January 22, 2011

“Therefore, do not be anxious for tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” ~Matthew 6:34

I just want to curl up, cozy with a mug of blueberry tea and read.

My deep dark confession: I don’t want to journal tonight.

Hate me. Stone me. Boycott me. Shun me. Cast me out of the synagogue. I don’t care. Just don’t take away my book.

Of secondary interest: Lydia has been purging, and doing a right smart job of it, too. In fact, I dare say her bookshelf looks better than mine.

Amber stopped by on her way back from Mountain Home. “My therapist is so awesome!” she exulted. “She assigned me homework of looking up verses to see what God says about my worth.” I stood my iron up and reached for my Bible as we began to discuss some verses. Because self-esteem is not the issue. We didn’t make ourselves. But recognizing God’s work—and ourselves as His creations—that is the esteem we must cultivate. Amber sat on my bed, carefully attaching flowers to a couple of headbands—creating. In the end, she had a couple of fun, new accessories. Creation. Something we learned from God.

I’ve achieved emotional equilibrium. I decided I would never be anxious again. Or discouraged. It’s just not worth the emotional energy and besides that, it accomplishes nothing. I’ve come to grips with the fact that life is difficult, but I can’t help surviving. Until my time comes to die (which blessing I will embrace with rapture *ooh, a pun*), I will manage to survive everything else that happens to me, whether I try or not. I can’t lengthen my life by worrying. And, frankly, I can’t actually shorten it, either. My times are in His hand. So I might as well forget about worrying.

The end.

I told Tabby of my resolution today, via Bluetooth attached to my ear while I deep-cleaned the far end of the house. On the other end of the line, I could hear a moment of profound silence followed by her giggle. “Well, if you’ve really figured that one out,” came her reply, “then you’d better write a book. It would be a best-seller.”

A pause before I rejoined. “Well, I started to…but it was really stressing me out.”

We were having one of our “entertain ourselves at our own expense” pow-wows. First we make a case for why a besetting weakness is so stupid. Next, we point out how that besetting weakness besets us. If you’re ever hard up for laughs, poke fun at yourself. With someone who knows you well. I promise, you know all the best places to poke.

It’s like this: we can’t stand drama. In fact, we often shrug when we see others stressed out and comfort them with words like, “It’s not such a big deal, really. You’ll survive.” Of course, that’s because we have earth-shaking, ear-shattering, moon-melting, sun-darkening, global-warming-kinds of crisis in our lives. You know, the kinds of drama we look back on and think, “That really wasn’t such a big deal. I survived.” That kind of drama. And we are always calm, cool, collected and…you guess it. Stressed out. You try surviving global warming. If the polar ice caps melt, the world will be flooded!

Which is why I’ve decided not to be anxious.

Besides that, the flood is past and promised never to occur again. The world will be destroyed with fire!

I suppose that would cause some global warming. Nothing a new heaven and new earth won’t solve. And the best part is what dwells in the new heaven and earth—righteousness.

Surprising, isn’t it, how poking fun at yourself can bring you into a proper perspective?

Even between the time I talked to Tabby and the time I am journaling when I don’t want to, that nauseating fear of failure has gripped my mind a half dozen times. Yipes! Someone actually bought into my whole “I am a smart person who can tutor your poor child” ad? My hands start shaking as I type a very pert, very professional e-mail response. Do I even remember eighth grade math? I think I can hear my bones rattling. Eek! Did I totally oversell myself answering that florist that I am pretty familiar with RussVegas? Can I memorize a map before Valentine’s Day? What if he wants me to do more work? Am I capable of negotiating? My heart melts into a pool of wax and drains out a crack in the bottom of my shoe. Oh yeah! Those poor homeschool mothers. Are they signing their kids up for class number boring? Maybe I shouldn’t have revealed that I’m a published author. It’s not like I’ve written a Newberry. Can I ever deliver to the expectations I raised with that one? My adam’s apple swells to the size of a grapefruit. And this CNA stuff. Um. What if I totally fail the boards? And what if I can’t make enough money? What if I can’t hold down a job? What if I can’t, you know, do things right?

And then rushes in the determination. I have to. I don’t have a choice. I just will. Other people do it. I can, too.

On its heels gallops the third horse of the apocalypse: his rider’s name is discouragement. I don’t want to become a CNA and work in a nursing home. Sure, CNA sounds like a wise first step in the medical field, as well as a very useful set of service abilities. And I don’t think medical training is ever wasted. But I can hardly bear nursing homes. I really don’t want to tutor. What if the kid isn’t even willing to work at it? I don’t want a “job.”

Last comes the pale rider of emotional numbness. When I suddenly realize that I’m not feeling anything. Sure the anxiety is gone. And the discouragement. In its place lurks a pale, sunless-moonless sort of existence.

You can see why I’ve resolved not to be anxious.

Jesus commanded me not to be anxious.

Ah! But there is a deeper current to His words than my paltry resolution has demonstrated. “Do not be anxious for your Heavenly Father…”

He knows what we need. He provides. That’s why I’m supposed to seek His kingdom first and His righteousness.

