He was caked and dark with grime and also in desperate need of a nail clipping, haircut and shower. He took the bag, bowed his head as if to say, "thank you," and went back to his bench a few steps away. When he turned around, it was clear, too, that he needed a change of clothing.

And that was it.

I started to drive away when I remembered that I had forgotten to add water to the bags. I had thought to once, but hadn't followed through right away, and the idea flew out of my head.

"Do you need some water?" I called out.

He jumped up, sat back down and somehow signaled in the affirmative without actually saying a word.

"I'll go get some and be right back." Rather than go to a store and drag everyone in, taking so long that maybe he'd be gone by the time I got back, I stopped at a corner store and bought what they had to offer. Vitamin water or Green Tea--this store had no regular bottled water. I chose the water and prayed that it wouldn't disagree with his system.

When I got back into the car, I started running the question over in my head. Where does this man get water? I can't imagine that the local restaurants, even fast food, would allow him to enter their establishments. Is there a hose behind one of the businesses that he can access? Do people give him bottles as they pass by?

He's not asking for money. There's no sign, no set up. This guy is the real deal, and it makes me think about things I haven't thought about before. Real things like food, water, warmth, tooth brushing, body odor, underwear and bathroom breaks.

I hadn't answered any of these questions for myself before I got back to the bus bench to deliver his bottled water. He stood up, came over, and took the bottle from my hand. I was horribly aware by now of how inadequate my offering was in the face of his need, and I invited him to assuage my guilt with a reassurance that he knew of our city's available services and that he had somewhere to sleep.

He didn't actually say yes as much as he nodded his head. I asked him what his name was and he paused to search for it, it seemed. I think he doesn't speak English.

"Martinez," he said. And he didn't seem crazy. Or mean.

I think I needed him to seem crazy. Or mean.

"I'll pray for you, Martinez."

Before he got back to the bench I looked beyond him to see if he was making use of the bag we gave him minutes earlier. I was not prepared for what I saw, and I'm not sure why it struck me as such a blow. Martinez had ripped into that gallon-sized Ziploc bag like an animal, leaving a gaping whole on one side and rendering the bag completely useless to carry its other items.

He did not know how to unzip the bag.

The four of us girls spent the rest of the ride home listening to me think aloud to myself about what I had just seen. Will Martinez be able to figure out how to open the Starkist Lunch-To-Go albacore and crackers? Is he going to know what to do with the deodorant stick or will he mistake it for food? Will he be able to keep hold of the Chapstick tube for the worst of the cold, dry days coming this winter?

*Sigh* Oh Lord Jesus, have mercy on Martinez!

And have mercy on me.

For the rest of the day, I am too disturbed to speak. I apologetically brush off my girls, but they understand. They were there. They are confused too.

I am painfully aware of my ability to help. My extra bedroom. The extra 3/4ths bath that our home boasts. Enough food. Even matresses to spare. I am also painfully aware of why I am not helping.

I am...unwilling.

Instead, I choose my safety over Martinez' shower. I choose my girls' protection over Martinez' shelter. I choose my peace of mind over Martinez' dinner. I choose us over him.

And it busts my heart wide open because I can't repent. I can't do it any other way. I am faced with the harsh reality that I am selfish and I need a savior.

Jesus is my Savior.

And I will ask Him to send along another pilgrim to help Martinez. One who is sensitive, equipped, and...willing.

Because He is able. I know He is able. I know my Lord is able to carry him through.

It is so cold here tonight.

...than one lay down his life for his friends.
John 15:13

Who's Electing this President Anyway?

We're out the door to vote. Jim just called and said that our polling place has NO line! A couple of interesting things I've learned in the last day or so....

From my very diverse Bach Choir, I understand that the middle class--the ones that work for the man--are having trouble getting to their proper precinct between the hours of 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. So, maybe the only people electing a president are the self-employed, wealthy, or...unemployed.

Also, I learned that as much as I lack in formal higher education, I am still smarter than Barack Obama. He spent all of last week mocking those who would call him a Socialist, saying that it's been found out that he shared his toys in school, and perhaps gave some of his sandwich to another who had none. That's all very well and good, Mr. Obama, but that is called CHARITY.

