Be True To Your School

I'm sure the man didn't intend to make me feel bad. It was my own fault and he had no way of knowing. My husband and I were waiting for our food at Wendy's and while I was collecting drinks and those little tubs of ketchup, an older man pointed at me and said the name of a city in Indiana.
"Terre Haute," he smiled.
He thought I'd been there because I was wearing a tee that boasted the name of a college I did not attend. I felt bad. I told him, no, I hadn't graduated from Indiana State, but Indiana Wesleyan. He was unfazed.
"Marion," he nodded.
He seemed concerned with nothing other than his geographical knowledge of institutes of higher education, but I still felt guilty. Dishonest. I love my school and I felt a little false wearing a shirt that implied I had gone somewhere else. I bought the shirt at a second hand place because I liked the fit. I wasn't losing sleep over it or anything, it just didn't feel honest.

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The only IWU sweatshirt I have left is as old as graduation day and it's pretty ratty so I asked for some new shirts for Christmas. Now I save the Indiana State one for housework or painting and wear my new IWU ones when I go out. If anyone asks me about it I can tell them, yes, I graduated from Indiana Wesleyan University. Go Wildcats!
But here's the thing: All this silly tee shirt stuff made me realize that when I wear the name of my school I am a representative. It's like I tell my boys sometimes, "When people see you they think of Daddy and me. They think of Grandma and Grandpa. You're representing your family and you should honor your family."
So what does that say about my walk with Christ? If I wear a tee shirt that sports the  IWU logo I remind myself to behave in such a way that honors the school. Every day I am a daughter, wife, and mother and I need to conduct myself in a way that brings honor to my family.
Most of all I am follower of Christ. When I let Him down it's like I'm wearing someone else's tee shirt, pledging my allegiance
to someone other than Him.

Progress?

Just a quick one today. I wanted to update you on the dubious progress we're making on cleaning up the bedroom we've been using for storage.You can read the first post here. I took a picture, but I'm too embarrassed to show you until I have an "after" picture to put next to it. I realize this means I might never show it to anyone because, like I said before, it might never happen.
This is one of those things where it gets worse before it gets better. We've made progress,but you can't tell by looking at the room. (I can tell by how wiped out I am) I still don't know what I'm going to do with all the stuff that's in there and I'm reaching a point where I'm not going to be able to do it all on my own.
Sounds like a lot of things in life, doesn't it? Sometimes progress is almost invisible, we don't know how things will turn out and asking for help is a big key to overcoming challenges.
You might be thinking about how dumb all of this sounds but I bet there are a few who get it. And I guess there's another parallel here. The end result is really important to me so I'm willing to put in the effort it takes to achieve it.
Stay tuned! I hope to have something happy to share before too long.

Malicious Sneaky Product Placement

I've told you about how I'm trying to clean up the messiest room in my house. Yesterday Sam and I took another swing at it and we made some progress but it's still pretty bad. I still hold out tenuous hope that it will someday, before my boys graduate, be a cute little library type room.

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So this morning as I was running errands I thought I'd look at some rugs. I'm considering the one on the left in the picture. But as I was standing there browsing I noticed something out of place. In between the rugs and some cleaning supplies sat a tall shelf of toys. They have whole aisles for toys so why in the world would there need to be a random shelf of them in the corner by the rugs?
Of course, we already know why. I was alone this morning as I was browsing, but I could hear the echo of my children's voices in my head. If they had been with me they would have noticed them. Noticed and wanted them. I would not have browsed in peace.
Maybe it was a simple coincidence but I doubt it. They weren't sitting next to the deodorant where you grab the kind you like and move on. Nope. Right there on a big 'ol shelf where Mom has to linger a while to make up her mind. Even if it is a mistake, it's an irritating one.
I have a point to all this ranting. I'm not just talking about toy placement to whine about something that didn't really affect me at all.I really like shopping there and the people are always nice, that's why I'm only showing the cute rugs. So here's what I'm getting at.
It reminded me of how the enemy works. The devil knows how to push our buttons and he will try to make something we don't really want look exceedingly attractive.
But I want to talk about the good news. The good news is that God promises us that if we resist the devil he as to flee. Flee! Not amble away but run. I imagine a cartoon character kicking up dust as he zooms away appearing and disappearing over the hills.
And more good news. Sometimes the product placement isn't sneaky or malicious because it was God's idea in the first place. He uses trials to refine us all the time. I remember something my pastor said once in a sermon. "God is more interested in your character than your comfort."
We're going to see toys in the rug aisle at lot in life. Whether it's something God has allowed the enemy to do or it was His own idea for our best interest, the answer is still the same. If we lean on Him, He will help us. He promises that the temptation will not be impossible to resist and He promises to be with us every step of the way.