It doesn’t really matter whether it’s a big deal or not.

He doesn’t function on back-up plans like His tiny creations. He just has one sovereign plan. And it includes earth-shattering, ear-splitting, moon-melting, sun-darkening and, yes, some serious global-warming. Followed up by a new heaven and new earth in which righteousness dwells.

Oh yeah! Bring it on!

I’ll probably be hiding in the cleft of the rock until it’s all over.

You spoke the world into existence by the power of Your Word,

And You will slay the prideful devil with the same eternal sword.

This, this power that stretched the heavens from the corners of the sky

Is the power proceeding from You on which a man must feed, or die.

This Word that You spoke, oh so softly, as a fragile, wordless babe

Will be thundering back in glory, turning every word to praise.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

“Lord Jesus, I need to be freed from this self-worship,

Pride takes the stage leaving me as a slave to self-worship…

Lord Jesus, take over this life to produce Christ-worship…” ~B. Morr, Self-Worship

Today I had a grumbly in my tumbly. If I’d recorded my thoughts earlier today, they would have been full of eloquent protestations of frustration and disillusionment. All I can say now is, “Yuck.”

I’m thankful I didn’t write earlier.

If I’ve ever had to repent so regularly for skewed perspectives and smelly attitudes, I’m glad I wasn’t journaling then, either.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

t has seemed good to me to declare the signs and wonders which the Most High God has done for me. How great are His signs, and how mighty are His wonders! His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and His dominion is from generation to generation.” ~Daniel 4:2-3

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, they say. Whoever they are. Today we scavenged up every scrap of metal that we don’t need and sorted it into piles of aluminum, steel, brass and copper. I drove the pick-up to Travis’ and backed it right up to his trailer. From there, I was more than willing to let Papa take over. Trailer hauling is NOT one of my specialties. Between the four of us, we loaded an old, boat hull that has been out in the woods since before our time. A deer blind, perhaps?

"Abigail,” Mom’s voice broke into the celestial realm of my thought-world as I absently scooped up supper leftovers and rushed them into the refrigerator. “Come here. I want to show you something." Translation: "I know you are absent-minded and will never remember this conversation if I don't jolt you out of your own mind and make you pay special attention to this very important instruction I have." I shoved the last dish in the refrigerator and came over to where she pointed at the edge of the sink. "See this soggy raisin?"

I cracked up. Because I knew exactly what she was going to say.

She tossed me a funny look before continuing, "I pulled it out of the drain and put it here to use to re-bait my mousetrap and I don't want you to throw it away while you're cleaning up."

I about toppled laughing. That's exactly what I knew she would say, but it struck me as hilarious that she went to the effort, not only of salvaging the raisin, but of getting my attention and carefully instructing me about the purpose of this single soggy raisin. Can you imagine the lecture I’d have endured had I swept that soggy raisin into the sink and dumped it with the compost? Ah, this is my mother. So frugal. Not just to save the raisin, but to jealously guard it from potential disaster, even taking great effort to be sure to capture my elusive attention. This, folks, is why we own our home and all our cars. And why my dad is able to go back to school at fifty-six with no worries and no payments. I think I had tears creasing my cheeks. Mom’s a good sport; soon she was laughing at herself, too.

I began reading Daniel today. I’ve been debating whether to start reading straight through the Word again, or simply to go book-by-book as I have been. For now, at least, book-by-book won out. Some days I read chapters only to stop, at the end, wondering what I even read. What am I to do with what I read? Where do I find what I need to keep going? Where do I find the answers I need to keep my life focused and moving toward the Lord? Where do I find the food I need to keep growing. Stale, I could call myself. And it disgusts me. I want to be vibrant, verdant and growing, like the tree planted by streams of water.

Lord, I crave Thy blessed pathway

In Thy Word I want find

All that Thou would have me doing

With my heart, my mind, my time.

Quiet me and teach my spirit,

Through the Spirit Thou hast sent

That I’d understand Thy purpose

For my earthly flesh—this tent.

Monday, January 3, 2011

“Sow with a view to righteousness, reap in accordance with kindness; break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek Yahweh, until He comes to rain righteousness on you.” ~Hosea 10:12

“Come look at this,” the Papa of my dream said. The we of my dream crowded around him as he showed us a facebook profile picture of Dathan…and a blue-eyed blond girl. It was definitely not Freckles. Every morning I wake up remembering very normal-seeming dreams. Very convincing normal-seeming dreams. What is this new phenomenon?

My dream wouldn’t be entirely ridiculous, considering what I see every time I do sign into facebook. As Jacinda put it, “Spring is in the air. Early.” It’s not just the young crop, but now I think all the signature singles are finally tying the knot, leaving room for the next generation of signature singles. That would be me and Jacinda, since our friends are rapidly forsaking us. Tsk, tsk.

In other news, Lydia handed me down a pair of shoes and we traded jeans.