Socialism is when you charge $520 annually for membership in a student organization so that you can fund scholarships to those who can't afford it but will benefit from the same opportunities. They will spend most of the meeting, as it turns out, talking, laughing and texting their friends on the spankin' new iphone they bought instead of tuition.

But I'm not bitter. Well, I'm trying not to be.

And finally, to keep it light, here's a few seconds with Dumpling...

How to Vote

Joe Biden had it right. Our country will be tested. By terrorists. The ones who have not forgotten their hatred toward us, even if most of us have forgotten about them. The ones who necessitate that every American should be reading the Holy Bible in History class. They are the descendants of Ishmael; we are supporters of Israel.

If you don't know of what I speak, you can thank your public school system because whether you believe the Bible or not, it includes the story of our enemy. It used to be that social studies was for the purpose of understanding the world we live in, but it would appear now that we're only interested in indoctrinating our children to our own homemade, high-browed ideas of what is right and true. And most often, we're wrong.

Never mind that it will someday be our undoing.

So, how to vote?

I plan to vote the same way Jim and I chose guardians for our girls so many years ago. We didn't interview them with a flurry of hypothetical scenarios, we didn't presume to make conditions that would dictate the parenting of our children from the grave, and we did not assign guardianship to the perfect person who couldn't possibly follow through for the task.

Instead we chose to live in reality. We assigned a couple whom we believed would meet life's unknowns with strong character and then trusted them to make decisions accordingly. We also assigned a couple who were willing, and just as important--in a position to rise to the task physically, emotionally and financially.

I will vote much the same way tomorrow.

I will not over think every possible scenario; I will vote for the candidate who has proved himself through the courage to keep the code. He had me at, "No thanks."

I will not be swayed by youth, style or even energy. More important in these times will be the wisdom of many years.

I will not worry that she hasn't enough experience; if the Lord is with her, she can surprise the crowd and kill her foe with a slingshot. He will equip those He calls.

And if my candidate doesn't win, I take heart. It may be that no candidate will lead us, as a nation, to repentance, but it may be that one will chase us there. So I pray with complete confidence, "Not my will, but Thy will be done, Lord."

The Good Old Days of Blogging

I miss blogging.

I don't mean I miss doing it; obviously, I'm still doing it. See me type?

I miss blogging when it was new. Fresh. Exciting. Kind. Honest.

I miss blogging back when the CWO blogring had about 100 blogs and you could hope to surf over and check out at least most of them.

I miss blogging when layouts were still mostly simple. When there was one queen and her court was small. I could keep up with the goings on back then. There was a weekly theme, and there was a special event. And that was it. And it was fun.

I miss blogging back when if I commented on your blog, you might come to mine and reciprocate the greeting in my comment section. Now, instead, my email box is full of "Re:" from people who feel obliged to make nice--because they're building toward a commercial blog.

I miss blogging back before there were ads in the sidebars. What's next? Sandwich boards in our foyers? Even worse is the product placement. For instance, can you tell the difference between a homeschool mom who lists and links her curriculum choices for the year from the one who has been paid to talk up a buzz about products that may or may not actually live on her bookshelf?

Are you shocked?

Well, sadly that kind of thing happens all. the. time. Maybe in homeschool circles; maybe not. The first time I got caught in the web of friendly deceit with a blogger who was exploiting her cyber "friends" with subtle product placement, I felt duped. I don't like feeling duped.

I miss the good old days when blogging was free and honest.

Back when ladies didn't push the envelope, selling out their kids and husbands for a cheap laugh. For the love of money. Or stats.

Back when ladies didn't build their base with a constant barrage of inflammatory statements about theology...in my Savior's name.

I miss blogging when it was more like iced tea on the neighbor's front porch than an annual staff meeting in a hotel ballroom.

How about you? Where are you in the journey? Months? Years? Do you feel competitive? Do you feel motivated or discouraged? Do you feel addicted or exhilarated?

Remembering 9.11

Click the post title and then feel free to make a comment or post a link over there to your own remembrance of that horrible day.

In this election year, we must remember to know the enemy because neither positive thinking nor rainbows; not butterflies; not flowers; not even gifted orators flying throught the air on pretty unicorns will keep us safe from the enduring threat.

Everything I learned about getting along with others through the peer socialization offered at public school...

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.

