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Them: "So, how many kids do you have?"

Me: "Well, none yet."

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Them: "You've done this before, haven't you?"

Me: "Yeah...lots of times. I'm definitely no stranger to holding newborns. I've got lots of "nieces" and "nephews!"

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Me: "I know it's not supposed to be public yet...but congratulations on your pregnancy!"

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Them: "You're seriously the most experienced non-parents at parenting in the church."

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I've heard all this within the past few days. All of it's a painful reminder that I'm not yet a mom...but I made a comment today that made enduring all the others worth it.

One of the other secretaries came back to my desk today and asked me if I'd like to meet her friend. This friend was a 5 month old baby she was holding while her mom filled out some paperwork in the front lobby. My coworker and I greeted her and delighted in her smile, and as this secretary was leaving to reunite baby with mom, my coworker said "Aw... I want one!"

I sat down a little shocked at what I was thinking. Very unlike me for the past few years. I voiced my thought: "Me too..." I said, "but I want God more."

We were both quiet for a minute. Then I started smiling. "I mean it," I said. "How cool is that, that I really mean it?"

"That's really cool..." she said. The hesitancy with which she spoke wasn't due to awkwardness. This gal has been acquainted with my struggle and has watched me agonize over it. She's heard me say "I'd give anything..." But now, I wasn't saying that.

I went to her desk and sat down. "You know," I told her. "2008 was arguably the toughest year of my life because I wanted kids so badly. But God used that time to teach me that I wasn't created to live for and be satisfied in anything but him. I wouldn't ever want to repeat that year - but I wouldn't trade the things I learned about God and who he is for anything. ANYTHING."

Even I was surprised with the passion with which I spoke. But I meant it. This was coming from deep down in my gut.

It's almost 2010. I'm nearly 30. This is NOT how I would have ordered my life. But God had better things in store for me than a full family by 30. He wanted me to understand who he is, and who I am, and what the Gospel is, and he wanted to make me more like Christ. I don't understand him fully, and I've got a long way to go in becoming like Christ, but I'm a little closer now because I've had to wait on this blessing.

I pray every day God will bring kids - but not at the expense of something better God might have for me. I know now there are better things.

Fully Manual

Before my husband took me to Italy last May (as if that weren't enough), he bought me a digital SLR (translation: fancy camera). I've been unstoppable with it ever since. I've always been an artistically-inclined archivist. How did I go 2 decades without ever being introduced to this art?!

Stephan told me the basics, and I started taking pictures on a semi-manual mode that gave me some control while still letting the camera do some things for me.

Well, today, 3 months later, Stephan gently offered that it was time to make the jump. "You should start shooting manual all the time," he said.

He's always right.

So we've transitioned. Here's one of my first shots on fully manual, one that came at the end of a long string of 'snap...look at picture...change setting...snap...' etc.

I immediately jumped on my brother-in-law's facebook (yeah, the professional photographer brother-in-law...that one) and announced my achievement...and said that he might now have a rival for our parents-in-law's wall space... though, not likely. He's kind of amazing. But I'm OK with that. He can be amazing - and I can watch him and try to get better, and have a blast while I do it!

Italy Bound!

I've been absent from this blog for a while, busily keeping another, which is cataloging the ramp up to and eventually our Italy trip itself.

you can visit it here.

Can't wait!! I'm expectant that God is going to meet me while I'm there. I've got lots to pray about.

?!

So Stephan just walked up to me holding a bottle of my homemade olive oil body scrub.

"Did you notice the spider that drowned in here?"

It was one of those *blink blink* moments.  Sure enough, a tiny spider was floating in the olive oil.

Good thing the bottle was almost empty...

A Godly Man's Picture...

There he is!  Pounding away at the computer, just like he has for the past 2 years.  He's pounding the Starbucks too - because he's slept very little this week and has had a full day at work every day.  Going to bed early isn't an option this week, because he takes his last final tomorrow and presents his thesis on Friday.  Oh, and did I leave out the bit about me getting angry and him having to lay everything down to help me with a little heart work?  Yeah... that took a good 45 minutes... twice this week...  Some of those late nights were my doing...