My mind is still on vacation. I struggled to recapture it and get in gear as I sat down with Rosa for our ESL lesson. We’re working through the first book, which really is below her. Mostly. She always knows far more vocabulary than we have, but we’re working on pronunciation and learning grammar as we go. I try to get her warmed up with some easy words and exercises, then let her read a bit and work into some conversation last. I’ll ask her questions to step her through a conversation with me and then I write down what she has told me and let her copy it. It’s a fun way to get to know her while working her toward being able to converse with others. I had no idea that she lived on a little farm of sorts. With a cow and a calf. They are going to eat him, she told me. Poor boy. Her sense of humor is charming. She named her sheep dogs Kirby and Kirbina. Next week, she tells me, she wants to work on prepositions. I think I swallowed more air than I could hold before answering, “Okay.” Prepositions?! How will I ever explain and teach prepositions?

Lydia helped me wrestle the furniture back into the clinic counseling rooms Emily and I painted over the break. Big ideas are undoubtedly my specialty, and I have a million of them in mind for “modernizing” the look of the clinic. If only I existed in three persons.

“I have a baby bump,” my regular client beamed, standing up as I entered the waiting room. “Look at you!” Sure enough, she’d bubbled out while I was gone. I learn all the interesting maternity tricks from my clients. Like using a rubber band to allow for more waist room or sucking mint candies first thing in the morning to help with morning sickness.

Our new year regrouping meeting stretched on as we caught up and refocused on a new year and new goals. Sherry bounced ideas and thoughts off of us, encouraging us to think of ways to restructure the Earn While You Learn curriculum to really get single moms on their feet and refocused and to change lives. We’d like to figure out a better way to disciple girls who say they want to follow the Lord. And we’d like to be getting girls off of welfare and preparing them to have healthy families someday. My mind felt like scrambled spaghetti as I listened. I’m there, one hundred percent, on the “we need to” end. But how? How do you help someone change their life if they aren’t interested in changing? And, obviously, only God can truly change lives.

The year has just begun and already I feel numb. Overwhelmed. “How?” echoes down the hallway of my intellect. I see the goal and I see the present. In between lies a yawning chasm of human weakness.

And. Well. God spanned the infinite chasm between God and man. And that is how. He can do whatever He pleases. He will be great and greatly magnified.

Praise Him.

What seems to man a senseless plan
Is wisdom vast and deep
For man must rest his weary head
In God, who does not sleep.
What seems to man a worthless lamb
Is that the Shepherd seeks
Because the cross is for the lost
God’s strength is for the weak.
What seems to man a senseless plan
Is mercy vast and deep
When that same man can understand
That he is Christ’s lost sheep.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Over the year I collected together the things I feel I am failing...and here they are for me to, by God's grace, grow in this year.

Resolved to try:

To put my whole mind into whatever I am doing, as an act of worship to God. Therefore to be careful that whatever I am doing may be done whole-heartedly as worship to God.

To seek the Lord in quietness and solitude first thing every morning, that being with Him may color my outlook on life.

To refrain from speaking any ill of anyone not present and to confront only that person if there truly is an issue of character or obedience.

To keep a careful account of the Lord’s dealings with me and all that I learn of Him and to share His goodness with all who will listen.

To keep continually in mind God’s grace, truth and beauty in order to keep uglier things from dwelling there.

To learn as much as I can of God’s creation and praise Him for it.

To employ both time and money in seeking souls for the Lord.

To be bold to offer mercy, to speak of God, to speak truth, to love as Christ, but innocent of any evil or selfish ambition.

To be slow to promise, but swift to deliver, slow to speak, but swift to hear, slow to affirm or correct, but swift to love, slow to judge, but swift to forgive.

To consult the Lord and His wisdom constantly and to seek His answer fervently and without giving up.

To praise character, encourage holiness, focus on God’s grace as being the means of true beauty.

To rejoice always, pray unceasingly and always give thanks.

To never regard circumstances except in the light of God’s wisdom and Word.

To never be satisfied with anything less than perfection in myself, yet eager to regard attempt in others.

To never grow weary in doing what is right or compare myself to the world with envy or self-satisfaction.

To offer love and service without regard to “fair treatment,” “personal rights” or return of either.

To keep in mind the cross as my own just end and the picture of God’s wrath from which I am delivered and God’s love which paid the price. And to remember that, in the cross, I am delivered from God’s wrath and God’s justice is satisfied, therefore all that befalls me—even discipline which seems unpleasant for the moement--flows from His mercy, grace and love, lavished on a daughter.

To accept weakness as a tool of God’s strength and to be willing to be wholly dependent on Him.

To do what is right, regardless of results, rumors, rewards, remarks or revilings.

To keep perspective that God, the powerful Creator, Who alone is imperishable and dwells in unapproachable light, has granted me confident access to His throne of grace, that I might receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need, and to make full use of this access.