O-bock-a-rama

And then...poof! All memory of his mesmerizing speech and over the top arrogant stadium set-up at the DNC was...gone. Gone like dried up Texas mud on the bottom of your boot--it's thick and sticky and you're sure it can't be beat, but really it flakes off in big chunks if you just wait long enough.

Obama and Biden looked a lot like big chunks of Texas mud this afternoon. And all because this morning, John McCain changed everything. Everything. This morning, he chose me to be his vice president. O.k., he didn't really choose me, per se, but wow! it could have been me. Or you. Or Ellie May.

I've been feeling awed and overwhelmed all day. I remember the first time I heard of Sarah Palin. It was back in April when she hit the Yahoo headlines, I think, for birthing her 5th baby while Governor of Alaska. Back then, I think I thought, "Oh, that's too bad for that baby. That baby needs his mama at home."

I still think that's so.

And that is where the awe comes in. I can't help but feel that what we're seeing happen here is the very act of laying down a life for a brother. Or a whole country of brothers.

Sarah Palin has 4 children at home, and one of them is a special needs baby. When she is elected with McCain, she will give up seeing her children as much as they'll want to see her; she will not be there to cuddle and bond with that baby like we think she should; she will not be able to say that she did her very best for her children.

Or didn't you hear her today? She promised to give her best, and nothing less, to the office for which she is running. Each of us has only one "best" to give, and she's ready to give hers--to us.

Sarah Palin is agreeing to give up that great privilege--this high calling from God--for another noble calling that she neither sought nor desired. Just as Deborah the Judge, under duress, accompanied Barak into battle, here our country is apparently at an intersection which requires such a bold move.

I'm not sure that it says a good thing about what the LORD thinks of the United States right now, but strangely, it swells my spirit with hope and comfort that He is still here and working in our midst.

God bless Sarah Palin, and God bless the United States!

(So what do you think? Tell me on the poll in my sidebar.)

You'll catch more flies with honey...

So, a question for you...

Did you attend church where you are today?

And while you were there to build up the Body of Christ and spur one another on to good works, did you look around and find the new person...the wallflower...the person in need of a friendly greeting? Did you merely greet them? Or did you extend yourself to meet them?

When Mrs. Smith came in late during the hymn singing and sat next to you, did you smile politely and continue with your praise while she fumbled for the page, or did you hand her your hymnal, ready to go?

When you noticed that Mr. Black brought his young children alone because his wife is convalescing at home, did you make it your mission to serve the littlest one before she could spill her orange juice all over her pretty little dress, or after?

Or not at all?

When the return visitor entered the sanctuary for the 3rd time this month, did you pretend to remember her name? Or did you humble yourself, and care enough to ask her to remind you so that you may properly acknowledge her?

When you gather with others on either side of the corporate worship, do you seek out the popular and powerful amongst yourselves for the sake of your own political gain? Or is it your deep desire to yield your members as the hands and feet of Jesus, seeking His leading in ministering to others in ways that will never hear a thank-you during the announcements, never list your name in the credits, never propel you to be singled out for honor before the congregation.

Are you affable? Because Jesus was--Jesus was so very affable. Shouldn't we be as well?

As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men,

especially unto them who are of the household of faith.
Galatians 6:10

A Charge To Choose

He is a funny looking, offensively effeminate man. And I can say that because I'm pretty sure he means to be--it's part of his celebrity schtick. Everywhere he goes, he wears itty-bitty exercise shorts from the 80s and sleeveless tanks to match. And they usually sparkle.

We don't see him around much anymore--which is a sign of the times and illustrates his point--but we got an earful from him last week as he yelled at a congressional committee! And he was wearing a suit and tie because the situation is too serious to be played out in character.

"What have we done?! What have we done to the children of the United States of America?!" was his plea. It was impassioned and timely, brave and prophetic. And he said more than he realizes, I think.

Exercise enthusiast, Richard Simmons was, of course, talking about the obesity problem among our children these days. But my question is this: If we know the problems, why aren't we doing anything about them? We say we know the consequences, but do we really believe in them?

Really, it's just a sneeze to the bigger disease. About food. And about so much more.

When did it happen that this generation of parents--Generation X--became the weakest group of parents ever in the history of American society?

