After 9 months of anticipation, our 3rd 'niece', Karis (who's name, you'll notice, is spelled a lot like mine), has joined us!
She arrived on December 4th. That morning Stephan and I packed up a bag and headed to her parent's house for a 4 day stay. We'd been given the HUGE honor and wildly fun job of watching the other 5 siblings while mom and dad were away welcoming Karis to the ranks.
It was definitely one of the absolute funnest weekends of my life. Every time I head over to this family's home to watch the kids for a day while mom and dad are out, or just hang out with the whole family for dinner, prayer and games, I always brace myself to have my desire for a big family adjusted.
It never happens.
And now, after 4 days with these phenomenal kids, I'm more sure than ever that it never will. I simply can't imagine having fewer than 4 or 5 kids now. Stephan and I pray for a big family more fervently than ever.
Over the past few days I've counted to 5 a million times, making sure all troops were accounted for - and instructed those little troops to help clean and cook. I've changed diapers, picked out clothes and done hair. I've bought bunny food and hot chocolate. I've peeled countless clementines. I've made party hats and welcome signs and fairies with little star faces. I've wiped noses and cleaned faces.
And, on one particularly memorable day, I was crowned queen, my husband the king was killed in a great battle, my throne was usurped, I crossed mountains, was chased by goblins, lived renegade in an abandoned cottage, fell deathly ill with fever, was nursed back to health by my dedicated children, was sent word that the usurper had been overthrown by a planted spy, was restored to my throne, and married to said spy after years of exile... (fortunately Stephan returned with the 10-year-old from an errand they were running and lunch was served).
I watched my 'nephew' design tobogans for the stairs and lead his little brothers in using them. I've listened through the bathroom vent as he helped his little brothers bathe. I've been astounded by the astuteness of his questions and insatiable curiosity. I've squinted when I was reminded again how loud he can be.
I sat on the front stoop and knitted a scarf with my 'niece'. I've marveled at her creativity and ingenuity as I've watched her work with her hands on various craft projects. I've shook my head at her free spirit and beauty. I've snickered at her undying desire to enforce what the grown ups say.
I listened to my 'nephew' hold a little plastic toy in his hand and create an entire world around it. His creativity is absolutely boundless. I've listened to and participated in his endless stories. He can imagine anything into existance. And, whenever I have to point his sin out to him, he knows that Jesus had to die for it, but also that he has a savior. I pray this knowledge penetrates his heart (and his siblings') soon.
I've read Green Eggs and Ham to my 'nephew' at least 7 times. I've smirked as he always points out that the food gets wet at the end and the dog-guy still eats it. I've chuckled at how he always jumps at loud noises in movies. I've watched as he strives to keep up with his siblings as they run and jump from helecopters and stormed penguin villages, thinking he really caught the storyline but thoroughly enjoying the romp. All assumptions were debunked the day I fell into hysterics when, after learning his brother was playing the role of polar bear hunter, he pulled his bear-eared winter hat off and declared "I don't want to wear this hat - my brother will shoot at me!" I've melted as I watch him wait eagerly for the hug that comes after every time he has to ask forgiveness from one of his siblings.
I've asked my 'neice' "where's Karis?" over and over, trying to help her understand that her sister is now here with us and no longer "in mommy's tummy!", as she's answered for 9 months. I've put her hair up in pigtails and held her to the mirror so she could see. I've buckled her into her high chair - sometimes long before a meal, at her request - so we wouldn't find her hanging overboard. I've fed her, and felt my heart drop into my stomach when I realized it was too hot for her little mouth. She's a forgiving (or forgetful) and obedient child, however, and it truly is a joy to have her listen and respond when I say "that's hot!" or "wait for me!", or even just "no, sweetie."
And now we have Karis. I can't wait for the stories I'll have of her.
Oh, and then there's the awesome parents. What can I say about them...Go Cowboys?
Love to the whole clan of 8 - can't wait to be with you guys again!
08 December 2008
04 November 2008
This time, every year...
...2 things happen:
1 - I roll my age another year older
2 - elections are held
This year is a presidential election - it's very special! I'm blessed to work near home (and thus near my polling place), but also in an environment where we're strongly encouraged to do our civic duty and take advantage of the privilege we have in choosing our leaders. Indeed, when I laid my work out before my boss on the 4th, asking for help prioritizing, with "VOTING" on my list of to-dos for the day, he moved voting to the very top.
We made history that day, some of us voting for the first black man on the ballot, some of us voting for the first woman (by proxy) on the ballot. Hopefully America is getting beyond petty discrimination. Time will tell.
I was definitely suffering from election fatigue, however. Living near DC, national news is local news, so Obama/McCain banter is all I've been hearing for the past...um...well, you get the idea.
A friend said to me on the 4th "It'll all be over tomorrow." I responded "I sure hope so - I hope we don't have a repeat of 2000... I'm already open to the guys flipping a coin as it is...that would push me over the edge."
Of course I was being facetious about the candidates flipping a coin - no way would I say that in reality. But I was SO ready for this election season to be over - that's the truth!
You can almost smell politics around here. It just seems to waft up the Potomac from the City. Yesterday, you could tell that, either way, there were going to be a large group of people who would be very dissapointed, because there were lots of folks who were putting their hope in a man.
That's the biggest heartbreaker of this election, even more than I've seen in past years. People are looking around at growing threats of terrorism, an incredibly long war with no end in sight, and an economic crisis that's crippling many of us - and not just us, but others around the world. The world is scary. We want change. We want hope.
Stephan was up late last night doing homework. When he finally crawled into bed around midnight he whispered the verdict to me. "Obama won."
I wasn't either happy or sad. I wasn't enamored with either candidate. I didn't feel I could put stock in either Obama's message of change or McCain's energetic determination. They are both men. The world is scary to me too. I want change and hope as much as anyone else in this nation. I want someone to protect me from the trouble that could be coming. But I'm not going to find any of those things in men.
So where can we look? Scripture tells us:
And for the Christian, he is our fortress, our very present help in trouble.
This passage ends with a thrilling declaration from God himself, giving us our marching orders for times of trouble:
I was cleaning up my home earlier and had music playing. One of the songs was the old hymn Crown Him with Many Crowns. The closing verse struck me today as we put a (again, figurative) king on America's throne. It was hope-giving. The last phrases go as follows:
Crown Him with many crowns
As thrones before him fall;
Crown him, ye kings, with many crowns
for he is King of all.
One day the thrones of the earth are going to fall, and all those leaders will acknowledge God's over-arching reign. Let me interrupt myself here to clarify that I'm not preaching doom against America's government - nor do I think scripture is. One of my prayers this election season was that God would continue to have mercy on and sustain our nation, despite our horrendous rebellion against him, in order that we'd would have longer to repent and turn to him. That is still my prayer. I don't want to see America fall. But it would be short-sighted to think we can put our hope in our government. God is our only hope, for, as Psalm 47:8 tells us plainly, "God reigns over the nations; God sits on his holy throne."
Congratulations to President elect Obama! I'm thrilled to have a black president!! I'm also excited to give you the respect and support your office deserves. However, I do still confess with Proverbs 21:1: "The king's heart is a stream of water in the hand of the Lord, He turns it wherever He will."
1 - I roll my age another year older
2 - elections are held
This year is a presidential election - it's very special! I'm blessed to work near home (and thus near my polling place), but also in an environment where we're strongly encouraged to do our civic duty and take advantage of the privilege we have in choosing our leaders. Indeed, when I laid my work out before my boss on the 4th, asking for help prioritizing, with "VOTING" on my list of to-dos for the day, he moved voting to the very top.
We made history that day, some of us voting for the first black man on the ballot, some of us voting for the first woman (by proxy) on the ballot. Hopefully America is getting beyond petty discrimination. Time will tell.
I was definitely suffering from election fatigue, however. Living near DC, national news is local news, so Obama/McCain banter is all I've been hearing for the past...um...well, you get the idea.
A friend said to me on the 4th "It'll all be over tomorrow." I responded "I sure hope so - I hope we don't have a repeat of 2000... I'm already open to the guys flipping a coin as it is...that would push me over the edge."
Of course I was being facetious about the candidates flipping a coin - no way would I say that in reality. But I was SO ready for this election season to be over - that's the truth!
You can almost smell politics around here. It just seems to waft up the Potomac from the City. Yesterday, you could tell that, either way, there were going to be a large group of people who would be very dissapointed, because there were lots of folks who were putting their hope in a man.
That's the biggest heartbreaker of this election, even more than I've seen in past years. People are looking around at growing threats of terrorism, an incredibly long war with no end in sight, and an economic crisis that's crippling many of us - and not just us, but others around the world. The world is scary. We want change. We want hope.
Stephan was up late last night doing homework. When he finally crawled into bed around midnight he whispered the verdict to me. "Obama won."
I wasn't either happy or sad. I wasn't enamored with either candidate. I didn't feel I could put stock in either Obama's message of change or McCain's energetic determination. They are both men. The world is scary to me too. I want change and hope as much as anyone else in this nation. I want someone to protect me from the trouble that could be coming. But I'm not going to find any of those things in men.
So where can we look? Scripture tells us:
"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way...The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress...Come, behold the works of the Lord... He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire." (from Psalm 46)This passage is so clear that God is over all the earth - the nations of the world rage and fight and fall, but it's God's voice that could melt the earth and all on it with a single utterance. He is sovereign over any war humans are fighting.
And for the Christian, he is our fortress, our very present help in trouble.
This passage ends with a thrilling declaration from God himself, giving us our marching orders for times of trouble:
This is the hope of my heart as we transition into new leadership. No matter who we put on America's (figurative) throne, God has already decided that one day, he will be exalted throughout the earth. We're to be still - or trust him - until that day. This doesn't mean do nothing (we still vote knowing we're pleasing God, for example). But our ultimate hope is not in those votes. It's in the Lord. We're to confess and believe that he is God."Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!" The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress." (from Psalm 46)
I was cleaning up my home earlier and had music playing. One of the songs was the old hymn Crown Him with Many Crowns. The closing verse struck me today as we put a (again, figurative) king on America's throne. It was hope-giving. The last phrases go as follows:
Crown Him with many crowns
As thrones before him fall;
Crown him, ye kings, with many crowns
for he is King of all.
One day the thrones of the earth are going to fall, and all those leaders will acknowledge God's over-arching reign. Let me interrupt myself here to clarify that I'm not preaching doom against America's government - nor do I think scripture is. One of my prayers this election season was that God would continue to have mercy on and sustain our nation, despite our horrendous rebellion against him, in order that we'd would have longer to repent and turn to him. That is still my prayer. I don't want to see America fall. But it would be short-sighted to think we can put our hope in our government. God is our only hope, for, as Psalm 47:8 tells us plainly, "God reigns over the nations; God sits on his holy throne."
Congratulations to President elect Obama! I'm thrilled to have a black president!! I'm also excited to give you the respect and support your office deserves. However, I do still confess with Proverbs 21:1: "The king's heart is a stream of water in the hand of the Lord, He turns it wherever He will."
Happy Birthday...
...to ME!
Friday I will officially enter my late 20s.
Friday brings the big 2-6!
Friday I'll arguably be a grown up.
Friday I'll have been married for 4.5 years - WAY longer than I'd planned before having kids...
But, by God's ENORMOUS grace, I wasn't bemoaning the fact I'd wanted to be a mom by 23. I've been so outrageously blessed over these past 3, different-than-I'd-desired years. I can't say I want those trials back, but now, after I've see the fruit borne from them, I wouldn't trade them.
Indeed, Sunday, when Stephan announced we were celebrating my birthday that night, I was celebrating!
Stephan had some homework to finish before we could paint the town red, so he dropped me at our local Borders to have my quiet time and read while he did 'one last thing'. While he was out I saw a coworker and her new husband (hurray!) shopping for a cookbook. It was lovely seeing them while I waited.
When Stephan returned he had his quiet time too and after a couple hours of work for him and reading for me, we were in the car heading out for dinner. He didn't tell me where we were going, but as we drove along my suspicions narrowed until they eventually pin-pointed in the parking garage outside my favorite Spanish tapa bar, Jaleo!
"Before we go in," Stephan said, reaching into the back seat, "...your gift!"
Inside the gift bag was a bottle of my favorite face scrub (which was the 'one last thing' Stephan had run out to get) and a red shirt. This is a special red shirt - it's from Gap's (RED) line, the products they sell and donate proceeds to AIDS research and relief in Africa. The red shirts have different words across the front, and where the letters R-E-D appear, they add the parens and Voila! you have INSPI(RED) and CULTU(RED) and now, on my shirt, TREASU(RED). I saw this shirt in the store and loved it - but remembered commenting to Stephan that "THAT is not a shirt you buy for yourself..." It had to be bought by someone who, well, treasures you!
'Nuff said. I was pretty moved. If ever I wondered how Stephan felt about me, it was printed across the front of my shirt - treasured.
After reading a very sweet card (written on one of the Thank You notes we used after our wedding!) we headed into the restaurant!
We ordered 6 tapas and Sangria, and as we nibbled Stephan had some meaningful encouragement for me. I was pretty taken aback and very edified. The food was wonderful, as usual at Jaleo. The company was phenomenal, as was to be expected with Stephan. Then there was another surprise.
Stephan pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to our waiter.
"It's my wife's birthday," he explained. "She recieved this in her email."
The waiter smirked and nodded, then slipped away, assuring us he'd 'take care of it.'
Moments later the hostess popped over to our table and, after confirming it was indeed my birthday, presented me with a small vial of Spanish saffron. THAT'S a present that blows free dessert or a drink out of the water. I'll definitely be back at Jaleo next year.