To never suggest, by my words or actions or thoughts, that I might be more righteous than God. For He does what is right and this is what I must trust, when He does what is different than I expect or wish.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Last night as I struggled against the insistent tears of hurt, I sat up in bed and told myself, “Abigail, don’t be silly. Suffering for doing what’s right might sound heroic and deserving of drama, but you’re losing sight of true suffering for what is right. Jesus suffered unlike you can ever imagine suffering and He learned obedience through the things which He suffered and has left us an example that we should follow in His footsteps. Which means it’s just what we should expect—all of us. And it works to teach us obedience. You are learning to be obedient to the Father and that’s just exactly a part of your Christian walk that you need work in.” Slowly, methodically I refuted my whining “Why did I get hurt? I didn’t deserve this” attitude. I reminded myself of my rebellion against God, my sin against His holiness and my utter helplessness to stand justified before God. Suddenly what I deserved came into focus like the slow turn of a camera lens: I deserve hell, utterly separated from God, hopeless, dark and agonized. It is only by His mercy that I am not a miserable, damned sinner. Perspective dampens the martyr’s tears and wells up within me the overwhelming joy. I am saved. From a horrible eternal existence without God. From exactly what I deserved. Jesus took the wrath that I deserved. Here I sit, moaning about something I didn’t deserve when He has left me that example. In that moment I knew that I was not suffering. My pain was healed. If the Lord of glory would rescue me from eternal punishment at the expense of Himself, He will do for me what is best. Why do I so lack trust and wallow in misery over things that should bring me joy? So, by His grace I did what was right. Do I suffer for it? Sheesh. Can it really be suffering if it is what God has allowed to teach me obedience? Obedience is only tested through the hard and painful things. Can it really be suffering if given from the loving hand of my Abba Father? Can it really be suffering when measured alongside the suffering of Christ?

Peter held it too much an honor to be crucified like his Lord and asked to be crucified upside down instead. Did he suffer for Christ? He said that suffering in the flesh helps us to forget our flesh and live instead for the will of God. That doesn’t sound to me like a tragedy, but a triumph.

I will learn to embrace the cross, the thorns, the nails if only they demonstrate that I am following the footsteps of Christ and will someday be like Him.

“For even if you should suffer for the sake of righteousness, you are blessed.” 1 Peter 3:14

Teach me, Lord, to measure pain
Alongside of my greater gain
The things that make me seek to hide
Drive me to Thy wounded side.

And there I place my hand and see
That Thou wast wounded more for me
And through Thy pain Thou learned to kneel.
So I will learn and Thou wilt heal.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

I feel as though I’ve thought a million thoughts today and talked a million more. And when I get them all down on paper, perhaps I will expose a few of them to the critical eyes of the world. I am amazed to consider that the Lord knows all of them already.

Lauren shared with me over the phone how she and Nathaniel have formed a method of dealing with issues “on the love seat” to remind them that love must be at the root of it. Without revealing particulars she shared some of her thoughts on when and how to work through issues. “My problem,” I expressed, “is that I have the mistaken view that loving means just always giving in.” “Well,” she answered, “I could probably learn a lot from that.” “No,” I protested. “Not giving in and joyfully serving, but giving in without joy, just giving in and grumbling inwardly. So instead of setting boundaries, I just give in and it festers until I am whining and wondering why I have to be the one who always gives in.” She suggested the best thing I’ve heard yet: seeking to respectfully set boundaries, express preferences and desires and then give in. That’s love.

Why is it that just when I begin to discover what love really means, I discover as well how unloving I am? It seemed easy to never say anything negative, always give in, just do whatever it took to make good happen and pretend like I had no feelings. It’s so hard to really love. In fact, I think I’m a complete failure.

Jesus, help me.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

My mind has definitely switched back “on.” I think I’ve thought a million thoughts this week, but can’t remember a single thread of them.

A quick life update:

The Schriebers moved here from Illinois at the first of the month. Glenn and Papa met online several years ago and Glenn has steadily pursued a friendship with Papa, even traveling to visit and encourage us when we lived in Kansas. For several years now they have desired to move and be near us, but this was the first time they were able to sell their house and order things to allow for the move. They've always lived in the same vicinity--the adjustment for them will be huge! On our part, we are delighted to finally have church fellowship. As in any fellowship, we'll have to get used to each other and learn to prefer each other in honor.

“Of all things,” Josiah said sadly one day, bearing a dustpan into the kitchen, “I stepped on a bat.” The poor fluttermousse lay panting, his wings bent and his webbed tail spread out. He must have already lay expiring on the cold garage floor before Josiah’s bare foot discovered him. Perhaps it’s a hopeful sign that more of his kind linger in the nearby woods, ready to annihilate the army of gnats that has encompassed us. This valiant departed assailant had to be laid to rest in the woods shortly after supper, his last breath gone on the wings of time. This was shortly after our visit to the Mystic Caverns where we expressed our desire to have bats move in around our house to help with the insect overpopulation.