How is it that so many are just plain not making choices--even bad ones--for our children while they are in our charge? Are we lazy? Are we deceived? Are we too busy for the time that it takes to think it through?

Are we afraid of our children? Are we afraid of one another?

And maybe just as importantly, how many--when the epiphany comes too late for us--are willing to be transparent and repentant; how many are willing to turn around and tell those coming up behind us how to avoid the pitfalls and perils?

How many are willing to say, "What have we done?!"

I'm not trying to speak to the state of the culture, and I'm certainly past the idea that everyone ought to make my choices their choices. I'm speaking instead about the fear that grips parents and leads them into a place of parental resignation and political correctness and hip relatability with their kids.

Who is passing the mantle to whom here?

And so, in this seemingly hopeless situation, I have a good word to speak to all the young parents who are afraid to raise children in this day and age because of the licentiousness that abounds and the disintegration of our society's moral fiber:

You are the parent. This is America. And you. get. to. choose!

For some well-intentioned people, the choices are made for them through death, divorce or illness. Some must abdicate control of their children, but even in that, there is a measure of choice. And if you are one of whom I speak, take comfort that your hardship, if not judgment for unrepented sin, is truly the hand of a sovereign God in your life and you can trust Him with it. His strength is made perfect in our weakness.

But for the rest, to whom much opportunity is given, you are expected to be active, not passive as you choose and develop the atmosphere in which your children will live, learn, and thrive in these, their most formative years. You get to choose the language they hear and use, the clothing that is provided for their wear, the music they are accustomed to hearing, the hobbies that take their time, the program themes they view, the friends with which they spend any time and the activities that that time is built around, the food they consume, the manners they employ and the amount of privacy that is good and healthy for them.

You get to do all that for 18 years, so says our government by the sovereignty of God. And while your diligence in guarding their hearts will, in no way, ensure a lifetime followed in your footsteps--or more importantly, Christ's footsteps--the choices you sow now will absolutely be reaped in a harvest.

And the harvest starts ripening almost immediately upon their ability to move, speak and reason.

Choose.

Make a goal. Draw a sketch. Write a vingette. Have a plan.

Draw a line in the sand now, as you start, so that as life happens you can remember where your compromise lives. Don't be like the frog in the water that boils to death so slowly it doesn't think to jump out in time to save its life. Don't let the tide of everyone else's negligence and ignorance--or even their purposeful choices for their family--toss you with the current.

Choose.

If you choose well and with purpose; if you fill their young minds and lives with goodness, ownership, closeness and a measure of beauty; if you train them in the way they should go, when they are old, I think they shall not depart from it.

But ultimately that will be...their choice.

Yours is to take your stewardship seriously...and choose.

Silence Is What Happened...

Last week, I heard Colossians 3 preached.

Really heard it preached.

Have you heard it preached? You think so?

Then why didn't you tell me?

Somewhere in the middle of the chapter, it dawned on me...no, wait...He illumined me about what it really means to tame the tongue. To edify others with my words. To minister grace to the hearer.

I get it.

And you know what? It's hard. It's hard to leave off a lifetime's worth of conduct--a jarring and funny phrase; the upper hand in a debate; the desire to be right and the need to make sure everyone within earshot knows it.

I thought I had found a new way of being when I was born again 11 years ago. I thought that because I left off profane speech and tried to be cautious and aware of the tendency to gossip, that I was o.k. But alas--there is yet more work to be done.

I must be slow to speak in order to break these bad habits. I must--every hour, it seems--pray that the Spirit sent me by my Lord would be quicker than me, teaching me a new way to express my opinions His truths. I want to stand as firm as I ever have for His Truth and the diligence, purity, virtue, reverence and sobriety of spirit that go with it, but I long to do it through the talking points that He has already given. I don't need to criticize a wrong when what the Lost really need is to hear the life-giving words of God that will tell them what is right.

I must learn to trust that the Holy Spirit is big enough, and smart enough and powerful enough to do His work without my very human intervention.

I must learn how to let love cover a multitude of sins. And let me tell you...for a person who is more often than not, dis-gust-ed, by the societal norms of our day, this is going to be a work of the Lord for which I will have no room to boast!

Oh, see...there I go again.

So, Lord willing, "frank" won't be an adjective used to describe me any longer if I'm successful in my pursuit to glorify God this way.