Stephan lead really well in conversation through dinner. It was so pleasant to just sit down and have him available for chatter. School is bearing down on him and those times are less and less frequent in this season. His sacrifice of time was probably the most meaninful of his gifts.
On the way home he asked if I'd like to rent Prince Caspian to watch together. After affirming that I would, we swung by Blockbuster only to learn it wasn't released on video yet. So instead, Stephan asked if I'd be blessed by him giving me an hour of his time to help me clean up the house. I emphatically said it would, being as our home had gotten a little messy and I knew it would take a large chunk of time the next day to normalize the place. With Stephan's help, it was done in half the time and I could get on to non-urgent tasks I'd been putting off. I was EXTREMELY grateful!
The last present of the day was getting to bed on time! Try as we might, this doesn't happen too regularly in our home. It was wonderful.
Stephan, you're an incredibly thoughtful and sacrificial husband. Whenever I reflect on it, I can see how, in every way, you are the perfect match created for me by God. Thanks for making 26 so special. Thanks for treasuring me. Even if children never come for us, you're more to me than 10 sons. Love you buckets!
Friday I will officially enter my late 20s.
Friday brings the big 2-6!
Friday I'll arguably be a grown up.
Friday I'll have been married for 4.5 years - WAY longer than I'd planned before having kids...
But, by God's ENORMOUS grace, I wasn't bemoaning the fact I'd wanted to be a mom by 23. I've been so outrageously blessed over these past 3, different-than-I'd-desired years. I can't say I want those trials back, but now, after I've see the fruit borne from them, I wouldn't trade them.
Indeed, Sunday, when Stephan announced we were celebrating my birthday that night, I was celebrating!
Stephan had some homework to finish before we could paint the town red, so he dropped me at our local Borders to have my quiet time and read while he did 'one last thing'. While he was out I saw a coworker and her new husband (hurray!) shopping for a cookbook. It was lovely seeing them while I waited.
When Stephan returned he had his quiet time too and after a couple hours of work for him and reading for me, we were in the car heading out for dinner. He didn't tell me where we were going, but as we drove along my suspicions narrowed until they eventually pin-pointed in the parking garage outside my favorite Spanish tapa bar, Jaleo!
"Before we go in," Stephan said, reaching into the back seat, "...your gift!"
Inside the gift bag was a bottle of my favorite face scrub (which was the 'one last thing' Stephan had run out to get) and a red shirt. This is a special red shirt - it's from Gap's (RED) line, the products they sell and donate proceeds to AIDS research and relief in Africa. The red shirts have different words across the front, and where the letters R-E-D appear, they add the parens and Voila! you have INSPI(RED) and CULTU(RED) and now, on my shirt, TREASU(RED). I saw this shirt in the store and loved it - but remembered commenting to Stephan that "THAT is not a shirt you buy for yourself..." It had to be bought by someone who, well, treasures you!
'Nuff said. I was pretty moved. If ever I wondered how Stephan felt about me, it was printed across the front of my shirt - treasured.
After reading a very sweet card (written on one of the Thank You notes we used after our wedding!) we headed into the restaurant!
We ordered 6 tapas and Sangria, and as we nibbled Stephan had some meaningful encouragement for me. I was pretty taken aback and very edified. The food was wonderful, as usual at Jaleo. The company was phenomenal, as was to be expected with Stephan. Then there was another surprise.
Stephan pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to our waiter.
"It's my wife's birthday," he explained. "She recieved this in her email."
The waiter smirked and nodded, then slipped away, assuring us he'd 'take care of it.'
Moments later the hostess popped over to our table and, after confirming it was indeed my birthday, presented me with a small vial of Spanish saffron. THAT'S a present that blows free dessert or a drink out of the water. I'll definitely be back at Jaleo next year.
Stephan lead really well in conversation through dinner. It was so pleasant to just sit down and have him available for chatter. School is bearing down on him and those times are less and less frequent in this season. His sacrifice of time was probably the most meaninful of his gifts.
On the way home he asked if I'd like to rent Prince Caspian to watch together. After affirming that I would, we swung by Blockbuster only to learn it wasn't released on video yet. So instead, Stephan asked if I'd be blessed by him giving me an hour of his time to help me clean up the house. I emphatically said it would, being as our home had gotten a little messy and I knew it would take a large chunk of time the next day to normalize the place. With Stephan's help, it was done in half the time and I could get on to non-urgent tasks I'd been putting off. I was EXTREMELY grateful!
The last present of the day was getting to bed on time! Try as we might, this doesn't happen too regularly in our home. It was wonderful.
Stephan, you're an incredibly thoughtful and sacrificial husband. Whenever I reflect on it, I can see how, in every way, you are the perfect match created for me by God. Thanks for making 26 so special. Thanks for treasuring me. Even if children never come for us, you're more to me than 10 sons. Love you buckets!
24 October 2008
A trip to Clyde's...
Has anyone ever been to the Clyde's Restaurant in Potomac, Maryland? It's a pretty lavish restaurant, with elaborate festooning and (I hear) wonderful food!
I had to go there to pick up a gift card to give as a gift to one of our church members, and saw some 'new' thing...
First, I got off the interstate and knew I'd have to make a U-turn at the first light. But, I approached the light and there was a "no U-turn" sign. Alright. Made a left. At the end of the median, where I could have made a U-turn, there was another "no U-turn" sign. Alright. Made a left into the first neighborhood. At the first intersection, where the street is open enough to turn your car around, guess what was there? A "no U-turn on this block" sign!
Not the most user-friendly neighborhood.
But when I finally made it to Clyde's, the place was totally decked out for Halloween, with spider webs and autumn leaves EVERYWHERE. Again, elaborate festooning rules the day!
Beyond that, on my way out, I saw to elderly gentlemen approaching, one of whom was using a cane. I held the door open for them. The fellow with the cane went on, and his companion, another (spunky) man came up and said "You, my dear, are a perfect gentleman!"
Score.
I had to go there to pick up a gift card to give as a gift to one of our church members, and saw some 'new' thing...
First, I got off the interstate and knew I'd have to make a U-turn at the first light. But, I approached the light and there was a "no U-turn" sign. Alright. Made a left. At the end of the median, where I could have made a U-turn, there was another "no U-turn" sign. Alright. Made a left into the first neighborhood. At the first intersection, where the street is open enough to turn your car around, guess what was there? A "no U-turn on this block" sign!
Not the most user-friendly neighborhood.
But when I finally made it to Clyde's, the place was totally decked out for Halloween, with spider webs and autumn leaves EVERYWHERE. Again, elaborate festooning rules the day!
Beyond that, on my way out, I saw to elderly gentlemen approaching, one of whom was using a cane. I held the door open for them. The fellow with the cane went on, and his companion, another (spunky) man came up and said "You, my dear, are a perfect gentleman!"
Score.
30 September 2008
Not surprising...
Saturday night my husband gave me one of my favorite gifts in the world - a concert ticket!
He had homework, so he sent me to the chic music club Jammin Java to see a celtic artist I'd never heard before, a gal who sings traditional tunes from the Hebredis Islands in Scottish Gaelic. Her name is Julie Fowlis, and she's probably got one of the best celtic-genre voices I've ever heard. (and yes, I still say that even being very familiar with the work of Karan Casey - also phenomenal, but I believe now dethrowned as my favorite.)
I drove my little red Fit down to Vienna, VA and made it in time to grab a cup of tea by (suprise!) my favorite tea blender Harney & Sons and get a seat near the front. The biggest treat of concerts to me (yes, even above the music) is seeing married couples perform together. Julie was there with a small band composed of a terrific fiddler and guitaries, but also her husband Eamon Doorley on bouzouki (think guitar, but Irish-er). The look on his face when she opened the show with a haunting acapella song was priceless.
The show was not only bulging with talent from all angles, but also engaging. There was lots of time given to my all-time favorite art (that of story-telling), since the songs were all in a language I didn't speak. Julie was well spoken and concise, and of course, this American found her accent absolutely endearing =)
But as she told story after story, I was reminded of an experience I'd had at another concert given by a Scottish folk singer name Jim Malcolm. Jim is a superb story-teller, and of course was telling the cooresponding stories to his songs as well. After the intermission (during which he manned his own CD table), he returned to the stage and told us - you guessed it - a story.
"During the break," he said, "I was approached by a fellow who said, 'Jim - why is so much of British-Isle folk music so sad?" I laughed a light, understanding laugh. British-Isle traditional music is incredibly sad. The stories are often of murder, or death by another means, or adultery, or vengence - some of them are so depraved I won't listen to them. There's a huge slice of the genre that has nothing edifying to offer at all. At the concerts there are both slices, and in that setting I take the good with the bad.
So, Jim's answer to the break-time inquirer? "Well, I said to him, 'Have you ever been to Scottland?'"
The audience laughed like they understood. But I didn't understand. I've been to Scottland and it's beautiful. I sigh for the day I can go back, if the Lord is pleased to let me. His answer was jestful, to be sure - but also completely unsatisfactory.
And at Julie's concert, I was reminded of that encounter. Julie was telling sad stories too. Her concert was outstanding. Her effortless talent (and that of her backup) was obvious. Her fans were devoted, as evidenced by the two encors they demanded (my favorite was when she came out the first time and timidly stepped up to her mic, saying "Mr. Sound Man - I have a surprise for you - I'm sorry I didn't mention this earlier..." then proceeded to pull out an enormous set of pipes, which she played deftly. The second encor was an acapella audience sing-along, if you were curious.) It was a bang-up performance. But my mind still went to the same place it went after the Jim Malcolm concert.
Driving home after Jim, I returned to the question he'd 'answered' for us. Why is this music so sad, God? I felt an answer as clearly as if it were spoken: Matthew 12:34 - "For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks."
These songs were written by people who didn't have peace with their creator. They didn't know the good news that they could be reconciled to God. They probably didn't even understand they needed a savior to ransom them from their sin. Indeed, they were likely in bondage to the false religions of Celtic witchcraft. Of course the words overflowing from their hearts were desperate and hopeless. They were more than just sad, they were depraved. It's not surprising that such an overflow would produce the content of these tranditional songs.
As I mentioned earlier, I screen alot of this music when listening to it myself. There is one song I occasionally let slip through the firewall, though. It's called "I wonder what's keeping my true love tonight" (they didn't have to fit track titles on CDs back then...) by the band Solas. It's a conversation between a faithful man and his unfaithful lady lover. The song begins with him wondering where his true love is that night, for if she knew the anguish she was causing him by staying away, surely she wouldn't do so.
Enter the lady - she appears and reports that she's stayed away not because she was hindered, but because she's found someone else. In one heart breaking line she says "I told you I loved you to set your mind at ease - but when I'm far from you I love as I please."
There are many places in the bible (Ezekiel 16 being one pronounced place) where God draws an analogy between his idolatrous people and an unfaithful wife. This song has a flavor that draws my thoughts to the grief God must feel when I forsake him, not because I'm hindered (indeed, the curtain is torn in too!), but because I've chosen another idol to love. The closing line in the song, spoken by the man, says "You're love, it lies as lightly as the dew upon the corn comes down in the evening, goes away in the morn." How my affection for God would undillate and wane if he weren't faithful in holding on to me! I'm so grateful that God has decided to love me and never let me leave him - otherwise, my sinful heart would certainly wander, or worse, forsake him permanently.
I'll close with one of the most hope-giving passages of scripture I know, the words of Jesus himself in John 10:27-28...
He had homework, so he sent me to the chic music club Jammin Java to see a celtic artist I'd never heard before, a gal who sings traditional tunes from the Hebredis Islands in Scottish Gaelic. Her name is Julie Fowlis, and she's probably got one of the best celtic-genre voices I've ever heard. (and yes, I still say that even being very familiar with the work of Karan Casey - also phenomenal, but I believe now dethrowned as my favorite.)
I drove my little red Fit down to Vienna, VA and made it in time to grab a cup of tea by (suprise!) my favorite tea blender Harney & Sons and get a seat near the front. The biggest treat of concerts to me (yes, even above the music) is seeing married couples perform together. Julie was there with a small band composed of a terrific fiddler and guitaries, but also her husband Eamon Doorley on bouzouki (think guitar, but Irish-er). The look on his face when she opened the show with a haunting acapella song was priceless.
The show was not only bulging with talent from all angles, but also engaging. There was lots of time given to my all-time favorite art (that of story-telling), since the songs were all in a language I didn't speak. Julie was well spoken and concise, and of course, this American found her accent absolutely endearing =)
But as she told story after story, I was reminded of an experience I'd had at another concert given by a Scottish folk singer name Jim Malcolm. Jim is a superb story-teller, and of course was telling the cooresponding stories to his songs as well. After the intermission (during which he manned his own CD table), he returned to the stage and told us - you guessed it - a story.
"During the break," he said, "I was approached by a fellow who said, 'Jim - why is so much of British-Isle folk music so sad?" I laughed a light, understanding laugh. British-Isle traditional music is incredibly sad. The stories are often of murder, or death by another means, or adultery, or vengence - some of them are so depraved I won't listen to them. There's a huge slice of the genre that has nothing edifying to offer at all. At the concerts there are both slices, and in that setting I take the good with the bad.
So, Jim's answer to the break-time inquirer? "Well, I said to him, 'Have you ever been to Scottland?'"
The audience laughed like they understood. But I didn't understand. I've been to Scottland and it's beautiful. I sigh for the day I can go back, if the Lord is pleased to let me. His answer was jestful, to be sure - but also completely unsatisfactory.