I finally sat down and sorted through a million things I'd stacked in my "think about when I get a chance" file. I worked through some of my fleshly cravings for fulfillment to be reminded of the truth that Jesus is all and does all good. I waded through some of the circumstances and issues that confused me a year ago and caught my breath at the perspective I saw--from just a year away. Circumstances are just circumstances. Sure, God allows them. But they bear little weight when measured against truth. And sometimes truth demands time to become more clear. For the first time in my life I am not confused. I think I am finally beginning to grasp the balance between true patience and my own supposed patience, true love and my supposed forebearance. True love is so hard--takes so much time and effort, seeking someone else's best interest through scripture, wisdom and kindness and seeking to base my actions on that--not simply saying what they desire to hear or giving what they want or doing what they want. It's painful--but nothing like the cross, the nails and God's rejection which Jesus suffered for me.

I was listening carefully to Papa’s voice one day as he read the expanded version of First John when the dive-bombing occurred. A mosquito-eater tumbled out of the sky and bounced onto the table, just inches from my Bible, then clumsily bobbled across the table and off the edge. His mission must have remained unfinished since he repeated the performance twice more before disappearing from the scene of conquest.

I finally got a tetanus booster, a week later for five dollars at the Health Department. My foot was entirely healed.

Lauryn got fish. I wish I could even retell the history of her tank of five finned friends and the dramatic disappearance of Pinky Tuscadero and Fred. Falsely accused, Hot Lips was detained in solitary confinement for further questioning until Fred reappeared. Thus began operation "rescue Pinky Tuscadero" which ended happily with Hot Lips being cleared and the whole family being reunited with joy and laughter.

We watched Miss Lauryn direct the Dtown Highschool Choirs--complete with choreography that screamed her name. She did a fabulous job. Is anyone surprised? She graduated with honors a few days later, along with Emily, Shoko, Donnie and Stacy. We spent the day either in bleachers or at parties--parties according the the believers here consist of prayer, encouragement, good food, praise and lots of love--well and sometimes some volleyball.

Originally I told Angela I'd help her photograph her friend's wedding. Then she agreed to become the wedding coordinator, which loaded her down with responsibilities. But it freed up her camera. In fact, I enjoyed our teamwork--I did all the photography, she did all the bossing.

It was about ten o'clock when Nathaniel called a very pregnant Lauren to ask for a ride. See, a group was playing "Fugitive" and Nathaniel, Donnie, Tommy and Dathan had worked out a perfect strategy for eluding the cops. Lauren and I hopped in the car. Well, actually, I hopped, she plumped. Being pregnant slows down activity and Lauren is VERY pregnant. As the four boys crowded into the back of my car I had one thing to say, "you guys smell amazing." Tommy's voice piped up, "What do you mean by amazing?" Folks, those guys normally have great hygiene--Tommy even reputedly smells "dewicious"--but that night they smell amazingly BAD. Their strategy paid off with a winning game!

Lately I've been blessed by April's company. In fact, we discovered that we wear the same size of clothes--she's just six inches taller. Sadly, she looks much cuter in my clothes than I do.

I've been following up on Christy's clients at the clinic. Sometimes as I open a file to decide what course of action to take next I am overwhelmed by the stark sadness in the notes she left--abuse, taking advantage, broken hearts, substance abuse, abortions, devastation. I closed files that were years old. For years Christy has faithfully waded through sad situation after sad situation. The Lord has been at work in my mind and heart--finally I am able to weep as I read a file, pray for that poor girl, close the file and walk away knowing that the Lord is the only One who can save--any of us.

Jess graduated highschool. Dathan had never met her, but he cheered the loudest. Even did a special cheer for her. Of course, he was cheering and shouting names for almost all the rest of the graduates. And clapping so widely he nearly smashed my face in. Without the least embarrassment. I was almost embarrassed, sitting next to him as he thoroughly enjoyed himself at a highschool graduation where he knew no one.

Papa is back at work, but has had weekends off so far! A huge blessing!

And just when the grass is growing more quickly than a child, all our lawnmowers decide to go on emergency medical leave. One is leaking oil. A blown gasket? One destroyed its own blade belt. Too much stress? And one has been in pieces in the barn all year. If we could find all the hardware for it underneath the Schriebers extra stuff that's being stored in it, we might put it back together and sell it.

It's a strange thing. I'd been exhausted for months, dragging myself out of bed each day, struggling to stay awake during Bible reading or prayer, going to sleep any time I sat down and sleeping hard. Lately I've rediscovered quiet time--alone time with Jesus. Perhaps it's just been emotional exhaustion that leaves me zapped. At any rate, I am at rest--with energy again. And thoroughly enjoying the Lord's lovingkindnesses.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

All day long, everyone kept asking why I was so goofy. On the level, I didn’t think I was being silly at all. I was just enjoying life. I woke up this morning knowing without a doubt that Yahweh is in control, that He has blessed me with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, that I am His daughter and that He will conform me to the image of His beloved Son. Gurus advocate meditation for a sense of well-being. I can’t imagine what they could meditate on that would boost them like knowing the Author of the Universe—and calling Him “Abba.”

