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!

Scarborough Faire 2009

Come on girls! It's time to go to the Student Days at the Waxahachie Renaissance Faire! Stop spinning in that chair and let's go or it will be over before we get there.

Wow! This is great! Our first friend? The town crier...

Dumpling was pretty offended for most of the rest of the day after she found out this jester named his dog, "Blockhead."

We stumbled upon this merchant selling psalteries. It was more of a financial commitment than we were willing to make, but she let each of the girls play with it for a minute anyway.

Cuddlebug stopped our conversation cold as we all heard a real song coming from her turn at the instrument! She quickly correlated the strings to piano keys and enjoyed a nice moment outside her sister's musical shadow.

Here we are waiting for the Birds of Prey show which turned out to be one of our favorite moments of the day.

On to the joust! The girls were concerned that someone might die.

And this moment was pretty spectacular!

Now to try her own hand at the rings. Uh...Dumpling...you might want to
l e a n out a little and reach for the ring.

This was her 3rd try...or her 5th...but isn't she sweet?

Cuddlebug rung them on her second try...

...it's what she does.

There were exotic animals to ride; Cuddlebug chose the elephant.

Dumpling picked the camel.

Fifi's dress kept her feet on the ground, so she visited the bows and arrows booth and ended up buying a pretty nice set up from this Christian man. His wife makes the arrows by hand.

Where to now?

Of course! The costume shop! Fifi sewed that dress she's wearing (that's another post entirely) and was intrigued by the professionally made costumes that were for sale. Well, she was interested until she discovered that they were for sale for many hundreds of dollars.


O.k....time is short girls! We had better move fast to fit it all in before the closing cannon boom!
Double time--here's a picture to prove that Mommy was there too...

Everyone but me riding the Crow's Nest...

Cuddlebug gets her brain tightened. Thankfully, when he finished, she was able to correctly answer that 2 + 2 = 4! *Whew*

$1 sanctioned opportunity to hit each other with big, padded sticks...

Cannon blast! Time's up! Get out!

King someone or other. Fifi could probably tell you who...along with his marital and blood lineage for generations in either direction.

And finally...the nobility bade a fond farewell to the common peasants. And home we went to the 21st century.

We Love...

We've been invited to our first ever Valentine's Day party!

And we're abuzz with questions and excitement over the unknown!

Dumpling and Cuddlebug chose their card stock, Bible verse and cloth ribbon to make their Valentines special...

...but they're a little concerned over whether there will be boys in attendance. I remind them that the love of Christ is for everyone. Even boys. *wink*

If I'm not around here much 'till after Christmas...

...it's because there are so many more wonderful things at which to gaze.

Discovering that my love is not great...

This morning, we got up too early to join our homeschool group in the glass lobby of the Lila Cockrell Theater.

We were there to sit audience for the dress rehearsal of the Nutcracker ballet. The opening scene isn't part of the deal, but we only pay $5 for a ticket--so there are no complaints. The girls were decked out in their prettiest Christmas-colored garb and happy enough to sit around for a half hour waiting to be seated because they were waiting with fun, new friends.

After the production, we walked down the block and ate lunch at Shilo's Delicatessen. It's closed eight out of ten times that we try to stop in--usually evenings and Sundays--but they were open today! I was pleasantly surprised at my vegetarian croissant sandwich, but the little girls didn't care much for their potato pancakes and applesauce.

As we ate, our attention was turned to three young servicemen in camouflage studying the menu outside our booth window. They debated among themselves for a long while before coming in for a round of lunch specials and water. Twenty minutes later our hearts were warmed to see them file past the register without stopping to pay because another patron had picked up their tab anonymously.

As we left, Cuddlebug meekly inquired about a boat ride on the Riverwalk. A mild day, nowhere we have to be, a resident discount, no lines and three sweet smiles quietly awaiting my answer. It was the perfect storm. This is their victory procession to the ticket stand where I will have to borrow $15 cash money from my 8-year old because they're not taking debit today.

I do not know why my 8-year old is carrying around $15 cash money. We keep emptying that wallet into safer places, and it keeps filling up with money--like the widow and her oil. I blame the grandmas.

Back on street level, we ducked into St. Joseph's Downtown Church. It was beautifully adorned with tapestries, paintings and stained glass as was the way to share the Gospel with worshippers before publishing and literacy were commonplace. The beautiful sanctuary was also riddled with at least a dozen life-sized statues, and Fifi's demeanor gave me concern.

I worried that she might be sick or faint dead away before we left.

We reverently walked the perimeter of the room, not daring to sit in a pew, and came upon a man unpacking his bedroll and backpack on a bench. As he wriggled his left arm out of its strap, I took note that his shirt was ripped the length of his torso. Clearly, this place was more his home than mine, and so I said nothing and continued on my way to the exit.

We passed the "poor boxes," and swiped a tourist information sheet on the way out.

Thinking back, I don't know why it didn't occur to me in the moment to give the girls some bills or coins to slide into those boxes. They kept asking about the boxes. They whispered about the boxes. They noticed every one of the boxes.

"Mommy, why does that say "poor box?"

"Mommy, how do you put money in there without a key for the lock?"

Once at the back of the sanctuary, another homeless man held the door for us. I greeted him with a smile and a "good afternoon," but we must have been too close, still, to the sacred place because he did not respond.

Back on the curb again, Fifi strung together her impressions the best she could. It sounded something like, "Mommy, people like that would never think to come into any of our churches."

It is sad and she is right. Our churches are all locked. There is no steeple. There are no people. We are grieved and talk through our feelings. Inaccessibility in the protestant church is a hard truth to swallow. Especially when it's coupled with childish indignation at the idea of taxes going toward government-sponsored social programs. My question then becomes, "O.k. then, Christian--what are you doing about it?"