Ephesians 5 says that Husbands are to love their wives as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for it.  They're to love her as they would their own bodies, for no one hates his own flesh, but cares for it and cherishes it - just like Jesus cares for and cherishes the church, because we're part of his body if we've trusted in his death for our sins.

One of the pastors at our church preached on this passage recently.  In the course of the message he posed a question to the husbands present: "Men, have you loved your wife in a way that cost you something recently?"

I really think I live with the most compelling example of this passage ever.  From the instant I became Stephan's wife, he's loved me sacrificially.   These past 2 years of graduate school have been years of cost to him - he's give up sleep, leisure, and preference after preference after preference.  And he's not doing it for a career - he's doing it for me.  Talk about laying your life down.

Just a little tribute, Stephan - I know it will probably embarass you.  But I'm not posting anything the world wouldn't already see by watching you.  Thank you for loving me in a way that cost you something.  I can't wait to see you reap the rewards of your hard work in Italy!  9 days!!

GOD has done it!

I just read this in my quiet time:

"When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue is parched with thirst, I the Lord will answer them; I the God of Israel will not forsake them.  I will open rivers on the bare heights, and fountains in the midst of the valleys.  I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water. ...that they may see and know, may consider and understand together, that the hand of the Lord has done this, the Holy One of Israel has created it."  -Isa 41:17-20

That they may see and know... This is a precious phrase (or variant of a phrase) to see in scripture.  God owes us nothing.  He never has to reveal his motives or plans to us.  But to catch glimpses of what he's doing behind the scenery of our lives is always heartening.

There are days when I've felt thirsty...thirsty for certainty, for clarity, for direction, for stregnth... The Bible tells us in numerous places that God has promised not to forsake us - so why then do we thirst?  I can feel forsaken in those times.  

This verse tells us that God's intention isn't to leave us thirsty forever.  He withholds the water so we turn to him for it - and when he grants it, it's with the purpose of making us understand that He is our supplier, our wellspring.  He is the source of our satisfaction.  Any of god's gifts are meant to point us back to him.  Sometimes he lets us thirst so that he can get our attention back from something else we've pinned it on.

There's another place in scripture where language like this is used.  These words were spoken by Moses as he was presenting the people of Israel with the original tables inscribed with the Ten Commandments:

"And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. ...Take care lest you forget the Lord your God by not keeping his commandments..., lest, when you have eaten and are full, and have built good houses and live in them, and when ...all that you have is multiplied, then your heart be lifted up, and you forget the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, who led you through the great and terrifying wilderness...that he might humble you and test you, to do you good in the end.  Beware lest you say in your heart, 'My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth.'  You shall remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you the power to get wealth, that he may confirm his covenant that he swore to your fathers, as it is this day." Selections from Dueteronomy 8

This is clear and hope-giving.  God let the people of Israel hunger in the wilderness, then provided their food to point them back to himself, their true source of sustainance.  And he warns them against ever thinking that their needs are met merely by their own stregnth, stating bluntly that, though they work, it is God who is behind their ability to work at all - and he does it to show his care for a people whom he's set his love on, to show again his faithfulness to his promises and committment to his covenant.

So, I don't think it's a leap in logic to confidently say that, when we're in trial, God allows us to thirst or hunger in order that we might realize our need, then, when he fulfills our needs, we'd say "GOD has done it!"

I've felt poor and needy and thirsty.  I feel like I've been allowed to hunger in a terrifying wilderness.  Today is day 15 in the countdown to Stephan finishing graduate school.  His masters has been a long row to how, as they say (abundantly moreso for him than me!).  And now that I'm nearly done, I can look back and see wonderful patterns.  When I needed water, God provided refreshment through his spirit when I prayed or others prayed for me.  When I needed food, he fed me through his word, in both my personal readings and other believers bringing it to me.  And afterward, every time I've said in my heart God has done it.  Every time he meets a need, I'm reminded more and more how much I need him to meet it.  Beyond that, every new time I give a little less thought to looking for water or food in another place - I just come to God quicker and quicker in the first place.  This is good training!