Josiah and I made the trek to our namesake town, looking at a property for Glenn’s family. I’m afraid to say anything after the last attempt. I didn’t like the last property at all, but I’ve never seen where they live or what they’ve worked with in the past and I’m a poor hand at construction. Please limit me to screwing screws or destroying sheetrock. Or sanding. There’s nothing to be destroyed sanding. This house seemed much more inviting and certainly better cared for. Dutifully, we took pictures and notes and will offer our observations to those wiser than we. The most delightful event of the trip was a quaint bridge we crossed on our way. Josiah is a perfect companion for me, since he is always more than willing to stop and take pictures. Except, he likes to take pictures, which means he wants to use my camera and force me to be the model.

The ever increasing disorder in the back rooms at the clinic is going to finally drive me over the edge. After spending several hours working on tangled paperwork, a client finally showed up for her appointment. “She’s here to see you,” Linda handed me her file. “Uh, yeah,” I answered, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” We scurried to a back room before I blurted out, “She’s here for a follow-up and ultrasound, there weren’t any issues—what am I supposed to talk to her about?” We had excellent, thorough training on dealing with tough issues, but I found myself panicking as I realized I didn’t know what to do when everything was smooth sailing. Thankfully, that simply meant a short visit, the ultrasound and then passing her down to a mentor. Which left me plenty of time to begin to feel trapped in a kitchen littered with random items. “Look, Josiah!” I exclaimed, opening the refrigerator door. “At least we could keep all the soda cans in one place, don’t you think?” He was sanding the ceiling tile he and Donnie had patched and looked at least forty years older, covered in sheetrock dust as he laughingly answered, “You sound like Papa.” As they rounded up purses and coats at seven-thirty, the ladies found me sitting on the kitchen counter, cleaning out cabinets and consolidating. Becki sat down in a chair laughing at me, which I found rather uncharitable. “Girl, you’re crazy!” Of course, she can vanish into her tidy, little office any time the piles of the undone grow too daunting. Bonnie just giggled, “Have you been eating goofy pills?” Actually, I did have two hamburgers for lunch. Perhaps that was the problem. But someday I’m going to get that place spit-shined clean. It just may be someday a very long time in the future.

Emily had a “surprise” for me, on our way home. Thank you notes from her classroom of second-graders. It wasn’t hard to tell which story was the favorite, thanks to the pictures at the top of each page. “The Little Red Hen” hands down. Emily was embarrassed as she pointed to a letter at the bottom of the pile. “He asked me for a third sheet, and I told him to write on the back. He said he already had. It’s…well, he’s a little odd.” She proceeded to read me a lengthy, rambling letter in which this young man professed over and over that I was the nicest teacher ever and he hoped I would never die. Emily found it embarrassing, but I think it sure beats being told I’m silly.

Monday, March 9, 2009

An X-ray revealed that Papa’s collar-bone was broken in three pieces. The M.D. told him he might need surgery and shuttled him on to an Orthopedic Surgeon who gave him a sling that fit and a pat on the back and sent him home. In the medical field, they are all still practicing, you know, and none have yet reached perfection. At least they no longer use leeches or seek to balance bile and phlemm and blood. There’s simply nothing to be done for a broken collar-bone, except try to keep it from getting jostled. In the meanwhile, Papa’s neck and chest have turned a rainbow of purples and greens. “It’s kind of fun taking care of him,” Mom announced this evening, “Well, except for the flossing. That didn’t go too well.” As for her, she forgets she has a sore knee at times. Like tonight when she got excited and slapped her knee—then bounced out of her chair crying, “Ow, ow, ow!” Lydia and I strove desperately to control our giggles, but when Mom’s amazing sense of humor won out, we joined her laughing.

This morning I sat cross-legged in beg and opened my Bible to Job. And sighed. Sometimes it seems like a passage in scripture is just alive and teeming with amazing truths and encouragement for exactly whatever I’m experiencing. I’ve eaten up Job in the past, but my mind was blank this morning because Job was a godly man under intense attack. I’m not a godly person and my life is cruising along comfortably. Too comfortably perhaps. Truly, I have nothing at all of which to complain. But as I waded in, the Lord proved Himself all-wise with a completely different angle from a story I thought I knew. Behold the wonderful friends who came to comfort Job in his misery—it truly does bespeak devotion that they came and sat in the ashes with him for days before speaking. But when they spoke, they spoke not the truth of God, nor with compassion and they tore apart everything Job expressed. And God rebuked them for their “counsel without knowledge.” I drew in my breath, reminded again how vital is compassion when offering counsel and how necessary is truth and how dangerous the task of taking on responsibility to rebuke or exhort or offer wisdom. How necessary it is for me know God if I would speak to others of Him and not incur His holy rebuke. And how closed my heart so often is to the possibility that someone might suffer in testing—that they haven’t necessarily sinned. My response to suffering should be to embrace, to listen, to weep with those who weep and only rebuke or counsel when I am certain of the truth from scripture.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

I can’t seem to catch up and I hate to move on, leaving behind all the unimportant little things that happen. I’m silly, but dates just stick out in my mind and today makes exactly a year and a half in Arkansas. I realized I’m beginning to conform to the culture. Sunday night, Grandma Sandy offered me a Coke and I asked her “What kind?” She looked at me blankly before answering, “Well…Cherry.”