And on our way home, we exited the freeway near our suburban neighborhood, and I met a man who busted my heart wide open...

to be continued

Turning 50

That's what my husband, Jim, is doing tomorrow.

Fifi would say, "he's half-a-hundred." Tonight at dinner, when he waxed profound and said something to the effect of, "tomorrow I'll start my 5th decade," I had to break it to him that today he's finishing his 5th decade--thus the "50th" birthday. And that tomorrow he starts his 6th decade.

And then he started counting on his fingers, "O.k., when I turned 10, that was one decade; and when I turned 20, that was two decades..."

I looked at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for his "aha" moment to catch up with me.

And when he stopped counting, I thought he might cry--a big, burly, angry, manly cry of course. Certainly not the defeated, deflated whimper of a man who just realized that what his 6-year old daughter was singing around the house yesterday suddenly didn't sound so nonsensical at all, "I used to be 50...but now I'm 60!"

Poor Jim.

O.k. Sympathetic moment over.

See, twenty years ago he promised to grow old with me. But he's. not. doing. it. right! He's fitter than he's ever been. He's stronger than he's ever been. And with all that fitness and strength, he's more handsome than I signed on for.

He is quite frankly out of my league.

*sigh* I am a blessed woman.

Long before I knew the Lord, He was aligning my life to come into His Kingdom. And His greatest Earthly instrument was a man I first saw at the opposite end of a long hallway in 1987. He was the epitome of "tall, dark and handsome" and the way our eyes met at that distance caused me to have to duck into an adjoining empty room and catch my breath.

No joke.

O.k....so, maybe the "look" we exchanged wasn't one of concern over my spiritual condition, but the Lord had a plan for these two unregenerate sinners nonetheless.

My husband is patient. Or maybe passive. But either way, I feel loved.

Jim is kind. So very kind. I didn't know what kind looked like before I married him and birthed his children.

Jim is not jealous. The only time he was maybe, sort of, a little jealous was when I broke the news to him that I had become a Christian, i.e., been "born again." But in that case, it was a good thing, worthy of coveting.

Jim does not brag. He is, in fact, one of the humblest men I know. He is confident in his conviction, but never loud about it. He is happy to serve as the Lord ordains, but never desires to be seen serving.

Jim never acts unbecomingly. Ever. Because he was raised by a lovely little woman, and not by wolves.

Jim does not seek his own. He is always ready to put aside his own desires for the greater good of what needs to be done for the ones he loves. Sometimes that looks like a five-seater sedan instead of a zippy little convertible. Sometimes that looks like late night dishes--while I blog. Ugh. And sometimes it looks like brushing little girls' teeth at bedtime to bless the mommy.

Jim is not easily provoked. At least, I don't think he is. It hasn't occured to me to try for...oh...17 or 18 years.

Jim does not keep a record of wrongs. But that might just be because now there are four of us girls wronging him in all kinds of ways, everyday, and he's simply run out of brain space. Or maybe he really is just that much nicer than the rest of us.

Jim does not get any satisfaction in seeing sinners, "get what's coming to them," but is encouraged at the testimony of other believers.

Jim bears, believes, hopes and endures. And how. Even though he grunts a little grunt at the idea of unpacking his computer cord and plugging me in so I can continue composing this most flattering post...about him!

In all these ways, my husband has loved me. His life has been used of the Lord to build a beautiful life for me and for our three girls. I cannot imagine myself without him.

I hope he won't waste another second seeing his new age through the eyes of natural man, as if it's something to be avoided, but will rather embrace the privilege of experience and wisdom as a thing the Lord regards as good and worthy of respect.

Oh yes, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JIM!
Your girls love you so much.

Post inspired by 1Corinthians13.

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!

Whose Birthday Is It Anyway?

This is the cake.

Cuddlebug wanted five things. She wanted it:

(1) homemade
(2) brown...brown? Really?
(3) with pink swirlies
(4) with pink insides
(5) with princesses on top

I thought, "blech." But then, I'm not the one turning 6. So, into the wee hours I did decorate.

I was almost overcome by the sweet smell of that chocolate frosting going on the strawberry insides, *blech* but in the end it turned out o.k. I'm not the one turning 6.

By the way, those figurines are from the German and French toy companies, Shleich and Papo, which guard against lead paint, even though the toys are actually still made in China. And they looked better than Disney anyway. See the knight on the lower level? He has his shield up, sword raised, and is charging into battle to protect the maiden.

Hey. I'm raising girls here. Chivalry is hard-wired. And I'm NOT talking them out of it.

But...enough about the cake. We'll eat that later.

Presents in all shapes and sizes...

And here's the birthday girl, fresh and ready for big birthday excitement! We're all going to Schlitterbahn for the first...and uh...last...time today!

Only, we don't know that yet.

Here's Dumpling always ready to help...unwrapping, toy testing, whatever your birthday needs might be. We're thinking about printing Dumpling some business cards, but Cuddlebug is 6 now...and she's already got her number.

And when Dumpling is called on it, she whips out her imaginary halo and sings, "ding!" It all comes from watching too many Looney Tunes on Saturday mornings.

But in the end, Cuddlebug shares because...well...because Dumpling is so fun! And they are the very best of friends and playmates.

This was quite an animal rescue operation as these two explained. Young ones first! Adults get in line. Sorry duck, hen and owl...you're not making the cut. Better fly for your life!

The perfect end. Cake and candles with those that care the most for her...

Happy, happy birthday my darling Cuddlebug!

Today, She Turned 13...

...and of all the ways, and of all the people with whom she could have chosen to spend the day, she wanted to spend it with me. I am so thankful that God made her my daughter.