God the Mother

Don't freak out on me, I haven't adopted any pagan ideas about Gaia or whatever I just want to talk about some attributes of God. It's because of the library book that got lost in our house for about a month.
Jesse checked out a book at school, I think we read it one time and then it evaporated. To make a long story short, I found it yesterday in the "cold room" hidden in a stack of coloring books I had removed from the kitchen while I was cleaning.
After I found it I posted a comment on facebook: "I found it because I'm the Mama."

You've seen that one quote. "Nothing is really lost until your mom can't find it." Finding is one of those things that is special about moms.
Last week Keith and I were watching this sermon by Rich Wilkerson Jr. It's really good so check it out. He talks about Jesus and lost things. He points out that we are the ones who title one of His parables "The Prodigal Son" but Jesus called it a story about two brothers. Both brothers were lost.
Moms are known for finding lost things and God is, too. God is The Father, but He also loves us like a mother. Check out this passage from the 18th Psalm:

6 In my distress I called to the Lord; I cried to my God for help. From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came before him, into his ears.7 The earth trembled and quaked, and the foundations of the mountains shook; they trembled because he was angry.8 Smoke rose from his nostrils; consuming fire came from his mouth,burning coals blazed out of it.9 He parted the heavens and came down; dark clouds were under his feet.10 He mounted the cherubim and flew; he soared on the wings of the wind.11 He made darkness his covering, his canopy around him—the dark rain clouds of the sky.12 Out of the brightness of his presence clouds advanced,

with hailstones and bolts of lightning. 13 The Lord thundered from heaven; the voice of the Most High resounded.14 He shot his arrows and scattered the enemy,with great bolts of lightning he routed them.15 The valleys of the sea were exposed and the foundations of the earth laid bare at your rebuke, Lord, at the blast of breath from your nostrils.16 He reached down from on high and took hold of me;

he drew me out of deep waters.17 He rescued me from my powerful enemy,from my foes, who were too strong for me.18 They confronted me in the day of my disaster,but the Lord was my support.

19 He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.

That sounds like a mother to me. I mean, if  you want to feel a woman's wrath just mess with her kid. It makes me think of a bear defending her cubs. God hears our distress and the result is smoke and lighting and hailstones and burning coals. Whoa. 

And then at the end He swoops in and comforts us. My boys adore my husband. There are, no question about it, times they want him and not me. But when they're hurt or distressed they will run past their dad to dive into my arms. 

God is Abba. Daddy. He does all the things that good daddies do. 

But He loves us like a Mama, too.

He's the one we run to when we fall and scrape up our hands and knees. I asked Him to help me find the book and He did. Just like a Mama, He's known for finding what's lost.

God and Grandchildren

Abba

Have you ever heard the saying "God doesn't have grandchildren"? I remember hearing that when I was younger and, though I understood and agreed, something about it made me a little sad. I think it was because I knew what it was to be treasured and loved by a grandparent. Grandmas and Grandpas love in a way that no one else does. I mean, is there a more selfless, patient love than the love of a grandparent? I got the point of it, but a little part of me sighed.
And then I became a parent and it made a lot more sense.

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One of the main things I know people mean when they say that God doesn't have grandchildren is that we don't belong to Him by proxy. Just because our parents are believers, and take us to church every week, and pray for us, and teach us what they know, doesn't mean that we have our own relationship with Him. If our relationship with Him isn't personal it's meaningless.
But there's something else, too. A parent's role is different that a grandparent's. A child's main care, upbringing and provision should come from his parents. A grandparent should be able to supplement nurturing while still being able to fawn over and spoil a child in a way that parents cannot. The love of a grandparent differs from that of a parent perhaps not in degree but in kind.
I'm really not trying to make a point about family dynamics as much as I am about  relationships with God. God does not want to be removed from us in a way that keeps Him out of major (or even minor) decisions. Parents name their children, decide which bedroom is theirs, and are responsible for the majority of disciplinary decisions.
Now when I think about God not having grandchildren I think about closeness. And not just the sweet-cuddly kind. The wake-up-with-you-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind. The pay-for-your-braces kind, The take-care-of-you when-you're-sick kind. The I-love-you-too-much-to-allow-that-behavior kind. He wants to be The Source. Not a resource.
I'm not saying that being a grandparent is a worry-free sunshine and lollipops walk in the park, and I know that lots of grandparents have stepped into a role of raising their grandchildren. My opinion about the love of a grandparent has not changed. My boys' grandparents love them so fiercely there's no way it doesn't reflect the love of God and I can't tell you how thankful I am for them.
What I am saying is that God wants all of us. He wants to be the one signing our permission slips and helping us with our homework every night. But unlike earthly parents He doesn't get tired and His patience is infinitely stronger. That's why He's God the Father. He wants you in His house under His specific care. He doesn't want you to be His kid's kid. He wants you for His own.