Just a few things of possible interest before I move on:

Freckles got herself caught in a trap. We rescued her, certain she’d be feeling pretty mellow for the next few days. No such happening. Apparently it was a pretty pathetic trap.

Jacindarella boarded a plane and moved to Peru, with a long-term goal of winding up in Bolivia.

Dathan moved back to Arkansas, one semester short of graduating with his master’s degree, under rather interesting circumstances—involving false accusations and an unjust campus judiciary system. That didn’t stop him from filming several new Homely Hobo videos.

We spent the month of January milking the neighbor’s cow while Olga was in Russia trying to straighten out citizenship issues. Josh Potts was right: milk comes from Wal-mart. The stuff I squeezed from the lumpy udder of Maxine was pure and undiluted labor: unfiltered, unpasturized, unhomoginized. It’s been sometime since my milking days.

President Obama was sworn into office and lied through his teeth when he swore to uphold and defend the constitution. Every action since has been in total opposition of his oath. Hillary Clinton was appointed Secretary of State and Kansas’ own witch of a governor, Kathleen Sibelius has been appointed to his cabinet. I shudder, I quake, I groan. One thing it certainly accomplishes is turning my mind away from politics and back to the nitty gritty of seeking hearts for Christ.

Mom and Papa celebrated their 31st wedding anniversary. In honor of the special occasion, dinner and entertainment were provided by Wynkyn, Blinkyn and Nod aka Stop, Drop and Roll aka Larry, Curly and Mo aka Sin, Cosin and Tangent aka Knife, Fork and Spoon aka Uno, Dos and Tres aka A, B and C etc, etc, etc.

We’re now a family of night owls. Well, sort of. Papa was put on second shift at ConAgra, meaning he works from right after lunch until eleven at night. That’s a little different schedule from heading out for work at 5 AM. But we’re enjoying having the mornings together.

Tommy got himself fired for overstaying at our house. Over speaker phone. We almost felt sorry for him before he confessed that it was a set-up he and his boss had hatched to prank us.

Lydia turned twelve and in honor of her birthday she hosted a tea party. Unfortunately, she has no young lady friends her own age, so her special event was attended by a group of terribly excited young men—between the ages of 20 and 30.

Josiah finished the front deck for our house. Finished with finesse, I must add. It’s simply beautiful, even devoid of his original plan for a grand staircase. We hauled in a load of gravel and added a parking lot out front.

Nathaniel turned twenty-five. Twenty-five sounds so old. At least for my brother.

I set a new personal running record: five miles in fifty-four minutes.

Josiah’s been writing rap for some time now and it’s been steadily growing better. He brings pieces to me, pleading for help and the concept finally rubbed off. I never intended to show my first attempt in that genre to anyone but him, but he enjoyed rapping it so much he wanted to show it to Zach and then the cat was out of the bag. I’ve never labored over a piece of poetry, but that style certainly requires effort, so I take off my hat to those who make a regular habit of it.

Judy was admitted to the hospital for a blockage in her stomach and gave all of us something of a scare. I’ll confess I had no clue whether or not she’d ever come home again, but the Lord cleared up the blockage and brought her home safely. Of course, their car gave up the ghost not long ago, so life is a tight circle of daily happenings for them.

This week I navigated the streets of the Kansas City metropolis in snowy weather all by myself. Well, Josiah was with me, but he’s no help when it comes to navigation. It’d been nearly a year since I’d seen my grandma—my Mom’s mom, so we decided to make the trip. “This is so much fun,” said my eighty-two-year-old grandma who runs a hundred miles an hour (as long as her pacemaker battery is charged), “I’m so glad we get to spend time together without any adults present.” Because at twenty-one, eighteen and eighty-two, we’re all still kids.

That’s all the measurable changes. My mind has been busy running a million different directions. I started over again in the Old Testament in January and I just wrapped up Second Chronicles. I’m always in awe of the concept that I am God’s temple—and He has chosen to indwell me. I find myself lying awake at night trying to fathom God—His size, His majesty, His eternity, His beauty, His power, His glory, His love. It’s when people try to accuse me of being smart that I feel most stupid, knowing I lack wisdom and understanding and feeling foolish in my vain efforts to understand God or to plan His ways. But always, always His ways are good. Dissatisfaction and restlessness have been pervading my attitude for the past several months—some for my spiritual good, some reflective of my selfish tendencies. I can’t bear the thought of mediocrity, or status quo Christianity, so different from the life of Christ. I rage against the expectations of the world, and also of conservative Christendom that seems so content with so much safety, tranquility and comfort and would counsel me to be as well. Yet, how am I set apart and holy? In my raging, I forget that idealism can be a lovely thing when applied to oneself, but a devastating poison when prescribed for others. And I neglect to remember that God was no fool when He placed me exactly where He placed me and that my part is to joyfully submit to my authorities and to sing His praise with every tone in my body and trust Him to orchestrate the majestic symphony of time. I always come back to the same lessons, like a dog chasing her tail, alternately confused and enthusiastic. Obviously, I didn’t earn God’s favor.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

I should have mentioned that my lingering search for a treadmill and total-gym finally paid off and we no longer have need of anyone else’s workout room. Tonight we gathered in the parent’s suite in search of the toasty warmth and also eager to lubricate the treadmill belt. “It’s slipping still,” I informed Papa, and he bravely climbed aboard to try it out. Sure enough, it slipped throwing him forward, then backward until he looked to be doing an Indian war-dance. While Josiah tightened, Papa kept walking at break-neck speed. With an impish grin Josiah winked at us and then grabbed the edge of the belt, causing a ginormous slip which nearly sent Papa tumbling off. We held our collective breath to keep from laughing. “Whoa!” Papa exclaimed. “Better tighten that at least another quarter turn.”