And at Julie's concert, I was reminded of that encounter. Julie was telling sad stories too. Her concert was outstanding. Her effortless talent (and that of her backup) was obvious. Her fans were devoted, as evidenced by the two encors they demanded (my favorite was when she came out the first time and timidly stepped up to her mic, saying "Mr. Sound Man - I have a surprise for you - I'm sorry I didn't mention this earlier..." then proceeded to pull out an enormous set of pipes, which she played deftly. The second encor was an acapella audience sing-along, if you were curious.) It was a bang-up performance. But my mind still went to the same place it went after the Jim Malcolm concert.
Driving home after Jim, I returned to the question he'd 'answered' for us. Why is this music so sad, God? I felt an answer as clearly as if it were spoken: Matthew 12:34 - "For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks."
These songs were written by people who didn't have peace with their creator. They didn't know the good news that they could be reconciled to God. They probably didn't even understand they needed a savior to ransom them from their sin. Indeed, they were likely in bondage to the false religions of Celtic witchcraft. Of course the words overflowing from their hearts were desperate and hopeless. They were more than just sad, they were depraved. It's not surprising that such an overflow would produce the content of these tranditional songs.
As I mentioned earlier, I screen alot of this music when listening to it myself. There is one song I occasionally let slip through the firewall, though. It's called "I wonder what's keeping my true love tonight" (they didn't have to fit track titles on CDs back then...) by the band Solas. It's a conversation between a faithful man and his unfaithful lady lover. The song begins with him wondering where his true love is that night, for if she knew the anguish she was causing him by staying away, surely she wouldn't do so.
Enter the lady - she appears and reports that she's stayed away not because she was hindered, but because she's found someone else. In one heart breaking line she says "I told you I loved you to set your mind at ease - but when I'm far from you I love as I please."
There are many places in the bible (Ezekiel 16 being one pronounced place) where God draws an analogy between his idolatrous people and an unfaithful wife. This song has a flavor that draws my thoughts to the grief God must feel when I forsake him, not because I'm hindered (indeed, the curtain is torn in too!), but because I've chosen another idol to love. The closing line in the song, spoken by the man, says "You're love, it lies as lightly as the dew upon the corn comes down in the evening, goes away in the morn." How my affection for God would undillate and wane if he weren't faithful in holding on to me! I'm so grateful that God has decided to love me and never let me leave him - otherwise, my sinful heart would certainly wander, or worse, forsake him permanently.
I'll close with one of the most hope-giving passages of scripture I know, the words of Jesus himself in John 10:27-28...
"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand."
29 September 2008
A Thank You...
My husband came home from men's meeting with the guys from our caregroup back in August and brandished and envelope at me.
"What is it?" I asked, puzzled.
"Open it," he said, smirking in a bewildered way.
I did, and inside was a pink card with a little butterfly and purple text, which read simply:
"What is it?" I asked, puzzled.
"Open it," he said, smirking in a bewildered way.
I did, and inside was a pink card with a little butterfly and purple text, which read simply:
"For God is not so unjust as to overlook your work and the love that you showed for his sake in serving the saints, as you still do" (Hebrews 6:10)
29 August 2008
Thanks J and M
Boy was I tired.
I rushed out of work to get there by 3. Once I arrived, I watched a pretty happy couple grab their bags and skitter out the door. The husband was so excited he tried to put his wife's purse over head instead of her shoulder. Once they were safely off, I turned to their 3 oldest kids, present in the living room, knowing that 2 more were napping upstairs. We played with little sponges shaped like bugs. There was a brief moment of correction when I learned the oldest had lied to his sister about something I'd said. I heard the updates on a recent birthday and a cast removal. The oldest girl played her recorder for me and one of her brothers played a tin whistle. They marveled over my husbands new computer and changed the wallpaper on my cell phone. Number 4 in line kept coming downstairs when he was supposed to be napping. After 3 attempts to put him down again, I gave up and he joined the rest. My husband arrived around that time and we watched a 3 stooges episode. I then woke the baby (who saw me and promptly displayed the shoes she'd slept in) and we all went for a walk to the neighbors. We were supposed to just pay a hello-house call, but ended up staying for a half hour. The whole time was a tussock of chatting with the neighbor's mom and keeping my eye on the two youngest ones, the baby constantly calling to me "Kari, come on!" and making a break for the door. The 3 boys got absorbed in an elaborate lego machine while the girl ran off in her high-heeled purple flip-flops with her best friend. The toddler kept screaming "I'm not a baby anymore!" That was our cue to go. It was like herding cats to get them back toward home. Once there, there were a few different dinner orders. The older kids pressed in from all sides, measuring their height against my back and shoulders, while I called at them to beware the hot soup pots I was stirring. It was a test of wills with the baby to get her to eat her dinner, but the cheering crowd of siblings won her over every time she took a bite. It was made clear I served the kids way to much, and it was also made clear they prefered chips, cheese and sour cream to the wonderful soup mom had left behind. I left the dishes to do after the kids were down and joined the fray in the living room for rough housing and human pyramids. 7 or 8 times someone thought they got hit in the eye only to rethink it the second they heard one of their siblings laugh. A chair threw all 3 brothers onto the floor and fell on top of them at one point, and they all emerged screaming that they wanted to do it again. I brushed the oldest daughter's hair before bed. The baby kept calling to me from wherever she'd toddled in the room only to wave once she got my attention. More herding cats to get them upstairs, and it was bedtime stories and prayer before finally commanding that heads be on pillows before the lights were out. I scratched backs and tucked in stuffed animals, then headed downstairs to start on the dishes and pick up the mess that had been made that day. I set the table and prepared what I could of the next morning's breakfast. Now I'm in bed, writing an account of another day that should, but the world's standards, have made me want to return to my well-ordered, structured life without the 5 kids.
Are you kidding?
On a phenomenally fun camping trip I recently went on, I was asked what Tolkienian race I'd like to be. One person said a wizard because they could come back from the dead. Another said they'd prefer the elves because they have good eyesight and can walk on snow. My husband said he'd want to be a dwarf for the beard. When the question was posed to me, I paused, then answered.
"A Hobbit," I said.
"Why?" the others chorused.
"Because I just want to have a family, live my life, then die and go be with Christ."
These 5 little 'nieces and nephews' of mine run me ragged every time I'm here. Sometimes they've lied to me. Sometimes they've cried rather than listen to me in their parents' absence. Sometimes they criticize the way I care for them. Sometimes they jump on my back without asking or step on my toes or hurt themselves. Sometimes they're just stubborn.
I still just want to have a family. =)
Thanks to these 5 little ones' mom and dad for giving me these days to spend with their kids, then sitting up way past everyone's bedtime to talk with me and Stephan about life and godliness. You're whole family is a treasure!
(and M - praying for your time away!)
...
(and J - praying for you while you're wife is away...please call us if you need food.)
I rushed out of work to get there by 3. Once I arrived, I watched a pretty happy couple grab their bags and skitter out the door. The husband was so excited he tried to put his wife's purse over head instead of her shoulder. Once they were safely off, I turned to their 3 oldest kids, present in the living room, knowing that 2 more were napping upstairs. We played with little sponges shaped like bugs. There was a brief moment of correction when I learned the oldest had lied to his sister about something I'd said. I heard the updates on a recent birthday and a cast removal. The oldest girl played her recorder for me and one of her brothers played a tin whistle. They marveled over my husbands new computer and changed the wallpaper on my cell phone. Number 4 in line kept coming downstairs when he was supposed to be napping. After 3 attempts to put him down again, I gave up and he joined the rest. My husband arrived around that time and we watched a 3 stooges episode. I then woke the baby (who saw me and promptly displayed the shoes she'd slept in) and we all went for a walk to the neighbors. We were supposed to just pay a hello-house call, but ended up staying for a half hour. The whole time was a tussock of chatting with the neighbor's mom and keeping my eye on the two youngest ones, the baby constantly calling to me "Kari, come on!" and making a break for the door. The 3 boys got absorbed in an elaborate lego machine while the girl ran off in her high-heeled purple flip-flops with her best friend. The toddler kept screaming "I'm not a baby anymore!" That was our cue to go. It was like herding cats to get them back toward home. Once there, there were a few different dinner orders. The older kids pressed in from all sides, measuring their height against my back and shoulders, while I called at them to beware the hot soup pots I was stirring. It was a test of wills with the baby to get her to eat her dinner, but the cheering crowd of siblings won her over every time she took a bite. It was made clear I served the kids way to much, and it was also made clear they prefered chips, cheese and sour cream to the wonderful soup mom had left behind. I left the dishes to do after the kids were down and joined the fray in the living room for rough housing and human pyramids. 7 or 8 times someone thought they got hit in the eye only to rethink it the second they heard one of their siblings laugh. A chair threw all 3 brothers onto the floor and fell on top of them at one point, and they all emerged screaming that they wanted to do it again. I brushed the oldest daughter's hair before bed. The baby kept calling to me from wherever she'd toddled in the room only to wave once she got my attention. More herding cats to get them upstairs, and it was bedtime stories and prayer before finally commanding that heads be on pillows before the lights were out. I scratched backs and tucked in stuffed animals, then headed downstairs to start on the dishes and pick up the mess that had been made that day. I set the table and prepared what I could of the next morning's breakfast. Now I'm in bed, writing an account of another day that should, but the world's standards, have made me want to return to my well-ordered, structured life without the 5 kids.
Are you kidding?
On a phenomenally fun camping trip I recently went on, I was asked what Tolkienian race I'd like to be. One person said a wizard because they could come back from the dead. Another said they'd prefer the elves because they have good eyesight and can walk on snow. My husband said he'd want to be a dwarf for the beard. When the question was posed to me, I paused, then answered.
"A Hobbit," I said.
"Why?" the others chorused.
"Because I just want to have a family, live my life, then die and go be with Christ."
These 5 little 'nieces and nephews' of mine run me ragged every time I'm here. Sometimes they've lied to me. Sometimes they've cried rather than listen to me in their parents' absence. Sometimes they criticize the way I care for them. Sometimes they jump on my back without asking or step on my toes or hurt themselves. Sometimes they're just stubborn.
I still just want to have a family. =)
Thanks to these 5 little ones' mom and dad for giving me these days to spend with their kids, then sitting up way past everyone's bedtime to talk with me and Stephan about life and godliness. You're whole family is a treasure!
(and M - praying for your time away!)
...
(and J - praying for you while you're wife is away...please call us if you need food.)
22 August 2008
15 August 2008
Oldies and Classics
Stephan and I climed into and out of a valley in the Shenandoah Mountains last Saturday. On the hike I narrowly escaped 2 twisted ankles and narrowly did not escape a deep gouge on my little toe (yes, I was hiking in sandals - I have for years and this is the first time I've bled for it. Oi).
We were both so surprisingly not hungry when we finally got out of the valley that we decided we could wait through the 2 hour drive home to get back to our local Red Rock Canyon Grill. Once there we ordered a salad and a pot pie, and Stephan asked me this:
"Ever wonder what books will be deemed 'classics' in 70 years?"
I ruminated. "I think Tolkien is definitely in," he supplied.
"Pshaw," I said. "Tolkien's as good as classic already."
"Probably true," he consented.
"I think the Da Vinci Code will be a classic" I said.
"No way," Stephan countered. "Things that become classics are things that are good enough to stand the test of time. Like Simon and Garfunkle, or the Beatles - they were good, and they've stuck around."
"They were also famous," I contended. "And the Da Vinci Code was famous. Beyond that, it rocked society. I can totally picture a high school English teacher leading their class through a discussion of the stir the Da Vinci Code caused in 21st century America."
"Hm..." Stephan said, not quite convinced. "I just don't think it speaks to the human condition. For instance, I think things like Tim O'Brian's post-Vietnam War writing will make it," he mused. "Actually, anything written after a war may make it, given that it talks of the rawest levels of humanity."
"I don't think those will be the only peramiters that will constitute a classic," I said. "Call me a sinic, but I still say there's a 'sticking factor' - something different from your 'good enough to stand the test of time' theory - that comes from just being popular, being something that people will remember by nature of viral recomendations and media hype."
"I'm not convinced," Stephan smiled.
I shrugged. "It's a different culture than when Collins and Dickens were writing. People don't want the same quality anymore, and they'll only want less in the future. They all just want to be entertained, not made to think."
"Perhaps," Stephan said. At this point we switched our plates, me having eaten half the salad and he having eaten half the pot pie. This is how we ate out, sharing everything. This is one of the reasons I love Stephan. He's always shared his food with me. "But back to 'standing the test of time'. Another thing to consider is the amount of writing out there these days because of how easy it is to publish, either in print or on the internet."
"True," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Yet, that probably supports my theory that only the things that gain clout virally will last."
"Nah," Stephan insistend. "There is a cultured remnant in the world today, dear." He inclined his fork toward me. "And we prefer Dumas and Simon and Garfunkle."
I paused, then smiled as I became aware of The Backstreet Boys playing in the background. "I still hold that the stuff that most of the stuff that will last is the stuff that is catchy and shocking...like that song Smooth by Santana - he called it a 'tattoo on your brain'. I think the Brain Tattoos are most of what will last." I paused as Backstreet Boys kept playing. "So, in a similar vain, what do you think will be playing on oldies radio stations in 70 years? Do you think rap will be the genre of choice among geriatrics?"
He laughed. "I think it'll be the stuff good enough to stand the test of time!" Stephan said again, unconquerable.
I smirked, loving his idealism. "And I think it'll be 'You're and Allstar' by Smashmouth."