I realize this post has a gloomy tone - but I want to clarify that I'm not gloomy!  This is weighty but exciting stuff to have seen work out in my personal life.  It makes this amazing, merciful God realer to me, and strengthens my faith that he's designed my circumstances to 'do me good in the end' too.  

Gumball Machine!

Last year I asked Stephan if we could get a gumball machine.  He said no, mostly on financial grounds.  We were completely provided for and not in any danger of going hungry - but an expensive (and they are expensive...) gumball machine wasn't a need at that time, and probably wasn't wise.  After our discussion I agreed with him completely, and we abandoned the gumball machine in solidarity.

Tonight, months and months and months later, we saw a play at church.  The play was AMAZING.  It was based on John Bunyan's book Pilgrim's Progress, a phenomenal allegory of Christian life.  The main character, named Christian, makes his way long a path - and sometimes the path is hard.  Sometimes he wants to give up.  In one scene of the play, he comes upon an old acquaintance named Goodwill, and is telling her how badly he wants to get to the Celestial City, where his journey will end and he can rest.  She lovingly tells him that his time will come, but not to rush.  "There's much the King has given us to enjoy along the path!" she said.

Did I mention that Goodwill, in our play, was cast as an Irish girl who plays the fiddle?

She started playing, and then to everyone's surprise, and my great joy, there was an Irish step-dancing number - with bagpipes even!  I adore Irish music, especially fiddle music, and clapped my way through the whole number.  I was really blessed by it.

Driving home, I told Stephan how I felt genuinely encouraged, that something so personally enjoyable was written into the play as something symbolizing the rest and delight God wants us to have along the way in life.

When we got home, our parking space had been parked in, so we had to drive up and around the court to turn around.  On the way, we passed something sitting on the side of the road.

"Hey," Stephan said, "you still want a gumball machine?"

Yes, it was a retro gumball machine that someone was throwing out - and yes, I still wanted it, so I jumped out and grabbed it, and now it's sitting in my living room, soon to be filled with spherical joy.

Just a little bit of rest and delight God meant for me to have along the way in life, I guess!

"Consider Him..."

It's been a long time since I posted what God was teaching me in my quiet times... it used to be my primary post material, but recently I've taken to only posting after I've stopped laughing when something outrageous happens to me.  I want to catch that stuff to remember later, for sure - but I want to catch the little ways God encourages my soul too.  Those are the things that affect my heart later.

Today is day 21 is our countdown to Stephan finishing grad school.  Neither of us can believe we're so close!  I say "we" at Stephan's insistance.  He says this is something we're doing together - and he's right...at least, if my weariness of it all is any indicator...

This morning I woke up wanting nothing more than to have his attention.  And, this was the one day of the semester he just couldn't give it.  The largest segment of his final paper is due, well, in 2 hours - before midnight tonight.  It's been a hard push this week, and an even harder push today.  There wasn't any leeway to be spending time with me...

I've been reading through the book of Isaiah, but today, having those "I just can't do this anymore..." thoughts, I flipped to Hebrews 12 and read one short but powerful verse:

"Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted."  -Heb 12:3

Weary and fainthearted... yep, that about summed it up.  And the author of Hebrews was just as faithful as Paul or Peter before him to point me back to the one solution to every problem I'll ever face: the gospel.

Jesus endured much more than I'll ever have to...and this verse says that he did it so that I might not grow weary or fainthearted.  When I think of him - and who is 'him'? My savior, my mediator, my way to the Father - who endured the wrath of God that I deserved for my sin, it's much easier to press on in joy and persevere through tough times.  Why?  Because since Jesus endured what he did, I now have access to the father to ask for help when I need it, and the holy spirit living in me to give me power to endure myself, just like Christ did.

So, today, I've considered him, my savior, who endured such hostility and scorn from sinners like me, to take my punishment so that I'll never have to, and remembered that becaues he did it I have stregnth for today and bright hope for tomorrow - and this buoys me up as I endure for this life, until my final rest comes in heaven

(...or, my temporary rest comes in Italy.  21 DAYS!!!)