I also neglected to mention that Nick moved in with us yesterday after finishing up his last final. The agreement is that he’ll put in several hours of work per day. This morning he smelled strongly of Windex as he gave every window in the house a thorough shining.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have begun working out again. My bright idea today was sparked while at the Ware’s, cleaning house. A shiny, new shower head lay in the guest bathtub begging to be lovingly placed into its new home. Simple instructions decorated the back, so I slit open the package and installed it. And I did a lovely job, except for the part where it said to screw the hose to the head and finger tighten it. I only used me fingers. I promise! And I hadn’t really even begun to tighten when I heard a sickening “crack!” I waited in trepidation to tell Travis when he got home, but he just laughed and said he’d buy a new one. A better quality one. I crept home in relief.

We finished up Revelation last night and started in on an interesting study tonight. Papa is beginning to feel reinspired to work on a book about the church meeting and we get to help him! Sometimes I hear the words “First Corinthians” and am overwhelmed by an enormous faintness. Is there no other book in the Bible? Sunday night I struggled to pay attention as I heard again a teaching I’ve heard so many times. But today I skimmed through my journal from the first six months here in the not-so-sunny south and was overwhelmed, amazed and reminded of all that I had learned. This book is Papa’s vision. It’s his dream for ministry. I don’t really understand it. I lack his enthusiasm, his drive, his goals. But this is his vision. My joy, my place is in catching his enthusiasm, encouraging his dream and helping his endeavor.

Life stirs within this languid breast. A faint flame is flickering. I must catch it and fan it into a blaze! How have I been languishing and dying all this time? How have I been weeping for myself and avoiding all that is best?

“It takes courage to worship,” says Shai Linne, speaking of the High Priest of bygone days. But worship yields such fullness. Such joy. Such delight.

Here I am to worship.

Lord, I take the faltering step
To come inside the rended veil
To worship at Thy holy throne
To live again within Thy court
To rediscover joy in Thee
To pray with renewed energy
To hope for better things to come
To chase Thy Priest, the Lamb, Thy Son.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

“You’re still discouraged?” Lauren asked me. I hate that I simply can’t shake this heavy feeling of despondency that has settled over my shoulders like a wet blanket. I struggle for truth. I read and read. But I don’t write. Not really write. What would I say? I feel shallow when I talk to people. Lost on the surface of a mirror—just reflecting them back, blocking out any view of deeper inside myself. I laugh a lot. I talk more than I used to. I’m hyper and prattle to Lydia in ridiculous voices. But I feel empty. Lost. Frozen. My heart has become a lump of ice that burns with intense cold inside my chest. And I’ve become secretive again, shutting people off from me. Even Tabby. Because Tabby and I are no longer at the same place. She doesn’t really need me any more. I don’t begrudge her anything—I’m thrilled to see what the Lord is going to do. I just don’t have much to tell her any more and it’s easy just to listen to her tell me about what’s going on in her life. Nothing painful or difficult anymore. She doesn’t really need me.

My dreams and hopes are dead. My thoughts are tangled in a web of should and should not, must and must not, might and might not. I don’t even know where to begin to unravel them. Intense loneliness overwhelms me, no matter who I’m with. Somehow I have withdrawn from the Lord or He has withdrawn from me.

When one has known the presence of the Lord, when one has sat at His feet and heard His voice whisper truth, distance is as deadly as hell. People speak kindly to me, but their voices are from another world. My mind drifts from everything at hand and wanders aimlessly across the scope of the universe searching for something I’ve lost. My heart is full of knowledge, but where is the One I love? In His presence is fullness of joy. In His right hand are pleasures forever.

I am not in His presence and I am miserable.

I wandered the length of the galaxies spread
And found it was formless and empty instead
For only in Thee do all things exist
In the world Thou hast made, it is Thou I have missed.

Sightless, my eyes flicker over creation
I breathe without thinking, yet each inhalation
Leaves me still gasping and wheezing for breath
For a soul wand’ring from Thee is dancing with death.

Ah, Father, Thou sees me, wherever I am.
Like the shepherd who follows the wandering lamb
Please find me here lost and alone and afraid,
By the debt of the Passover Lamb, my debt paid.

Capture my heart once again with Thy grace,
Electrify with Thy redeeming embrace,
And lead me in ways that will bring Thee delight.
Teach me the path that’s both pleasure and right.