Getcher game on!
We were both so surprisingly not hungry when we finally got out of the valley that we decided we could wait through the 2 hour drive home to get back to our local Red Rock Canyon Grill. Once there we ordered a salad and a pot pie, and Stephan asked me this:
"Ever wonder what books will be deemed 'classics' in 70 years?"
I ruminated. "I think Tolkien is definitely in," he supplied.
"Pshaw," I said. "Tolkien's as good as classic already."
"Probably true," he consented.
"I think the Da Vinci Code will be a classic" I said.
"No way," Stephan countered. "Things that become classics are things that are good enough to stand the test of time. Like Simon and Garfunkle, or the Beatles - they were good, and they've stuck around."
"They were also famous," I contended. "And the Da Vinci Code was famous. Beyond that, it rocked society. I can totally picture a high school English teacher leading their class through a discussion of the stir the Da Vinci Code caused in 21st century America."
"Hm..." Stephan said, not quite convinced. "I just don't think it speaks to the human condition. For instance, I think things like Tim O'Brian's post-Vietnam War writing will make it," he mused. "Actually, anything written after a war may make it, given that it talks of the rawest levels of humanity."
"I don't think those will be the only peramiters that will constitute a classic," I said. "Call me a sinic, but I still say there's a 'sticking factor' - something different from your 'good enough to stand the test of time' theory - that comes from just being popular, being something that people will remember by nature of viral recomendations and media hype."
"I'm not convinced," Stephan smiled.
I shrugged. "It's a different culture than when Collins and Dickens were writing. People don't want the same quality anymore, and they'll only want less in the future. They all just want to be entertained, not made to think."
"Perhaps," Stephan said. At this point we switched our plates, me having eaten half the salad and he having eaten half the pot pie. This is how we ate out, sharing everything. This is one of the reasons I love Stephan. He's always shared his food with me. "But back to 'standing the test of time'. Another thing to consider is the amount of writing out there these days because of how easy it is to publish, either in print or on the internet."
"True," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Yet, that probably supports my theory that only the things that gain clout virally will last."
"Nah," Stephan insistend. "There is a cultured remnant in the world today, dear." He inclined his fork toward me. "And we prefer Dumas and Simon and Garfunkle."
I paused, then smiled as I became aware of The Backstreet Boys playing in the background. "I still hold that the stuff that most of the stuff that will last is the stuff that is catchy and shocking...like that song Smooth by Santana - he called it a 'tattoo on your brain'. I think the Brain Tattoos are most of what will last." I paused as Backstreet Boys kept playing. "So, in a similar vain, what do you think will be playing on oldies radio stations in 70 years? Do you think rap will be the genre of choice among geriatrics?"
He laughed. "I think it'll be the stuff good enough to stand the test of time!" Stephan said again, unconquerable.
I smirked, loving his idealism. "And I think it'll be 'You're and Allstar' by Smashmouth."
Getcher game on!
14 August 2008
Forgeting...
My mother-in-law told that one of the signs of senility was forgetting things you're supposed to remember.
"Great," I said instantly "I'm senile."
Last Sunday while I was working, I was lamenting the fact that I felt like I forgot stuff constantly. "I can't remember deadlines...or procedures I learned days before..." After a heavy sigh I added "Funny that I forget all that but I can recite the entire script of the Lion King with songs and sound effects to this day..."
The real kicker is that as I lamented my forgetfulness I was in the act of forgetting something on the job - taking a head count for the class I was administrating. Badabing.
"Great," I said instantly "I'm senile."
Last Sunday while I was working, I was lamenting the fact that I felt like I forgot stuff constantly. "I can't remember deadlines...or procedures I learned days before..." After a heavy sigh I added "Funny that I forget all that but I can recite the entire script of the Lion King with songs and sound effects to this day..."
The real kicker is that as I lamented my forgetfulness I was in the act of forgetting something on the job - taking a head count for the class I was administrating. Badabing.
01 August 2008
Monsters!
In a season past I used to write down the comedic encounters I had with the doctors I worked for. Well, I work with cool people now too - and they are just as comedic. Here's an email exchange I had with one of the fellows I work with to coordinate our church's baptisms.
from me: Can I have the most recent batch of baptism applications back? I've gotta file the buggers!
from him: Yep – check my desk for a blue folder labeled Baptism. They should be in there. Don’t let the monsters under the piles bite your hand.
from me: Ok – just finished bandaging my hand. Almost lost a finger to the monster that leapt, not from under the papers, but from out of the moldy coffee cup near your lamp! Mission successful – I’ve got the prize. Thanks!
from him: Yea, that’s the monster’s watering hole – look out!
I adore my coworkers! =)
25 July 2008
Another plug for rising early...
Stephan and I have again set ourselves to rising at 5am each morning (excepting weekends). The following side effects have occured:
-house is always clean
-breakfast is always made and consumed
-Quiet Times are always had BEFORE the day starts
-we are well showered (we were showered before, but now we are WELL showered! =)
-encouragement notes and text messages are being sent to friends
-the kitchen is always clean
-our sleep is better than ever
-there's always hot water for our showers
-our evenings are always free of chores, etc, and we are thus free to accept or issue spontaneous invitations to hang out with friends
...and I'm sure there's more good to be gleaned from this habit. More as it develops.
-house is always clean
-breakfast is always made and consumed
-Quiet Times are always had BEFORE the day starts
-we are well showered (we were showered before, but now we are WELL showered! =)
-encouragement notes and text messages are being sent to friends
-the kitchen is always clean
-our sleep is better than ever
-there's always hot water for our showers
-our evenings are always free of chores, etc, and we are thus free to accept or issue spontaneous invitations to hang out with friends
...and I'm sure there's more good to be gleaned from this habit. More as it develops.
Warning:
The following post may be considered 'graphic' for squeemish individuals.
I've had a recurring Ganglion Cyst on the top of my right foot for about a year and a half now. The first time it appeared it went away on it's own. The second time I managed to dispel it with a good hard massage. This most recent third time, the massage only made it worse, so after declining Stephan's servant-hearted offer to hit it with a hammer (I trust his intentions, but not his aim or force control), I went to the podiatrist.
After a quick examination and an itemization of my options, I opted to have the 'filling' (hereafter 'jelly') removed with a syringe.
Some brief history before we move on. I was at one time a pre-med student. I wouldn't consider myself squeemish at all. I've babysat enough years to now be grossed out by certain things. I'm also simply fascinated by the things our bodies are capable of - and, to a lesser degree, interested in the 'whys' when something goes wrong. When the cyst was bigger, I had the following exchange with my husband.
"If I need surgery, do you think they'd let me watch?"
"...well, would you really want to watch?"
"I'd want to, but I'm unsure if I could...I'd think it would be a little different when it's your own body."
Back in the exam room, Doc brings in Needle #1. "This is the anesthetic," he explained amiably. He was a very nice guy...and as I was to find out, a very good, very unafraid, shot with a needle.
At this point I'm watching, very interested to see what transpires. Needle #1 is on the approach and Doc sticks it in...then turns it (this is a flexible needle)...and begins redirecting it all around under my skin. I watch as the cyst grows to the size of a silver dollar. Apparently the anesthetic was ballooning just under my skin.
I quickly pulled down the other armrest of the chair, which had been tucked up until this time. I thought I'd made it through, until he withdrew the needle and circled round for another pass. All my blood pooled in my stomach and I sucked in a deep breath. I couldn't watch him drive that bendy-needle around under my skin again. The sight was worse than the sting, which was really only minimal. It certainly isn't the thing I remember.
I smiled feebly, under control and glad that part was over. That was the only portion of the procedure that was supposed to sting. Doc explained that he'd give the drugs a few minutes to take effect, then come back and do the real work. I felt pretty sure I'd be OK to watch that part now that the pain was gone.
I pulled out my copy of When I Don't Desire God by John Piper and read some. When Doc returned, I was collected and ready to see the show.
Needles #2 and 3 accompanied Doc and he explained them to me. "This," he said, holding up and unwrapping Needle #2, "is the syringe that we'll use to suck out the jelly." (Yep, he said jelly. I know, sounds fruity.) I didn't consider the needle big or long until he took aim and drove it home.
I averted my head and clenched my teeth. "So," I said, staring hard at the relaxing piece of art on the wall. "I had a discussion with my husband whether or not, if I needed surgery, I'd want to watch."
"We wouldn't have let you watch," doc said. I glanced down only to see the needle being withdrawn (phew, right?) only to be re-aimed and driven in again. I swear the thing went up to the hilt. I looked away quickly.
"Well, let's just say I know now I wouldn't have wanted to."
I felt the pressure (not pain) of a few more attempts, then heard Doc say "Oh! And here comes the jelly!"
It worked as a kid, and it still works now. Ask my husband. We were running through a FREEZING parking lot with rain pelting down on us one day in college and I was screaming "Hurry! Hurry!" to him as we dashed toward the car. I was stopped in my tracks by a little antenna ornament that had Micky Mouse pants and ears. After staring a moment I cried "Hey! Look at that!" I guess its not bad to delight in little things...or little triumphs, like getting the cursed jelly out of my foot.
When Doc said that, I looked down again, and he was right! The gelatinous stuff that made the cyst a cyst was slowly being drawn into the syringe chamber! It was translucent pink and looked much better out of my foot than in, in my opinion.
When we came to the end of the jelly, I remembered what was going on and looked away again.
Needle #3 was a steroid shot to hopefully encourage the cyst not to return. I let the Doc take the reigns from here and didn't even look once. My tummy was fluttering and he seemed to not need any more direction from me.
Once done, he slapped on a Band-aid and wrapped my foot in a compression wrap. It was important to keep the area compressed initially so the cyst didn't just re-inflate. I nodded obediently, but in my mind the thing would have been perforated with so many needles that there was no chance it could inflate again immediately. However, Doc was Doc and I was going to have a beast of a bruise on the top of my foot, for sure.
I made an appointment to be back in 2 weeks, then went on to work to tell the tale of the dragon slain and the battle won.
(And by God's HUGE mercy, the spot is neither badly bruised or painful. I can go to work today and walk with confidence and a legitimate excuse for wearing my flip flops for days in a row!)
I've had a recurring Ganglion Cyst on the top of my right foot for about a year and a half now. The first time it appeared it went away on it's own. The second time I managed to dispel it with a good hard massage. This most recent third time, the massage only made it worse, so after declining Stephan's servant-hearted offer to hit it with a hammer (I trust his intentions, but not his aim or force control), I went to the podiatrist.
After a quick examination and an itemization of my options, I opted to have the 'filling' (hereafter 'jelly') removed with a syringe.
Some brief history before we move on. I was at one time a pre-med student. I wouldn't consider myself squeemish at all. I've babysat enough years to now be grossed out by certain things. I'm also simply fascinated by the things our bodies are capable of - and, to a lesser degree, interested in the 'whys' when something goes wrong. When the cyst was bigger, I had the following exchange with my husband.
"If I need surgery, do you think they'd let me watch?"
"...well, would you really want to watch?"
"I'd want to, but I'm unsure if I could...I'd think it would be a little different when it's your own body."
Back in the exam room, Doc brings in Needle #1. "This is the anesthetic," he explained amiably. He was a very nice guy...and as I was to find out, a very good, very unafraid, shot with a needle.
At this point I'm watching, very interested to see what transpires. Needle #1 is on the approach and Doc sticks it in...then turns it (this is a flexible needle)...and begins redirecting it all around under my skin. I watch as the cyst grows to the size of a silver dollar. Apparently the anesthetic was ballooning just under my skin.
I quickly pulled down the other armrest of the chair, which had been tucked up until this time. I thought I'd made it through, until he withdrew the needle and circled round for another pass. All my blood pooled in my stomach and I sucked in a deep breath. I couldn't watch him drive that bendy-needle around under my skin again. The sight was worse than the sting, which was really only minimal. It certainly isn't the thing I remember.
I smiled feebly, under control and glad that part was over. That was the only portion of the procedure that was supposed to sting. Doc explained that he'd give the drugs a few minutes to take effect, then come back and do the real work. I felt pretty sure I'd be OK to watch that part now that the pain was gone.
I pulled out my copy of When I Don't Desire God by John Piper and read some. When Doc returned, I was collected and ready to see the show.
Needles #2 and 3 accompanied Doc and he explained them to me. "This," he said, holding up and unwrapping Needle #2, "is the syringe that we'll use to suck out the jelly." (Yep, he said jelly. I know, sounds fruity.) I didn't consider the needle big or long until he took aim and drove it home.
I averted my head and clenched my teeth. "So," I said, staring hard at the relaxing piece of art on the wall. "I had a discussion with my husband whether or not, if I needed surgery, I'd want to watch."
"We wouldn't have let you watch," doc said. I glanced down only to see the needle being withdrawn (phew, right?) only to be re-aimed and driven in again. I swear the thing went up to the hilt. I looked away quickly.
"Well, let's just say I know now I wouldn't have wanted to."
I felt the pressure (not pain) of a few more attempts, then heard Doc say "Oh! And here comes the jelly!"
It worked as a kid, and it still works now. Ask my husband. We were running through a FREEZING parking lot with rain pelting down on us one day in college and I was screaming "Hurry! Hurry!" to him as we dashed toward the car. I was stopped in my tracks by a little antenna ornament that had Micky Mouse pants and ears. After staring a moment I cried "Hey! Look at that!" I guess its not bad to delight in little things...or little triumphs, like getting the cursed jelly out of my foot.