I don't need to be specific. I don't need to be relevant. I don't need to be topical. I don't need to be blunt or abrupt.

What I need, it turns out, is to be....silent. I must decrease that He may increase.

Because more than anything, I want people to want Christ. I want to get out of the way so that He may be seen.

And I have no idea how I'm going to do any of it, but the Lord knows.

Dear Mrs. Duggar,

I read today that you are expecting your 18th baby. Wow! Congratulations! What a precious gift the Lord has entrusted to you and your husband in those 17 lives with one on the way. I pray your pregnancy and delivery will be safe, uneventful and a delight to you all.

I cannot even imagine the energy you must possess to get it all done. I know you talk a lot about jurisdictions and such, and so as I ready myself to go fold a load of laundry after this letter--because my oldest is 12 and next after her is still too young really to be in charge of hundreds of dollars in clothing each week--I find myself thinking about you.

I wonder if you ever fold laundry? Or assemble sandwiches? Do you, like me, have to spot clean the guest bathroom, grabbing a minute when you can to wipe the surfaces, often on your way out of the...ahem...restroom? It occurs to me that I've never actually seen you put your hand to any of the housework in your Discovery Channel documentaries. I see you cheerfully touring the cameras through the laundry room and the kitchen, but who does all that work?

Oh, I suppose you'll smile genteely and credit your older girls. Lucky you! You must have at least 4-5 capable young ladies running your house, and I think that's great. The rest of the country is awed at your parenting and homemaking skills, but you and I know full well that many hands make light work, don't we?

Which brings me to the most troubling perception I have about you and yours. May I be frank? For the sake of building up your sisters in Christ; in the name of bearing a true witness and not discouraging thousands of mothers across the country whose homes are unattractively real--let me ask you...do your children ever cop a little attitude? Do they ever get frustrated over the work? The order? The constant, stringent, unrelenting order of everything?

Do they ever have a sick day? And how does that look? Because mine looks like life has come to a screeching halt and my living room has been converted to a hospital ward with a full-on film festival playing on the large screen t.v. that is otherwise not seen broadcasting during daylight hours. Unless it's for a Math U See lesson.

Do you ever need to correct your older girls about speaking harshly to their younger siblings? Because I do. A lot. And it makes me sad. Sadder still after I expose myself to a story like yours.

Michelle? Do your young children bicker sometimes? Mine are pretty good about that, actually--except when they're not. Like today. I was ready for it to be bedtime shortly after lunch.

So, really I guess I'm asking you, Michelle, if it's really all as perfect as you let them make it look? Are all your children so completely sold out for the Lord that they possess blue-ribbon fruit in the areas of kindness, gentleness and self control? And if you're going to say yes, then maybe what would help me more than your tips on organization and child training, would be your sure-fire method of imparting an abiding love for the Savior to the children so early and completely.

Because try as I might, my girls just keep being people that way!

Sincerely, Grafted Branch

Nothing Good is Happening on Prom Night, Mom and Dad

Over the weekend, I attended my Early Music Choir's season finale. I didn't sing this year, but I attended--every concert weekend.

Bach's choral works are to Grafted Branch as David's harp was to King Saul. *sigh* Is there more profound beauty on the Earth? I've not found it.

But I digress...

After the concert on Saturday, Fifi and I decided to have dinner out. And since we were dressed to "the nines," (whatever that really means), and because it was just the two of us, we decided to afford the real thing as opposed to the colorful, vinyl booths, and loud intercom announcing that it's your turn to get up and get your food from the pick-up counter. Hurry up! Get it before someone's kid goes over there thinking it's theirs and breathes or sneezes all over it.

Eeeew.

We much prefer grown people dressed as waiters and waitresses breathing and sneezing on our food, thank you.

When we walked through the restaurant to be seated, we noticed a lot of young people dressed like real people. At first blush I thought, "Isn't that nice?" But upon further inspection, I realized it was...prom night.

Uh-oh.

Now, I know why I say "uh-oh." And when I wonder why other parents--especially Christian parents--don't echo my sentiments, I can only surmise that that parent was a better kid than me.

Or they are just blind and ignorant and really like the feel of a millstone around their neck.