P.S. If you're interested in more of this topic,here.
Ken Ham has already expanded on it

Just for Fun II

I recently posted an interview with Sam. Jesse was at school when we did that, so I thought it was time to have the same conversation with him. Again his answers are in green.

1.What is something I always say to you?

Um, you love me. 

2. What makes me happy?

Hugging

3. What makes me sad?

Being bad.

4. How do I make you laugh?

Like when Sam falls down on the couch.

5. What was I like as a child?

You had buncha hair.

6. How old am I?

15 

7. How tall am I?

 Nine. (He didn't say nine what, while in the meantime Sam has upgraded me to twelve)

8. What is my favorite thing to do? 

Play with me.

9. What do I do when you're not around? 

Uh, make a scavenger hunt? (really should do that more often)

10. What am I really good at?

Uhm, making Fredrickson's house. (He wants me to draw it so he can color it. )

11. What am I not very good at?

Build my toy truck. (His project with Daddy)

12. What do I do for a job?

Do dishes?

13. What is my favorite favorite food?

Rice?

14. What do you enjoy doing with me?

Finding scavenger hunt. (Ok, I really need to do that more often)

Just for Fun

       Interview with Sam

       So if you’ve been reading these posts for the past few days, you may have sensed that I’ve been a little stressed lately. For a little change of pace, I thought I’d share an interview I had with my four-year-old. I didn’t come up with these questions so they might be familiar to you. 

   His answers are in green, I’ve tried to communicate them as accurately as possible. I needed a little lightheartedness today so I thought maybe you did, too.  Hope it makes you smile. You can see Jesse's interview here.

1.What is something I always say to you?

No. (ouch)

2. What makes me happy?

When I get the eggs and frow the scraps out and Jesse's does the Dewey food. (Dewey is our dog)

3. What makes me sad?

When you cry?

4. How do I make you laugh?

When you do that BITING GAME! (It’s basically tickling him, please don’t send nasty emails)

5. What was I like as a child?

You were little

6. How old am I?

Very old 

7. How tall am I?

(trailing his hand from my feet to my head as I sit in a chair) Like, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9! Nine tall.

8. What is my favorite thing to do? 

Uh, do the eggs?

9. What do I do when you're not around? 

You go home

10. What am I really good at?

Doing the ice game? You’re good at that. (Pretty sure this is referring to that “Don’t Break the Ice” game they got for Christmas. They need me to set it up so they can knock the pieces out)

11. What am I not very good at?

Those circle things? That circle came? Cause you keep cheating me and I keep cheating you. (Not entirely sure about this one. He must not like the spinner game as well.)

12. What do I do for a job?

Uh, do the plants? When it’s summertime?

13. What is my favorite favorite food?

Chicken and rice?

14. What do you enjoy doing with me?

Uh..cuddle up with you (That’s one of my favorite things, too!)

Pastor Holland's Opus

Pastor Holland’s Opus

        Two Octobers ago my church, the church I have attended since babyhood celebrated its 130th birthday. We made a really big deal out of it. One Sunday we dressed up in “old timey” clothes and took sepia-toned pictures. There was a gigantic carry-in and lots of people came back to visit. Former pastors, missionaries and lots of friends. It was glorious. 

me in "old timey" garb

I am profoundly grateful for my church family on ordinary days, but on that day I was overcome with just how much my life has been impacted by the people who worship at “the church on the curve”.
       It made me think of that Richard Dreyfus movie- Mr. Holland’s Opus. Remember the scene at the end when dozens of his former students come back to play the great work he had been composing for most of his life? It was sort of like that. Only in reverse. I was not sitting there looking over my own accomplishments. Not my great work, but God’s work in me. I was the opus (just like we all are). 
       Pastor Boardman was there with his family. Steve is the first pastor I remember. He baptized me when I was eleven years old. His eldest is one of my dearest friends in all the world. I have vivid childhood memories of Pastor Boardman joyously leading Bible School songs like “Only a Boy Named David”. 
       Pastor Holland was there. (Yep, that’s right we had our own Hollands) Brian was my youth pastor when I was a teen. I can hear him now, as I type these words, giving the advice I know impart to my young boys, “Remember who you are, and whose you are.” 
      There were my Sunday School teachers and youth leaders and people who sent me cards and came to my plays and read my stories. We've shared meals and laughed together. They patched me up when my heart got broken, and were there when I needed advice. They have composed notes in the great work that God is doing in me. Each of us is His great work. His opus. He has used my church family to recreate me in His own image. 
       I met my husband in Sunday School. Pastor Van Cise (the current pastor) preformed our wedding. Pastor Paul also dedicated both of our sons. 
      And the legacy continues. Now as my children are being written, they are orchestrated by God’s hand, and He still uses the wonderful people in our church family to bless and teach and comfort and lead. What a precious, wondrous gift. 
      I pray that I am not only a recipient of this astounding gift, but I, too, want to be an instrument. I want my life to compose notes in other great works. What a beautiful symphony it must make when we love one another. 