When Doc said that, I looked down again, and he was right! The gelatinous stuff that made the cyst a cyst was slowly being drawn into the syringe chamber! It was translucent pink and looked much better out of my foot than in, in my opinion.
When we came to the end of the jelly, I remembered what was going on and looked away again.
Needle #3 was a steroid shot to hopefully encourage the cyst not to return. I let the Doc take the reigns from here and didn't even look once. My tummy was fluttering and he seemed to not need any more direction from me.
Once done, he slapped on a Band-aid and wrapped my foot in a compression wrap. It was important to keep the area compressed initially so the cyst didn't just re-inflate. I nodded obediently, but in my mind the thing would have been perforated with so many needles that there was no chance it could inflate again immediately. However, Doc was Doc and I was going to have a beast of a bruise on the top of my foot, for sure.
I made an appointment to be back in 2 weeks, then went on to work to tell the tale of the dragon slain and the battle won.
(And by God's HUGE mercy, the spot is neither badly bruised or painful. I can go to work today and walk with confidence and a legitimate excuse for wearing my flip flops for days in a row!)
21 July 2008
Reason to Hope
I came back into the living room this morning, holding a Midol loosely in my limp fingers. But I don't think that was what made my husband shut his bible and gather me quickly into his arms. He knows that look in my eyes - the lusterless film of another hope deferred and the countenance of a heart growing sicker and sicker...
I wrote a post over two years ago called "a show of hands..." In it I said the following:
My life hasn't changed much in 2 years... My list is still tacked to the fridge - and it isn't so yellow anymore...it's turning an awful shade of brown... I
try not to, but my heart keeps another little list of all the things God hasn't given me - and then a sub-list of all the circumstances he's orchestrated that magnify the pain I feel at not having those things. I'd never done it before, but a few nights ago I sat down and got real with God, laying my catalogue before him and telling him exactly what was on my sinful mind.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, not charging him, but truly confused at this pattern of laying a desire before me, having it look promising, even hopeful, then removing the fulfillment. "One more 'no'..." I'd say in these situations, and they abounded. I wasn't trying to garner pity from the God of the universe - it's just that if he truly was the God of the Bible, which he IS, then he was purposing these things for my good and betterment. Not feeling good or better, I was appealing for help, and, if it pleased him, clarity.
As I rambled on, I heard old counsel ringing in my ears. "You could have it worse - some women aren't even married..." But somehow, comparing myself to people who 'had it worse' wasn't salve to my soul (though I do need to be more grateful) - in fact, it almost encouraged me to make comparisons in the other direction as well. What of the people who had it better? More old counsel..."They may have gotten something you desire," my memory said, "but they're probably struggling in a different area. Everyone has their trial."
I clenched my fists. But at least they have a bright spot in their life to take comfort from as they face their hope deferred... I thought. Where's my bright spot? I just want some desire of my heart fulfilled that I can point to and say 'I may not have X, but I have Y, so it's not so bad.'
My heart is an ugly place. Scripture calls it "deceptive above all things and desperately sick", unable to be understood by any man. The more I see of it, the more I hate it. This time was no different. I shut my eyes in disgust as the Spirit revealed what was going on. I hadn't thought it would be God's fault - but I wasn't quite expecting this news.
I've always known God was in it, and I've never charged him with being a meanie - but I've laid my confusion before him over and over again, sometimes in frustrated tones, sometimes through sobs and tears. I didn't see his good for me in it all. I've asked him for years to show me, if it pleased him, his purpose for me in my sufferings. I won't claim that this is the answer to that prayer - but it is certainly from the Lord.
He's allowed these different things to come into my life to show me I want them.
He's taken them from me to show me I idolize them.
I don't think I've ever had a more painful season of my life than this one. Trying to describe it to Stephan once I said "it's just been years of consistent, low-grade suffering, like a dull headache painful enough to distract you but not enough to incapacitate you." But here's the truth - it's not inconsistent with God's character for him to not give me a 'bright spot' in my life to point to and take my comfort from as I wait for my other desires to be fulfilled. He wants to be my bright spot - he should be my bright spot. He is indeed the only thing that will ever give me the solace and comfort my soul screams for in the face of earthly disappointments. I have a sun of a bright spot in my phenomenal husband - but in the face of these other unmet desires, even such an extraordinary gift as he is not comforting. Wonderful though he is, he too is a broken cistern, just like everything else I want. He and those other things will never satisfy me. Only God, the fountain of living water that overflows and never runs dry, will quench my thirst for fulfillment. Nothing else even holds water.
All of God's gifts are meant to point us back to him - the giver. He doesn't use his gifts to buy our love - and we should love him in the absence of them. If we don't, we need to ask ourselves if it was ever really God we were loving, or just the stuff he gave us. This is where I find myself now - is it God I love, I crave, I thirst after - or is it just his gifts?
I know what I want the answer to be, but I'm terrified of learning that lesson. It's a big lesson. but God's a big God, and an able teacher, who promises to finish what he starts. Beyond that, he's patient. I have much reason to hope.
I wrote a post over two years ago called "a show of hands..." In it I said the following:
"It seems like all the women in my life are getting what I want before I am. My list goes on and on, and they seem to be regularly checking off their desires while my list remains on the fridge, yellowing, with only 2 or 3 boxes checked and no new fulfillments on the approach."
My life hasn't changed much in 2 years... My list is still tacked to the fridge - and it isn't so yellow anymore...it's turning an awful shade of brown... I
try not to, but my heart keeps another little list of all the things God hasn't given me - and then a sub-list of all the circumstances he's orchestrated that magnify the pain I feel at not having those things. I'd never done it before, but a few nights ago I sat down and got real with God, laying my catalogue before him and telling him exactly what was on my sinful mind.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, not charging him, but truly confused at this pattern of laying a desire before me, having it look promising, even hopeful, then removing the fulfillment. "One more 'no'..." I'd say in these situations, and they abounded. I wasn't trying to garner pity from the God of the universe - it's just that if he truly was the God of the Bible, which he IS, then he was purposing these things for my good and betterment. Not feeling good or better, I was appealing for help, and, if it pleased him, clarity.
As I rambled on, I heard old counsel ringing in my ears. "You could have it worse - some women aren't even married..." But somehow, comparing myself to people who 'had it worse' wasn't salve to my soul (though I do need to be more grateful) - in fact, it almost encouraged me to make comparisons in the other direction as well. What of the people who had it better? More old counsel..."They may have gotten something you desire," my memory said, "but they're probably struggling in a different area. Everyone has their trial."
I clenched my fists. But at least they have a bright spot in their life to take comfort from as they face their hope deferred... I thought. Where's my bright spot? I just want some desire of my heart fulfilled that I can point to and say 'I may not have X, but I have Y, so it's not so bad.'
My heart is an ugly place. Scripture calls it "deceptive above all things and desperately sick", unable to be understood by any man. The more I see of it, the more I hate it. This time was no different. I shut my eyes in disgust as the Spirit revealed what was going on. I hadn't thought it would be God's fault - but I wasn't quite expecting this news.
"Be appalled, O heavens, at this; be shocked, be utterly desolate, declares the LORD, for my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water." --Jer 2:12-13You don't want ME, I heard the Lord say. He was right. I want many other things, and I want them badly. These things have paraded in front of me over the past few years, and have gotten close enough for me to realize I want them. It hurts like a blow when they slip through my desperate gropings, and the force of the blow increases every new time I receive a 'no' from the Lord. Another chance at part time work impossible...another month without the hope of motherhood...another service opportunity given to someone else or made infeasible by existing, restrictive circumstances... There are more categories than this, and numerous examples within each category. I feel like Hannah, who's suffering scriptures says 'went on year after year'. It's so painful - I feel like my bones are rotting.
I've always known God was in it, and I've never charged him with being a meanie - but I've laid my confusion before him over and over again, sometimes in frustrated tones, sometimes through sobs and tears. I didn't see his good for me in it all. I've asked him for years to show me, if it pleased him, his purpose for me in my sufferings. I won't claim that this is the answer to that prayer - but it is certainly from the Lord.
He's allowed these different things to come into my life to show me I want them.
He's taken them from me to show me I idolize them.
I don't think I've ever had a more painful season of my life than this one. Trying to describe it to Stephan once I said "it's just been years of consistent, low-grade suffering, like a dull headache painful enough to distract you but not enough to incapacitate you." But here's the truth - it's not inconsistent with God's character for him to not give me a 'bright spot' in my life to point to and take my comfort from as I wait for my other desires to be fulfilled. He wants to be my bright spot - he should be my bright spot. He is indeed the only thing that will ever give me the solace and comfort my soul screams for in the face of earthly disappointments. I have a sun of a bright spot in my phenomenal husband - but in the face of these other unmet desires, even such an extraordinary gift as he is not comforting. Wonderful though he is, he too is a broken cistern, just like everything else I want. He and those other things will never satisfy me. Only God, the fountain of living water that overflows and never runs dry, will quench my thirst for fulfillment. Nothing else even holds water.
All of God's gifts are meant to point us back to him - the giver. He doesn't use his gifts to buy our love - and we should love him in the absence of them. If we don't, we need to ask ourselves if it was ever really God we were loving, or just the stuff he gave us. This is where I find myself now - is it God I love, I crave, I thirst after - or is it just his gifts?
I know what I want the answer to be, but I'm terrified of learning that lesson. It's a big lesson. but God's a big God, and an able teacher, who promises to finish what he starts. Beyond that, he's patient. I have much reason to hope.
11 July 2008
Fruit flies and English Lotion...
We've had the smallest ever fruit-fly issue in my office lately...
We've taken to clapping the little beasts between our hands. You can randomly hear CRACK!s and cries of "Got 'em!" throughout the day. Makes we ladies feel very Amazonian, or like Martial Arts Masters, like catching flies between chopsticks.
My coworker got 3 in a row the other day. I was feeling good. Their was obviously something in the air (other than the flies).
One of the little beasts entered my no-fly-zone. I fixed him in my predetor-like gaze. Your life is forfeit, I thought at him.
He circled lower. I followed him with my eyes. Emboldened by my stillness, he landed on the pump of the bottel of lotion I kept at my desk.
I froze, keeping him in my scope. Brilliance falls on me like lightening every 2 or 3 years, and my plan of attack rolled out before my eyes. I immediately concurred with the epiphany and slid my hand slowly across my desk and over to the base of the lotion bottle. it was about an arm's length away.
I wrapped my pincer-like fingers (weapons of death, I thought accurately to myself) around the bottle and began drawing it nearer to me. My Nemisis didn't move. Puny beast! I thought, arrogantly sitting there as I draw you into the event horizon of your doom!
He was close now. I was sure I had him. All I had to do was...
With squirrel-like speed I swung my other arm around in a full arc (for I have an amazing conceptual understanding of physics) and aimed to hit my target dead on! Surely I would - no, had won the day! Sew my name on the inside of the collar baby, the battle was mine!
Contact did send a substance splattering everywhere, but it wasn't the crushed remains of my rival. No, I hit the fly's landing pad (aka, the pump of my lotion bottle) with laser-scope accuracy - and sprayed lotion all over my computer keyboard, exposed desk, lap, shirt, and some parts of the floor. After a moment of frozen disbelief, surveying the carnage and computing the data, I erupted into the biggest belly laugh I'd experienced in months. For some reason I'd thought the pump on my bottle was locked - an irrational thought, given that I never lock the pump, it just sits on my desk.
I cleaned up, then jumped up and told everyone I could find what had just happened. It was one of the best days of my life. Let us thank God for laughter!
We've taken to clapping the little beasts between our hands. You can randomly hear CRACK!s and cries of "Got 'em!" throughout the day. Makes we ladies feel very Amazonian, or like Martial Arts Masters, like catching flies between chopsticks.
My coworker got 3 in a row the other day. I was feeling good. Their was obviously something in the air (other than the flies).
One of the little beasts entered my no-fly-zone. I fixed him in my predetor-like gaze. Your life is forfeit, I thought at him.
He circled lower. I followed him with my eyes. Emboldened by my stillness, he landed on the pump of the bottel of lotion I kept at my desk.
I froze, keeping him in my scope. Brilliance falls on me like lightening every 2 or 3 years, and my plan of attack rolled out before my eyes. I immediately concurred with the epiphany and slid my hand slowly across my desk and over to the base of the lotion bottle. it was about an arm's length away.
I wrapped my pincer-like fingers (weapons of death, I thought accurately to myself) around the bottle and began drawing it nearer to me. My Nemisis didn't move. Puny beast! I thought, arrogantly sitting there as I draw you into the event horizon of your doom!
He was close now. I was sure I had him. All I had to do was...
With squirrel-like speed I swung my other arm around in a full arc (for I have an amazing conceptual understanding of physics) and aimed to hit my target dead on! Surely I would - no, had won the day! Sew my name on the inside of the collar baby, the battle was mine!
Contact did send a substance splattering everywhere, but it wasn't the crushed remains of my rival. No, I hit the fly's landing pad (aka, the pump of my lotion bottle) with laser-scope accuracy - and sprayed lotion all over my computer keyboard, exposed desk, lap, shirt, and some parts of the floor. After a moment of frozen disbelief, surveying the carnage and computing the data, I erupted into the biggest belly laugh I'd experienced in months. For some reason I'd thought the pump on my bottle was locked - an irrational thought, given that I never lock the pump, it just sits on my desk.
I cleaned up, then jumped up and told everyone I could find what had just happened. It was one of the best days of my life. Let us thank God for laughter!
12 May 2008
Be it Known...
...that on May 12th, 2008, after being in my current position at Covenant Life Church for 17 months without them...