But I like to believe the best about folks, and so I choose to think that they never got into any trouble in their youth, and so they live in a perpetual happy place when it comes to teen freedoms.

Over the course of our dinner, Fifi and I enjoyed quite a show going on all around us! Lots of getting up and switching seats, seeing and being seen, hugs and knocking together of the knuckles in unity or approval or some such youthful and fashionable statement that we 40-year-olds are too far gone to get, and this 12-year-old hasn't been given opportunity to understand.

Poor her, I'm sure.

There were lots of spaghetti-strapped dresses in colorful shades of lilac and baby blue and sea foam green, all showing too much skin and necessitating all kinds of tugging and adjusting areas that ought not be tugged or adjusted in public. Oh my!

Oh! And the guys! Oh ho ho ho! Lots and lots of gleaming white tuxedos and patent leather shoes. I told Fifi that 10 years down the line, those kids are going to get a good laugh at their prom pictures.

That got her asking questions with the incredulous tone of a 12 year old who knows who she is, respects herself and her future husband, and guards her heart with all her might. And it got me to remembering things: three years of proms and homecomings and even more years of casual dating just about any guy who wanted to spend a little time with me.

All of which--all of which--I regret but couldn't have known to do better. And all for which I have repented. Yes, repented.

This is going to be a new thought for many, so follow me for a minute....

I could just say that there is no example of casual dating in the Bible, while there is the beautiful example of an arranged marriage with the bride's right of first refusal in the story of Abraham's servant sent to find a wife for his son, Isaac.

And I think that's good enough, but we're the thinking type 'round here, so here's some thoughts from inside my own head:

Dating is a societal normative. But look around! That norm that we've embraced comes from a culture which, as a whole, is swirling toward its last rotation in the giant commode of life.

And never mind what everyone else is doing; that path is wide and leading to destruction, remember?

And please, please, please never mind the idea that somehow dating is something that has to be done in order to know yourself, much less meet the man of your dreams. The Bible will tell you everything you need to understand about yourself; you're a helpless sinner in need of a Savior--that's who you are. And worrying about getting out there "on the market?" Those are the thoughts of a Christian following a very small god.

The Bible tells me that God knew me before He established the foundations of the world. And if He knew me that way, then it can be said that He knew my children too. He is omniscient so He knew exactly how to bring forth my children; He knew with whom I was to become one flesh.

Or maybe, just maybe--in His sight: with whom I was one flesh.

I feel like that in His sight, as He sees this earthly existence through eternal eyes which are not bound by time as our finite minds know it (and I believe a lot of the divisive truths of Christianity like predestination, election and freewill will be explained away in Heaven by our inability to comprehend a God not bound by time) my earth-bound self is always married to this wonderful man. How else could He know my children who were yet to be?

And so, given that, what business had I spending time, energy, emotion and...whatever else...on anyone but my beloved?

There is a word for that, isn't there? For that sin. And so, that is why I repented of my dating years--even though, ironically, He brought my Husband and me together through that very activity.

But then, that's His specialty, isn't it? Mercy on the ignorant and bringing His glorious will out of even our rebellion.

What a magnificent God we serve! I've been forgiven and cleansed, and by His grace my lovelies are being raised to know better.

And, I pray, do better.

The Big White Elephant In the Room: The FLDS

I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

I don't like their lifestyle. I don't like their god. I don't like their hairstyles. I don't like their clothes.

But what I don't like even more is that the anonymous call of a teenager (that may or may not be true) has--by itself--ripped hundreds of small children from their mothers' arms; wives from their husbands; and followers from their freedom. And today, our government defiled their temple.

I don't get it--why not track down and remove the alleged perpetrator?

It would be great if all this casting down of idols was happening in the name of The One True God, but we know this is America in the year 2008, and that's not what's happening.

Do you worry or wonder how this is someday going to impact your family if you're not strictly conforming to the societal line?

Edited to add: This post is attracting a fair number of google hits from searches on FLDS hairstyles...oh, I guess that stating that outright will bring in more hits on FLDS hairstyles. Oops! There, I did it again. Anyway, let me say that I have no idea how they get their hair to do that. It's quite incredible actually, but surely a mystery I can live without.