It's Not About the Nail

It Really Isn’t About the Nail. Really

      There's a rather satiric video floating around the internet of a couple having a conversation. The woman has a nail sticking out of her forehead. Have you seen it? She's telling her husband how the nail makes her feel and he tries tentatively suggesting that she remove it. She immediately shuts him down. She doesn't want him to tell her what to do, she just wants him to listen to her talk about her feelings. To be honest, when I saw this it really rubbed me the wrong way. I was actually a little surprised that a woman was willing to make such a video. If her solution were really that obvious she would know what to do to solve her problem. No offense, guys, really. I'm not trying to make a statement about men vs women. I want to say something about compassion.
Back when I saw the video I'd been reading Kay Warren's book about joy. One chapter was about nurturing joy in others. She pointed out that we feel frustrated when we don't feel heard. Have you ever tried to tell someone about a problem and they minimized the issue instead of acknowledging how you feel about it? I'm not saying people should be able to whine and complain all the time, I just think that we should be empathetic before offering a lot of “well, if you would just...” instructions and then walking away.
The main reason I think that this is true is because it's what Jesus did. Here's just one example: Jesus knew Lazarus was going to die. He waited until the man was already gone before He made His way over to Bethany where Lazarus had lived with his sisters and  found the family grieving. They asked him why He hadn't come sooner. They cried. He cried. Jesus didn't tell them to calm down. That He had a plan all along, or why didn't they just trust Him in the first place. He knew that He was going to restore Lazarus to them, but before He did, he acknowledged their sadness and took it onto Himself as well. Why wait? Why not just jump in and fix it? Why would He have done such a thing as weep with them unless it really mattered? Jesus didn't lecture or scold. He validated their pain, even though He knew He was about to heal it.

Rhinestone Legacy

Rhinestone Legacy

I think I was eleven or twelve. My mom and I went out to eat at The Galley. Those were the good old days when we had one close by. We were greeted by the adorable hostess, Pat and her warm, enthusiastic smile. I don't know if she was naturally super short, like me, or if she was one of those old ladies that sort of shrunk with age. It didn't matter, because she was as sweet a person you would ever want to meet and bursting with personality. 
I think the thing that stood out to me most about Pat was the pin on her lapel. She was one of those ladies who liked lots of jewelry, but there was one piece that drew my eye. It was a rather large rhinestone thing that spelled out a word in careful cursive. Jesus. How simple. How bold. This dear woman proudly wore her Savior's name right there on her shoulder for everyone to see. I admired her gentle testimony. I wanted her to know. “I like your pin” I told her. She smiled. I think she said something grandmotherly, “thank you, honey,” and she seated us so we could enjoy our meal. 
We didn't eat out often, but eventually we came around again. Mom and me and The Galley. Again Pat was there to bless and smile at us. Again she wore her Jesus pin. Again I told her I liked it, but this time she didn't thank me. Pat remembered me and asked me if I were “that little girl that liked her pin before.” I told her, yes, that was me, and she did something amazing. Pat took the pin off of her shirt and held it out to me. I hadn't noticed, but this pin was smaller than the one she had worn before. It was for me. She had bought another one and worn it waiting for me to come back. I was so touched. What a lovely thing to do.
And yes, I still have my pin. I took it out to look at it when I was reminded of this gift last week. My lovely, quirky, friend doesn't need her pin anymore because now she has the Real Thing. I didn't get to attend her funeral, but I was told that she was laid to rest with her Jesus pin on her lapel. I really didn't know her well at all, but it doesn't matter. I am a small part of her legacy. Pat is a beautiful reminder that our witness for Christ doesn't have to be something loud or extreme. For me her legacy is a warm hug, a sweet smile and a rhinestone pin. I love you, Pat. Not even in my wildest imagination can I picture your reward.