MY COMPUTER SPEAKERS ARE WORKING!!!
I'm dedicating the next 10,000 songs I play to our IT guy, who laid down an hour of his day to make this possible. What a servant.
MY COMPUTER SPEAKERS ARE WORKING!!!
I'm dedicating the next 10,000 songs I play to our IT guy, who laid down an hour of his day to make this possible. What a servant.
03 May 2008
The firey furnace
"King Nebuchadnezzar made an image of gold...And the herald proclaimed
aloud, "You are commanded, O peoples, nations, and languages, that when you hear the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, bagpipe, and every kind of music, you are to fall down and worship the golden image that King Nebuchadnezzar has set up. And whoever does not fall down and worship shall immediately be cast into a burning fiery furnace."
"I feel like I got a picture for you, Kari," my pastor said as I sat in his office. "It was of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the firey furnace, and I believe the Lord is saying that he might leave you in your firey furnace longer than you may want to be there."
My head fell into my hands. What did that mean? How much longer would I have to work instead of being home full time, as I longed to? How much longer would I be always the babysitter never the mom? How much longer would I have to work to provide for my family before God blessed Stephan with a job? "Longer than I wanted to be there..." A day more would be longer than I wanted.
I left the meeting very discouraged. We'd gone to our pastor for counsel. I felt like I was leaving the doctor's office with a terrible diagnosis.
A few days later I found myself in a bookstore staring down at Daniel 3, and the account of Shadrach, Meshack, and Abednego.
"Then Nebuchadnezzar in furious rage commanded that Shadrach, Meshach, and
Abednego be brought. So they brought these men before the king. Nebuchadnezzar answered and said to them, "Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, that you do not serve my gods or worship the golden image that I have set up? Now if you are ready when you hear the sound of...every kind of music, to fall down and worship the image that I have made, well and good. But if you do not worship, you shall immediately be cast into a burning fiery furnace. And who is the god who will deliver you out of my hands?"
I covered my face. It was an uncanny parallel. I was at a place in my life where I was being faced with a choice. Bow down to the golden images - the idols - of my heart, those of being home, of motherhood, of ease, of comfort, of preference - or reserve my worship for the God of my salvation regardless of the consequences. Not giving in to all those desires would mean I'd have some firey discomfort ahead of me - and if my pastor's word were true, it would be for longer than I wanted...
"Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the king, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up."
Every feel like God told these guys of old to write something down just for you? I felt distinctly challenged to mimic the response of these 3 men, to have a heart attitude that said in the midst of my situtation "God can change everything - but if he chooses not to, I will not worship anything but him, no matter what the consequence." I couldn't remember the last time I told my idols I wouldn't worship them. I spent all my time telling God I wanted to.
"Then Nebuchadnezzar was filled with fury... He ordered the furnace heated seven times more than it was usually heated. And he ordered some of the mighty men of his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and to cast them into the burning fiery furnace. Then these men were bound in their cloaks, their tunics, their hats, and their other garments, and they were thrown into the burning fiery furnace. Because the king’s order was urgent and the furnace overheated, the flame of the fire killed those men who took up Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. And these three men... fell bound into the burning fiery furnace."
How encouraging... I thought. I did feel like I was in a furnace heated 7 times hotter than usual. It was one thing to have desires that are going unmet, but then to watch everyone around me be given the things I wanted sure did turn up the heat. I was extatic whenever I learned one of my friends was expecting, or to see others move on into opportunities in the church that I desired, or to hear of ladies being able to stop working and go home full time - I truly was. But it just seemed like no one else was having to wait...
Lord, I prayed, is there any encouragement for me in this story?
"Then King Nebuchadnezzar was astonished and rose up in haste. He declared to his
counselors, "Did we not cast three men bound into the fire?" They answered and said to the king, "True, O king." He answered and said, "But I see four men unbound, walking in the midst of the fire, and they are not hurt; and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods."
I read this over and over again through tearing eyes. Walking in the midst of the fire...unhurt... my discomfort doesn't have to be something that destroys me - God intends it to refine me. Unbound... I have the spirit-enabled power to chose to worship God instead of idols. My bonds of sin are broken. And the fourth is like a son of the gods... I have Christ at hand, there with me in my trial. When I think of that, there's no where else I'd rather be standing, no matter how many times hotter than usual the fire is blazing.
I stuck my finger in Daniel and flipped over to Romans 5, where I read "More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly."
I wanted to walk that progression faithfully, suffering to endurance to character to hope, hope in my salvation that doesn't dissapoint, because Christ died for me.
"Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the door of the burning fiery furnace; he
declared, "Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come
out, and come here!" Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego came out from the fire. And the... king’s counselors gathered together and saw that the fire had not had any power over the bodies of those men. The hair of their heads was not singed, their cloaks were not harmed, and no smell of fire had come upon them. Nebuchadnezzar answered and said, "Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and
Abednego, who has sent his angel and delivered his servants, who trusted in him,
and set aside the king’s command, and yielded up their bodies rather than serve and worship any god except their own God."
I shut my bible then. I wanted people to give God that same glory if God did allow me to come home and be a mom one day. I wanted them to say that my fiery furnace had no power over me, and not a hair of my head was singed during those long years spent waiting and and questioning, and blessed be my God, who kept me during that trial, and enabled me to set aside my flesh's demands and yeild up my preference rather than serve and worship any God except my own, the one who saved me.
(all Bible exerpts are from Daniel 3 unless otherwise noted)
OluKai
"These aren't going to work."
I turned around to see Stephan coming in the door and promptly kicking off his new flip flops. My heart sank. I've been trying for 3 years to convince him of the magic and wonder of flip flop footware. I thought I'd finally convinced him numerous times, but he'd always been somehow displeased, and kept comparing them to some strange brand of flops that I'd never heard of and were proported prohibitively expensive. This time I had really thought I'd got him.
"No?" I said.
"No," he replied, then told me how the flip flops were hurting his feet. I sighed, another attempt in vain. But the last thing I wanted was for my flip flop ambitions to rub my husband's feet raw.
"Well, you can return them," I commented. And he did.
A few days later, my mother pointed out that our waterbottles were the kind that had BPAs. I'm still not sure what that means, but it's something to do with water that sits in the bottle leeching something - these BPAs - out of the plastic. These BPAs then take a free ride to your belly whenever you take a swig. This explained many mysterious tummy aches. We promptly threw the bottles out.
A few days later still Stephan suggested we stop into HTO and buy new water bottles. While there, he said "let me look at the flip flops." My hopes soared. I may yet get him into a pair of "thongs", as the Aussies say. I followed, flipping along in my own 10-year-old black Reef flops.
He looked around a little, then went to a rack of flops and decidedly pulled a pair off.
"These are the OluKais," he said, slipping his feet into them. I approached and examined them closer. OluKai - that was the brand he'd raved about but had said was way too expensive. I remembered now how much he'd said he liked them years ago.
"Well, how much are they?" I asked, watching him walk around. He told me and I snorted. "That's not bad for a shoe you'll wear for 10 years," I pointed out. Stephan shugged and kept on shuffling around. "I guess I don't buy new flip flops every summer."
I glanced back at the rack, very intrigued. I casually pulled a pair of the lady OluKais off the rack and dropped them to the floor. I paused only briefly before pulling my foot out of my own flip flops - my 10-year-old black Reefs, the ones I'd worn all over Europe...the one's that had saved my tennis shoes from getting drenched in the sudden rain storm in Interlaken...
This is no time for sentiment, I told myself. I'm merely trying these on. Stephan's the one whos in the market for flops.
I think I now know what Cinderella felt like when she slipped her foot into that glass slipper, the one that fit only her foot. These were undoubtedly the most comfy flip flops in the world. Suddenly the foot still in my old sandals felt like it was loosly strapped to a plank of rotting wood. I shod myself in both sandals and took a lap of my own - then hastily returned them to their place on the rack. We weren't there shopping for me. "You must get these," I said to Stephan. "They're amazing."
After a little more insisting, and after wading through the "light leather or dark leaterh?" quandary, Stephan decided he would get the pair he'd tried on first. Then he asked me what I thought of the pair I'd tried on.
"They're heavenly," I said. I'm sure I was starry eyed.
"Heavenly, huh?" he said. He didn't even pause before grabbing the pair I'd liked most and held them out ot me. "Then let me get you a heavenly present."
I'm usually the kind of wife that asks "are you sure?" But this time, I merely threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. You have to understand - I believe flip flops are a state of mind, not a seasonal item. I wear mine 12 months a year - even in the snow and ice (provided I'm not going to be outside too long). I hike in them. I go to church in them. I wear them to work. They're the closest, socially-acceptable thing to being bare-foot that's out there, and I am very close to my 10-year-old pair. Only something stellar would have convinced me to upgrade - and these were stellar, and Stephan was letting me get them.
I have the best husband in the world.
We left that night with new kicks (Stephan calls his "my fighting OluKais!") and new water bottles, the making of happy bellies and happy feet. Stephan's simply the best...I know he loves me, but I think he was a little relieved to see the Reefs suplanted. And to my great joy, I am too!
18 April 2008
SLK
We were driving on the highway listening to music when Stephan said.
"When I'm rich, I'm buying you a Mercedes SLK."
Not being into fancy cars, I said "Why?"
"SLK - Stephan Loves Kari."
"When I'm rich, I'm buying you a Mercedes SLK."
Not being into fancy cars, I said "Why?"
"SLK - Stephan Loves Kari."
08 April 2008
Reason to Hope
I came back into the living room this morning, holding a Midol loosely in my limp fingers. But I don't think that was what made my husband shut his bible and gather me quickly into his arms. He knows that look in my eyes - the lusterless film of another hope deferred and the countenance of a heart growing sicker and sicker...
I wrote a post over two years ago called "a show of hands..." In it I said the following:
"It seems like all the women in my life are getting what I want before I am. My list goes on and on, and they seem to be regularly checking off their desires while my list remains on the fridge, yellowing, with only 2 or 3 boxes checked and no new fulfillments on the approach."
My life hasn't changed much in 2 years... My list is still tacked to the fridge - and it isn't so yellow anymore...it's turning an awful shade of brown...
I try not to, but my heart keeps a little list of all the things God hasn't given me - and then a sub-list of all the circumstances he's orchestrated that magnify the pain I feel at not having those things. I'd never done it before, but a few nights ago I sat down and got real with God, laying my catalogue before him and telling him exactly what was on my sinful mind.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, not charging him, but truly confused at this pattern of laying a desire before me, having it look promising, even hopeful, then removing the fulfillment. "One more 'no'..." I'd say in these situations, and they abounded. I wasn't trying to garner pity from the God of the universe - it's just that if he truly was the God of the Bible, which he IS, then he was purposing these things for my good and betterment. Not feeling good or better, I was appealing for help, and, if it pleased him, clarity.
As I rambled on, I heard old counsel ringing in my ears. "You could have it worse - some women aren't even married..." But somehow, comparing myself to people who 'had it worse' wasn't salve to my soul (though I do need to be more grateful) - in fact, it almost encouraged me to make comparisons in the other direction as well. What of the people who had it better? More old counsel..."They may have gotten something you desire," my memory said, "but they're probably struggling in a different area. Everyone has their trial."
I clenched my fists. But at least they have a bright spot in their life to take comfort from as they face their hope deferred... I thought. Where's my bright spot? I just want some desire of my heart fulfilled that I can point to and say 'I may not have X, but I have Y, so it's not so bad.'
My heart is an ugly place. Scripture calls it "deceptive above all things and desperately sick", and unable to be understood by man. The more I see of it, the more I hate it. This time was no different. I shut my eyes in disgust as the Spirit revealed what was going on. I hadn't thought it would be God's fault - but I wasn't quite expecting this news.
You don't want ME, I heard the Lord say. He was right. I want many other things, and I want them badly. These things have paraded in front of me over the past few years, and have gotten close enough for me to realize I want them. It hurts like a blow when they slip through my desperate gropings, and the force of the blow increases every new time I receive a 'no' from the Lord. Another chance at part time work impossible...another month without the hope of motherhood...another service opportunity given to someone else or made infeasible by existing, restrictive circumstances... There are more categories than this, and numerous examples within each category. I feel like Hannah, who's suffering scriptures says 'went on year after year'. It's so painful - I feel like my bones are rotting.
I've always known God was in it, and I've never charged him with being a meanie - but I've laid my confusion before him over and over again, sometimes in frustrated tones, sometimes through sobs and tears. I didn't see his good for me in it all. I've asked him for years to show me, if it pleased him, his purpose for me in my sufferings. I won't claim that this is the answer to that prayer - but it is certainly from the Lord.
He's allowed these different things to come into my life to show me I want them.
He's taken them from me to show me I idolize them.
I don't think I've ever had a more painful season of my life than this one. Trying to describe it to Stephan once I said "it's just been years of consistent, low-grade suffering, like a dull headache painful enough to distract you but not enough to incapacitate you." But here's the truth - it's not inconsistent with God's character for him to not give me a 'bright spot' in my life to point to and take my comfort from as I wait for my other desires to be fulfilled. He wants to be my bright spot - he should be my bright spot. He is indeed the only thing that will ever give me the solace and comfort my soul screams for in the face of earthly disappointments. I have a sun of a bright spot in my phenomenal husband - but in the face of these other unmet desires, even such an extraordinary gift as he is not comforting. Wonderful though he is, he too is a broken cistern, just like everything else I want. He and those other things will never satisfy me. Only God, the fountain of living water that overflows and never runs dry, will quench my thirst for fulfillment. Nothing else even holds water.