This post has also prompted a couple of concerned anonymous comments and at least one angry, emotional rebuke from a California mother who suggested she was raised in a cult. While I await her response to my inquiry about if she really wants me to post her words, let me say this: The FLDS, and the guilt or innocence of members of that following are not actually the point being made here. Sometimes viewing things through a damaged filter doesn't allow for much clarity; I'm really talking about liberty in the United States with a concern about how it will look a generation from today.

Thank you. The End.

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?

Hiding His Word In Our Hearts

I've cleaned up my sidebar a bit.

Moved are the video clips of the girls reciting their Bible memory passages. They are all relocated to a new blog space dedicated to the purpose. It's link will be in my sidebar, along with our current project and the system we try to be faithful to employ in our efforts.

Can I say something here? For some, this is going to be preaching to the choir, but for others who read here, perhaps it's a new thought. So here it goes:

You know, I don't post those clips to show you what my kids can do; I post those clips to show you what your kids can do! How very sad it is that Sunday School teachers, VBS leaders, and parents today have such low expectations of how much Scripture a small child can take in and retain.

If they have any expectations at all.

And even more tragic is the flippant way folks today treat the very idea of Bible memorization. Somehow in this age of compromise in which a child's mind, soul and spirit are allowed to absorb and become subtly infused with bitter, angst-ridden music lyrics and magic-spell mantras, Christian parents in America have neglected to recognize and redeem their children's remarkable ability to be influenced and to remember.

I don't think it's always been this way--not with the way the hymn writers Fanny Crosby and Francis Ridley Havergal used to memorize whole books of the Bible. At least.

Is there anything--anything at all--more worthy of our moments, our efforts or our brain space than the life-giving Word of God?

Of course there isn't.

Parenting Against Rebellion?

Apparently, some big name tweeny-bopper was in town today, and hundreds of little girls in the proximity of 12 years old were all dolled up with hair, make-up and their favorite form-fitting clothes, trying to make the most of their pubescent figures, and on hand to ask for an autograph and swoon at the sight of...of...whoever he was.

I heard it on the news. Now, which millstone was that?

I turned to Husband and just praised the Lord out loud that Fifi has no idea who any of these people are, and even if she did--she is the type of girl who would be oh-so-slightly disgusted by the spectacle anyway.

O.k....so we're working on the "slightly disgusted" part. But for now, it's keeping her from temptation.

And then I made mention that I often catch myself questioning whether these are the very moments that she will grow up to resent later. Will she--like my Bob Jones University parents before her--live an evangelical lifestyle, separated unto that which is lovely and of good report in her youth, only to chuck it all in a fit of Christian antagonism that complains for decades afterward about missing the prom, and the football games, and the sleepovers, and the...whatever?

Will she?

But the Lord is quick.

Through His Holy Spirit, He reminds me of these truths...

It is not ours to parent against our child's possible rebellion. Or hurt feelings. Or suffering. Or loss. Or any of the other things that we tend to view as more detrimental to our babies than a lukewarm faith in Christ Jesus our Lord.

They are each His, as are we. And we are charged to raise them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. We are to take what we know He has told us and be true to it. In the end, I believe our accountability will stand apart from their choices.

And the mystery is this--I believe all that is true, but that it is also true that if we raise up a child in the way that she should go, when she is old she will not depart from it.

Bible Culture Study

"How does this happen? Why is this so difficult?"

That's what Husband asked himself last Monday night as he heard the latest about what has really been going on after he drops Fifi and Dumpling at their respective, age-appropriate classes with a very strict, organized, long-standing, highly-trained, trusted, doctrinally-sound organization to aid in the Bible teaching of his children.

I typed up these quotes--only some of what has been said that I find bothersome--but then decided not to publish the post...to let love cover it...to allow grace to reign in my heart and mind, and on my blog.

But then something changed last night.

"...God wants us to live righteously; He doesn't want us being involved in things like alcohol and sex..." male teacher to Fifi's co-ed class of 7th and 8th graders. (She was very embarrassed to be facing the latter reference in front of others--especially men and boys.)

"...when you receive salvation in Jesus Christ, you become part of the Trinity..." male substitute teacher addressing Fifi's class during the study of Matthew.

"...can you imagine how Joseph felt? Engaged to Mary and then he finds her pregnant?!" male teacher to Fifi's co-ed class of 7th and 8th graders.