All of God's gifts are meant to point us back to him - the giver. He doesn't use his gifts to buy our love - and we should love him in the absence of them. If we don't, we need to ask ourselves if it was ever really God we were loving, or just the stuff he gave us. This is where I find myself now - is it God I love, I crave, I thirst after - or is it just his gifts?
I know what I want the answer to be, but I'm terrified of learning that lesson. It's a big lesson. but God's a big God, and an able teacher, who promises to finish what he starts. Beyond that, he's patient. I have much reason to hope.
I wrote a post over two years ago called "a show of hands..." In it I said the following:
"It seems like all the women in my life are getting what I want before I am. My list goes on and on, and they seem to be regularly checking off their desires while my list remains on the fridge, yellowing, with only 2 or 3 boxes checked and no new fulfillments on the approach."
My life hasn't changed much in 2 years... My list is still tacked to the fridge - and it isn't so yellow anymore...it's turning an awful shade of brown...
I try not to, but my heart keeps a little list of all the things God hasn't given me - and then a sub-list of all the circumstances he's orchestrated that magnify the pain I feel at not having those things. I'd never done it before, but a few nights ago I sat down and got real with God, laying my catalogue before him and telling him exactly what was on my sinful mind.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, not charging him, but truly confused at this pattern of laying a desire before me, having it look promising, even hopeful, then removing the fulfillment. "One more 'no'..." I'd say in these situations, and they abounded. I wasn't trying to garner pity from the God of the universe - it's just that if he truly was the God of the Bible, which he IS, then he was purposing these things for my good and betterment. Not feeling good or better, I was appealing for help, and, if it pleased him, clarity.
As I rambled on, I heard old counsel ringing in my ears. "You could have it worse - some women aren't even married..." But somehow, comparing myself to people who 'had it worse' wasn't salve to my soul (though I do need to be more grateful) - in fact, it almost encouraged me to make comparisons in the other direction as well. What of the people who had it better? More old counsel..."They may have gotten something you desire," my memory said, "but they're probably struggling in a different area. Everyone has their trial."
I clenched my fists. But at least they have a bright spot in their life to take comfort from as they face their hope deferred... I thought. Where's my bright spot? I just want some desire of my heart fulfilled that I can point to and say 'I may not have X, but I have Y, so it's not so bad.'
My heart is an ugly place. Scripture calls it "deceptive above all things and desperately sick", and unable to be understood by man. The more I see of it, the more I hate it. This time was no different. I shut my eyes in disgust as the Spirit revealed what was going on. I hadn't thought it would be God's fault - but I wasn't quite expecting this news.
"Be appalled, O heavens, at this; be shocked, be utterly desolate, declares the LORD, for my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water." --Jer 2:12-13
You don't want ME, I heard the Lord say. He was right. I want many other things, and I want them badly. These things have paraded in front of me over the past few years, and have gotten close enough for me to realize I want them. It hurts like a blow when they slip through my desperate gropings, and the force of the blow increases every new time I receive a 'no' from the Lord. Another chance at part time work impossible...another month without the hope of motherhood...another service opportunity given to someone else or made infeasible by existing, restrictive circumstances... There are more categories than this, and numerous examples within each category. I feel like Hannah, who's suffering scriptures says 'went on year after year'. It's so painful - I feel like my bones are rotting.
I've always known God was in it, and I've never charged him with being a meanie - but I've laid my confusion before him over and over again, sometimes in frustrated tones, sometimes through sobs and tears. I didn't see his good for me in it all. I've asked him for years to show me, if it pleased him, his purpose for me in my sufferings. I won't claim that this is the answer to that prayer - but it is certainly from the Lord.
He's allowed these different things to come into my life to show me I want them.
He's taken them from me to show me I idolize them.
I don't think I've ever had a more painful season of my life than this one. Trying to describe it to Stephan once I said "it's just been years of consistent, low-grade suffering, like a dull headache painful enough to distract you but not enough to incapacitate you." But here's the truth - it's not inconsistent with God's character for him to not give me a 'bright spot' in my life to point to and take my comfort from as I wait for my other desires to be fulfilled. He wants to be my bright spot - he should be my bright spot. He is indeed the only thing that will ever give me the solace and comfort my soul screams for in the face of earthly disappointments. I have a sun of a bright spot in my phenomenal husband - but in the face of these other unmet desires, even such an extraordinary gift as he is not comforting. Wonderful though he is, he too is a broken cistern, just like everything else I want. He and those other things will never satisfy me. Only God, the fountain of living water that overflows and never runs dry, will quench my thirst for fulfillment. Nothing else even holds water.
All of God's gifts are meant to point us back to him - the giver. He doesn't use his gifts to buy our love - and we should love him in the absence of them. If we don't, we need to ask ourselves if it was ever really God we were loving, or just the stuff he gave us. This is where I find myself now - is it God I love, I crave, I thirst after - or is it just his gifts?
I know what I want the answer to be, but I'm terrified of learning that lesson. It's a big lesson. but God's a big God, and an able teacher, who promises to finish what he starts. Beyond that, he's patient. I have much reason to hope.
30 March 2008
"There's grace for this!"
Grace is a big deal at my church. And it should be - grace sums up God's disposition toward his kiddos. Wayne Grudem defines grace in his book Bible Doctrine as "God's goodness toward those who deserve only punishment." So simple - yet so weighty. We deserve God's just punishment for our sins - yet he sent Jesus to die as our substitute, take all the wrath due to us, and credit us with the reward of heaven that only he deserved. We deserve God's just punishment for our sins - yet, for his children, his help is available to fight against anything that would displease him and do eternal harm to us (basically our sin). Grace is a big deal, and I'm glad my church makes much of it.
However, my church also has a very specific 'lingo', and one of the things that is oft repeated in the lobby and whispered in the bathroom to struggling congregants is "there's grace for this..."
I was standing at my kitchen island one night recounting my weariness in my struggle against discontent.
And then it came.
"Kari, there's grace for this," my husband said.
My hands flew to my forehead and I said "Don't say that! I know scripture promises there's grace for me, but how do I practically access it!? I feel like I just need a big draught - where's the bar?!"
This passage tells me to draw near to God confident in my mediator, Jesus. Through his death, Jesus has made it possible for me to boldy approach his father without the fear of wrath, and ask for help in time of need.
So what does "drawing near with confidence" look like? First of all, we must have put our trust in Jesus for the forgiveness of our sins. Without the "great high priest" this passage talks about, we cannot approach confidently, because the sin that has separated us from God is still separating us. Only by repenting of our sin against God and trusting Jesus to have taken all the punishment we deserve for them can we draw near.
I would contend that step two (after accepting Jesus as the savior we need) will always be humbly praying, and in our prayers, simply asking for this grace. With our heart postured in this way before God, any other means of help we pursue will be more effective. The advice of other believers may, sadly, fall on deaf ears if we haven't humbly asked God to allow us to accept good counsel. Hearing God's word preached may not penetrate a hard heart we haven't asked God to soften. Reading scripture may be inigmatic if we haven't asked God to open it up to us.
By crying out in prayer with a heart submitted to the will of God, we're posturing ourselves to recieve the grace we long for.
Since that night, I've "found the bar" - and there's nothing sweeter than falling down at the feet of my father - rich in mercy, full of love, eager to help - and just saying "abba, father, I'm weak. Help me." And he has more "grace to help in time of need" than I could ever use up.
However, my church also has a very specific 'lingo', and one of the things that is oft repeated in the lobby and whispered in the bathroom to struggling congregants is "there's grace for this..."
I was standing at my kitchen island one night recounting my weariness in my struggle against discontent.
And then it came.
"Kari, there's grace for this," my husband said.
My hands flew to my forehead and I said "Don't say that! I know scripture promises there's grace for me, but how do I practically access it!? I feel like I just need a big draught - where's the bar?!"
"Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." --Hebrews 4:14-16
This passage tells me to draw near to God confident in my mediator, Jesus. Through his death, Jesus has made it possible for me to boldy approach his father without the fear of wrath, and ask for help in time of need.
So what does "drawing near with confidence" look like? First of all, we must have put our trust in Jesus for the forgiveness of our sins. Without the "great high priest" this passage talks about, we cannot approach confidently, because the sin that has separated us from God is still separating us. Only by repenting of our sin against God and trusting Jesus to have taken all the punishment we deserve for them can we draw near.
I would contend that step two (after accepting Jesus as the savior we need) will always be humbly praying, and in our prayers, simply asking for this grace. With our heart postured in this way before God, any other means of help we pursue will be more effective. The advice of other believers may, sadly, fall on deaf ears if we haven't humbly asked God to allow us to accept good counsel. Hearing God's word preached may not penetrate a hard heart we haven't asked God to soften. Reading scripture may be inigmatic if we haven't asked God to open it up to us.
By crying out in prayer with a heart submitted to the will of God, we're posturing ourselves to recieve the grace we long for.
Since that night, I've "found the bar" - and there's nothing sweeter than falling down at the feet of my father - rich in mercy, full of love, eager to help - and just saying "abba, father, I'm weak. Help me." And he has more "grace to help in time of need" than I could ever use up.
Superpower?
Stephan and I were in our kitchen last week and he was sharing how he'd sinned earlier in the day. Then he recounted how he had seen his sin, repented of it, and turned from it. He was, however, still discouraged.
"Dude," I said, "it's approriate to grieve your sin and feel appropriately convicted, but doing what you did - turning from it - that's a superpower that's only available to the children of God. Rejoice that through Jesus, you can turn from your sin and seek God's glory."
...
Ever regret giving someone advice, because then you have to follow it yourself? Yeah...I was sinning up a storm this week, but tried to remember the superpower I discribed to my husband - the opportunity, through Jesus, to put off my sin and put on gospel-motivated righteousness. That's no small thing, man, no small thing.
"Dude," I said, "it's approriate to grieve your sin and feel appropriately convicted, but doing what you did - turning from it - that's a superpower that's only available to the children of God. Rejoice that through Jesus, you can turn from your sin and seek God's glory."
...
Ever regret giving someone advice, because then you have to follow it yourself? Yeah...I was sinning up a storm this week, but tried to remember the superpower I discribed to my husband - the opportunity, through Jesus, to put off my sin and put on gospel-motivated righteousness. That's no small thing, man, no small thing.
22 March 2008
Meet Stephan...
May I introduce my husband, who apparently posted a photo to my blog from my Picassa account last week...
Here are a few more pictures of the most wonderful man in the world, some featuring the most fortunate girl in the world (me, not the baby...). Enjoy!
16 March 2008
06 March 2008
Multiple evidences...
...that my husband is the best in the world!
My face fell when I reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a line out the door. I turned to Stephan. "Maybe it's not that important..." I started.
Is Schwartzenegger hard to spell?
Earlier this month I worked over the weekend and had enough comp time to take a day off. I chose that Wednesday, because Stephan didn't have class. He still had homework to do, but I had stuff to do too, so it was agreed upon that we would take a couple hours to spend time together but devote most of the day to stuff-doing.
We got up on time, despite the option to sleep in, and made our way to our church's prayer room. It was a wonderful, non-rushed time of communion with God. Our pastors are doing a preaching series on the book of Jeremiah, and the prayer points for the prayer room are taken from that book as well. It's pretty powerful.
Afterwards, Stephan and I came home and chatted while we put together a puzzle his mom had loaned us. We find we really enjoy them.
It was then, however, time to get to work. Stephan did some homework while I sent some emails, and at 9 o'clock we got in the car and headed down to DC, to my favorite tea house - Teaism.
There are three Teaism locations, and Stephan wanted to try a new one this trip, so we did. When we walked in, however, it looked for all the world like any other sterile, high-end asian restaraunt. Something you have to understand about our original Teaism location is that it's crammed into an old, skinny, DC row house. The paint is chipping. The stairs dip down in the center of each step where hundreds of people have walked on them. The banisters are smooth from use. The windows actual open on their hinges. There's a little zen garden outside in the 4 feet between the door and the sidewalk. I don't think the floor isn't even level. I immediately fell in love with the rustic, alternative atmosphere, so stepping into this marble-floored, mirrored restaraunt was a little dissapointing. Stephan must have noticed the look on my face.
Evidence #1 for the day: even though we'd put money in the meeter, he insisted we leave and go back to the other Teaism, because he knew I liked it better. What a guy =)
So we did. The breakfast food is phenomenal. I got cilantro scrambled eggs with naan bread and a chicken-apple sausage. Stephan got the sausage too with a sourdough waffle and apples. His drink of choice was Chai, and I got an African red tea.
We sat at a crammed little table by a windowin the corner. After breakfast we pulled out our computers and did our respective stuff in the sunlight.
Around 1 the lunch crowd started to role in and we decided to leave. We made our way downstairs and I was practically skipping - the moment I'd patiently waited for all morning was finally arriving.
Teaism vends an amazing confection called a 'salty oat cookie'. The inventor had an oatmeal and raisin cookie one day while Kayaking, and as the first bite slid past her sea-salty lips...voila! My favorite baked-good was born! I don't know anywhere else to get them, and it had been a long time since we'd been down to Teaism, so...
My face fell when I reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a line out the door. I turned to Stephan. "Maybe it's not that important..." I started.
Evidence # 2 - "We'll wait!" he said, jovially grabbing me under the arm and pulling me toward the end of the line before it got any longer. I tried to protest, but I admit, it was half hearted.
The line moved faster than I anticipated, and before I knew it, I had not one, but two salty oat cookies in little Teasim bags as I sauntered out the door to our car - one original, and the new chocolate salty oat cookie to spice things up.
I was actually singing as I got in the car and broke the cookies in half for Stephan and I to share.
We made our way home and we were actually pretty tired, so we did something we never do - took an hour long cat-nap. It was actually more refreshing that I thought it would be and I was grateful we'd done it. When we woke up, Stephan strolled over to the window and looked out.
Evidence # 3 - He completely rethought date-night plans for me. "You know," he murmured. "I know date night was supposed to start at 5, but It's 3 now and so nice out..." He turned to me. "Would you enjoy if we did date night in the afternoon and went for a hike and came home and worked more once it got dark?"
Is Schwartzenegger hard to spell?
We were off to Great Falls National Park, and the Billy Goat Trail! It's been hard to get outside during the winter, so I was elated to hop in the car and head for the Potomac, and the craggy trail that has become my favorite woodland haunt. So spunky were we from our nap and the sunshine that we completed the trail in record time! The wind off the river was a little chilly. When we got back in the car to go home, evidence # 4 showed up - Stephan stopped at Starbucks to get me something warm to wrap my hands around! Evidence # 5 wasnt' far behind - I got a mocha and he got a caramel apple cider, and he let me drink as much as I wanted of both.
My mind went back to the salty oat cookies. One thing about me is that I love variety in my food. I love tapa bars because you can get a bunch of little meals in one sitting instead of just one. Legend has it that on our honeymoon while I was really sleepy one night Stephan started asking me questions, and one of these posed to me was "why do you love me?" In my drowsy babblings I proportedly included "because when we go out to restaraunts you're always wiling to get two different things and let me have half of each - that way, I get all the food!" This statement has gone down in FFF (Faherty Family Folklore), and every time he shares something with me he asks "do you still love me because you get all the food?" I just smile, nod, and eat what he shared with me first. He's shared his cookie so I could have two varieties. He was sharing his drink so I could have two varieties. "He really is the best husband in the world," I thought as we got on the interstate and returned to our cozy little apartment.
The night was filled with studying and other stuff-doing. By bedtime the laundry was done, my email box was empty, my calendar was up-to-date, the floors were vacuumed, and I'd gotten to do some pleasure writing - as well as spend some time with my amazing, geniful husband.
We were in bed on schedule to get up early the next morning, and we fell asleep listening to a book on tape. It was a wonderful day. God has been very kind to me. I can't believe I get to live with Stephan all the time. He's just the best.
1 Tim 3:11
A couple weeks ago my husband displayed his extraordinary humility again by asking me to begin praying 1 Tim 3:1-13 for him. This is a set of passages that talk about the qualifications of overseers and deacons - I don't think it's a far stretch to think about this is qualifications for pastors too.
As I began doing this, I came across this verse stuck in the middle:
"Their wives likewise must be dignified, not slanderers, but sober-minded, faithful in all things."
Well, if Stephan wanted to be that kind of man, I certainly wanted to be that kind of woman. For some reason the last quality, "faithful in all things", really stood out to me - not because I felt I excelled at faithfulness, but because I didn't.
Givign some thought and prayer to what faithfulness looked like, I settled upon a functional definition. It certainly isn't all encompassing, but it's helped me evaluate my level of faithfulness in different areas.
Faithfulness is doing what you've committed to doing (what God has clearly commanded or given you faith for in a season) in a timely way, and if you can't, saying so.
This takes work. But if anyone can accomplish this in me, the God who is able to do abundantly more than all we can ask or imagine can!
As I began doing this, I came across this verse stuck in the middle:
"Their wives likewise must be dignified, not slanderers, but sober-minded, faithful in all things."
Well, if Stephan wanted to be that kind of man, I certainly wanted to be that kind of woman. For some reason the last quality, "faithful in all things", really stood out to me - not because I felt I excelled at faithfulness, but because I didn't.
Givign some thought and prayer to what faithfulness looked like, I settled upon a functional definition. It certainly isn't all encompassing, but it's helped me evaluate my level of faithfulness in different areas.
Faithfulness is doing what you've committed to doing (what God has clearly commanded or given you faith for in a season) in a timely way, and if you can't, saying so.
This takes work. But if anyone can accomplish this in me, the God who is able to do abundantly more than all we can ask or imagine can!
29 February 2008
A plug for rising early
No, I don't think 6:30 is too early to be checking your email.
You may think this is a reflection on computer addiciton in my life. Far from. I stare at a computer all day - I'm not one to get a jump on staring before I go to work, nor do I get particular pleasure out of more staring when I come home. I get on to take a look at my calendar which is kept online to make sure I'm attacking my day before it attacks me, and I do take a look at my email.
Well, Wednesday morning I got on and noticed an email from my mentor. 2 down, 5 to go! it read. Apparently a stomach virus was ripping through the family of 7. "If you have any chicken noodle soup, saltines, or Gaterade you aren't using, we'll take 'em..." she said at the end of her email.
I turned to my husband. "You up for a mercy run?" I asked, reading him the email. We proceeded to make chicken soup, run out for saltines and Gaterade, and drop them by the afflicted family - all before we left for work at 8:00.
There are many reasons to get up early. There is a biblical precedent of peopel rising early to seek the Lord before they started their day. Jesus did it (Mark 1:35. Everyone Christian woman's homegirl, the Proverbs 31 Woman does it (Prov. 31:15). King David did it (Psalm 5:3). This is by far the most compelling reason to get up - you get to fuel up on God's word and promises before you launch into a day where everything you know to be true about God may be challenged by your percieved circumstances and your flesh. It's absolutely critical that we see the danger of entering our day without a big gulp of God's promises, instead of going into our day unprepared and suffer for it (Ps 22:3)
Another reason is simply that we are sowing to discipline when we deny the desires of our flesh to stay in bed in the mornings - and, just as crucially, staying up late the night before. This is where the battle is won or lost for me. It's important to be properly rested by the time we plan to rise early, whatever that looks like for our season. Of course there will be mornings when circumstances keep us from getting enough sleep, but regularly getting up without applying self-control and discipline to the front end is foolishness.
The last reason for getting up early is that you're available to serve others! My husband and I were so blessed to be able to help our friends that morning when they needed it - how many other kinds of service could we pour ourselves into much closer to home if we were up and finished with seeking first God's kingdom when our families rose? Encouragement notes? Real breakfasts all around? Time to look them in the eye and talk with them before we all rush out the door to face the day? Doing a little housework so the evenings are completely free to spend with our loved ones? Planning to bless people in the future? Taking a look at our schedule to prepare and pray for specific appointments in the day? I've got a few friends who like short "good morning!" phone calls. The list goes on... I'm sure there are more creative people than me reading this.
Oh, and, for what it's worth, there's always hot water for yoru shower, because no one's been in there using it up before you. =)
You may think this is a reflection on computer addiciton in my life. Far from. I stare at a computer all day - I'm not one to get a jump on staring before I go to work, nor do I get particular pleasure out of more staring when I come home. I get on to take a look at my calendar which is kept online to make sure I'm attacking my day before it attacks me, and I do take a look at my email.
Well, Wednesday morning I got on and noticed an email from my mentor. 2 down, 5 to go! it read. Apparently a stomach virus was ripping through the family of 7. "If you have any chicken noodle soup, saltines, or Gaterade you aren't using, we'll take 'em..." she said at the end of her email.
I turned to my husband. "You up for a mercy run?" I asked, reading him the email. We proceeded to make chicken soup, run out for saltines and Gaterade, and drop them by the afflicted family - all before we left for work at 8:00.
There are many reasons to get up early. There is a biblical precedent of peopel rising early to seek the Lord before they started their day. Jesus did it (Mark 1:35. Everyone Christian woman's homegirl, the Proverbs 31 Woman does it (Prov. 31:15). King David did it (Psalm 5:3). This is by far the most compelling reason to get up - you get to fuel up on God's word and promises before you launch into a day where everything you know to be true about God may be challenged by your percieved circumstances and your flesh. It's absolutely critical that we see the danger of entering our day without a big gulp of God's promises, instead of going into our day unprepared and suffer for it (Ps 22:3)
Another reason is simply that we are sowing to discipline when we deny the desires of our flesh to stay in bed in the mornings - and, just as crucially, staying up late the night before. This is where the battle is won or lost for me. It's important to be properly rested by the time we plan to rise early, whatever that looks like for our season. Of course there will be mornings when circumstances keep us from getting enough sleep, but regularly getting up without applying self-control and discipline to the front end is foolishness.
The last reason for getting up early is that you're available to serve others! My husband and I were so blessed to be able to help our friends that morning when they needed it - how many other kinds of service could we pour ourselves into much closer to home if we were up and finished with seeking first God's kingdom when our families rose? Encouragement notes? Real breakfasts all around? Time to look them in the eye and talk with them before we all rush out the door to face the day? Doing a little housework so the evenings are completely free to spend with our loved ones? Planning to bless people in the future? Taking a look at our schedule to prepare and pray for specific appointments in the day? I've got a few friends who like short "good morning!" phone calls. The list goes on... I'm sure there are more creative people than me reading this.
Oh, and, for what it's worth, there's always hot water for yoru shower, because no one's been in there using it up before you. =)
Pearls
My husband got me a strand of pearls not long ago. Then 2 weeks ago I went shopping and found a real bargain at Old Navy, a pretty blue shirt for 3 bucks. I wore them together to the office.
"Kari!" everyone kept saying, "what pretty pearls!"
I found myself answering "Pearls? But what about my shirt, is my shirt cute?"
The pearls were old - the shirt was the thing I wanted poeple to notice, and they weren't noticing. There was something that stood out more.
I can be this way with spiritual encouragement too. Someone will comment on how I encourage others and, though I thank them, think inwardly 'no one's noticing my prayerfulness lately...'. Someone will encourage me about how I love my husband and I'll think "will anyone ever notice the humility I've been praying for?"
This is such a silly attitude to have. I'm so consumed with waiting for the encouragement I wish I was getting that I sometimes totally disreguarding the encouragement I am getting.
There are a couple of pitfalls here, the first being condemnation. If I don't pay attention to the evidences of grace others point out in my life, chances are I won't see them myself. Some days all I can see is my sin, so I need to heed the encouragement brought to me by godly friends and family so I can be built in faith that God is working in my life. Otherwise I might not catch it myself. Beyond that, I could be quenching the spirit in others. They are only encoruaging me because the holy spirit helped them see evidences of grace in me and prompted them to share for my edification. If I disreguard their encouragement, I'm belittling their observation, discouraging them from exercising the gift of encouragement in the future (with me at least), keeping myself from being built up by the church, and ultimately robbing God of the glory that should be his if I'd say "why thank you! It's all because of grace".
I think I got it by the end of the day - I started thanking people for their complements on my pearls - but it was always with the little tag "Thanks! They're from my husband! Isn't he wonderful?" I hope I can do the same with encouragement. "Thanks! That's from my savior! Isn't he wonderful?"
"Kari!" everyone kept saying, "what pretty pearls!"
I found myself answering "Pearls? But what about my shirt, is my shirt cute?"
The pearls were old - the shirt was the thing I wanted poeple to notice, and they weren't noticing. There was something that stood out more.
I can be this way with spiritual encouragement too. Someone will comment on how I encourage others and, though I thank them, think inwardly 'no one's noticing my prayerfulness lately...'. Someone will encourage me about how I love my husband and I'll think "will anyone ever notice the humility I've been praying for?"
This is such a silly attitude to have. I'm so consumed with waiting for the encouragement I wish I was getting that I sometimes totally disreguarding the encouragement I am getting.
There are a couple of pitfalls here, the first being condemnation. If I don't pay attention to the evidences of grace others point out in my life, chances are I won't see them myself. Some days all I can see is my sin, so I need to heed the encouragement brought to me by godly friends and family so I can be built in faith that God is working in my life. Otherwise I might not catch it myself. Beyond that, I could be quenching the spirit in others. They are only encoruaging me because the holy spirit helped them see evidences of grace in me and prompted them to share for my edification. If I disreguard their encouragement, I'm belittling their observation, discouraging them from exercising the gift of encouragement in the future (with me at least), keeping myself from being built up by the church, and ultimately robbing God of the glory that should be his if I'd say "why thank you! It's all because of grace".
I think I got it by the end of the day - I started thanking people for their complements on my pearls - but it was always with the little tag "Thanks! They're from my husband! Isn't he wonderful?" I hope I can do the same with encouragement. "Thanks! That's from my savior! Isn't he wonderful?"
27 February 2008
Acts 2:42-47
"And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved."
Februray 13th there was a crazy ice storm in Gaithersburg (Maryland's Manic-Depresive season begins...). All the cars were practically laminated. Earlier in the day one of the facilities guys came by my desk and told me things were getting bad. I stood up as soon as he told me, but he read my mind.
"You're wiper blades are already up," he said.
I thanked him and sat down, very grateful.
Later in the day, we get the email. "Due to deteriorating weather conditions, the office will close at 4." At 4, out we all trudge into the parking lot, ice skating to our cars, only to find them completely incased in ice. So we begin chizzling them out. When I was done with my own car I looked up and noticed that my wonderful coworkers, my brothers and sisters in Christ, had begun swarming one car at a time and were systematically working their way through each car in the parking lot. I joined in. In about 20 minutes, all the cars were ice free and ready to go.
Incidents like this always make me think of the passage in Acts 2, where Luke discribes the way the church functioned. This blitzing of the ice yesterday made me think of the line in the passage about the believers each giving to each other as there was need. There was a need to have ice scraped off cars - and the church met the need. That's how the church is supposed to work - and that's how my church does. Praise God!
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