What changed was that I had a chance to talk to one of the organization's directors, and to my shock and dismay, she stood by these kinds of quotes! Actually, I only got around to asking about the first one--after that, I didn't bother to pose the rest. What could be the purpose in a debate? After all, she wasn't apologizing--she and the organization are of the opinion that since these are the things that kids are talking about, these are the things that need to be talked about with kids.

Not my kids. Not with you. Not without me. Thank you.

I thanked her very much for letting me ask the question, and politely withdrew the girls from consideration in the women's class since it was clear that this kind of conduct wasn't just a problem with the men's classes.

She countered that she didn't see it as a problem at all.

Well--I meant anomaly, and was tempted to let it slide for the sake of unity, but just. could. not. Instead, I hemmed and hawed for a 1/2 a second and then said, "Well, yes, actually....it is a problem to us. We were under the impression all these years that ____ was all about Bible study--not Culture study."

She interjected that kids will eventually run into these terms and that you can't shelter them forever and that someday they're going to talk to their peers about it and that they can't be so protected...oh!...and that Jesus dealt with these subjects with his apostles and disciples.

Now, let me pause right there for a moment.

I am not a wise old woman. I have not walked with the Lord for even half my life. I have not gotten around to reading every singe verse in the Bible, and do not even have a very good grasp of the order of the Old Testament kings and prophets. But one thing I think I have learned, and it is this: when I have a conviction, or make a decision, or choose for or against a thing--if it is really of the Lord, then I am comfortable. Comfortable enough to not need to take a vote on it. Comfortable enough to not need another's validation. And especially comfortable enough to not need to defend it.

The director seemed to really need me to agree with her.

Could it be that she has a 7th grader of her own? And if so, maybe on some level she knows that her 12 year old is growing up too fast? Maybe deep down she's a little unsure as to whether it really has to be that way. Is she questioning the wisdom in just "going with the flow?"

Perhaps--just perhaps--for a quick second a little part of her is rethinking the idea of subjecting her child to the institutionalized madness of preteen peer pressure, cut-throat politics, and experimentation in which young people without fully developed frontal lobes laugh at the risks and learn to just. be. o.k. with incredibly vulgar expressions of debauchery...and to expect lasciviousness as the norm...and to come to feed it with varying degrees of fornication.

Among other offenses that may kill them now or later.

But back to the very sad realization that now...even a community Bible study is too worldly for Fifi. Not because she won't know of these things, but because--Lord willing--everything she needs to know about the World system and the World's priorities will come to her through the filter of God's Word and by His appointed authorities in her life--her Daddy and me. In the shelter of our home. In the privacy of our relationship. Unless the Lord overrules with circumstances beyond our control.

If she would have it any other way, I would be so very concerned.

Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness...

Some would argue that the commandment continues, "against thy neighbor" and so it really speaks to making a false report...a bad report...about somebody else. That makes sense to me as I consider Rahab lying for the spies, and the midwives whom the Lord blessed for "arriving late" when the Hebrew women delivered their babies.

Some others say and teach that it means don't lie. Ever.

Those are the people without any imagination. The ones that don't understand that they are living in a desperately wicked and fallen world. If my broad stroke here confuses you, ask for examples--but I don't recommend it. Co-dependent paranoia is a horrible place to visit, much less live.

All that to say that this is an honest blog, but only as honest as is prudent considering that many people I don't know are reading, and as of late, more than a few that I do know are too. It doesn't bother me much at all to spill my soul, warts and all, for folks to know--but I think it might begin to bother my 12 year old...and maybe even her younger sisters, as it's bound to happen that Fifi's friends start setting up shop for themselves and will eventually and inevitably surf here.

So, don't look for those details here. And please don't interpret their absence as an indication that they are...well...absent. Know that all the yucky things in life happen here too because 'round here, we're all people that way. People get mad. People act badly. People waste time. People find fault. People make messes. Mostly me, me, me, me and...o.k.--not me.

But be assured that--by His grace--we shall not grow weary of doing the very good thing of depending on, and trusting wholly in God's Word to reveal to us all that is necessary for Godliness. For me. For my marriage. For this family. For these siblings. For these children.

And that's all you get to know about that. Unless, later, I change my mind. Because it's my blog and I can do that. But I probably won't.