The King of Bohemia

I recently started another blog, (mostly to amuse my friends and husband), spoofing off one of Stephan's favorite nick-names for me: his Bohemian Princess.

I want to post the gospel anywhere I can, so I wrote this little story for said blog.  It's posted in the sidebar there, but I wanted to feature it here, because really - it's an amazing story.

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THE KING OF BOHEMIA

A princess implies a king.  Bohemia does have a king - and this king has a son, a son who had to come looking for me after I'd rebelled against my father.  When he found me, I'd already made such a huge mess of things...in fact I'd given myself intothe slavery of a decietful, cruel master, who'd promised me my heart's desires, but delivered only suffering.  My master wouldn't let me go without a huge ransom, which the King's son paid.  He told me the King was calling me back, and had sent him to ransom me.  But how could I face the King again?  I was a wreck - a dirty, dissobedient child.  "Here," said the son.  "Let's get rid of these filthy, crimson rags you're wearing...take my clothes, and when we get there, I'll take you into the King's presence, and I'll plead for you."  

I said I'd trust him.  And he's still there, at the King's right hand, pleading for me.

"Nothing's broken!"

You may remember the fruit fly battle of July 11th. I count that one of the best day of my life - and I was just waiting for another moment like that when I arrived at the home of the Wilcox family in early March.

A bit about the fam: I was introduced to Dad via a phone call I took at work. He explained that he was interested in attending Starting Point, and asked if he could bring his kids.

"Well," I said, "we'll never tell a parent they can't keep their children with them," I said. "You as the parents can decide whether your kids would benefit from being there, or if you'd rather them participate in our children's ministry. How old are your children?" (Innocent enough question.)

"They range from 2 to 17," He said.

I'm glad he couldn't see my eyebrows draw down. "Oh," I said, "How many are there, if you don't mind?"

"Nine," he said, without skipping a beat. I'm wish he could have see my eyebrows shoot up.

"Really!" I said, very intrigued now.

"They're very well behaved, even the 2 year old. They're used to sitting still when we ask them to. I'm sure they'd be fine in the class."

"Well," I said, grinning broadly now, "We'll have to pull out a few more chairs for you, but otherwise there are no problems! See you Sunday! Please introduce yourself!"

I love fateful days like that. They were unmistakable when they walked in that day, and they still are, every time they burst through the classroom doors to greet me and Stephan as we do our Starting Point work, even though they've long finished the class. The whole family is light-hearted, extremely articulate, devoted to each other, well mannered, wildly gifted, they love the Lord - and they're Civil War Reinactors. Talk about a cherry on top.

I was extatic the day Dad extended a dinner invitation to us. We went, we had a blast tripping over ourselves with all their names, hearing all their stories, being shown around the sewing rooms and the bicycles and the enormous pantry. We left really hoping we'd be invited back...

And we were! In early March, Mom and the 2 oldest girls were going to a conference. Dad wanted to take his oldest son to a meeting at church called Manskool (I know, pretty cool 'K' action there), which is for dads and sons, and then in the evening to another meeting (called 10:31), which is for all parents and their teenage kids.

But with mom and the other girls gone, all the family babysitters were away. And so, we were called. Could we babysit the youngest 5 in the morning during Manskool, then again in the evening during the 10:31 meeting? YES!

And so I arrived that fateful morning. Stephan was taking that time to study, so I was flying solo. I and the kiddos cleaned the house from stem to stern, and I only had one "uh-oh, lost one..." moment. We were sweeping out the garage when Dad returned. I bid farewell and promised to see everyone in a few hours, when I returned with Stephan.

And return we did. We had dinner with the family and sent Dad and oldest son off to their meeting. We had a great time with the other kids. Stephan played chess...and I think was beaten by a few of his challengers. We watched Inspector Gadget. Then, it was time for bed.

Stephan is fond of saying getting children to do anything en mass is like herding cats. No exception here. Up and down the stairs they went..."I'm just grabbing water!"..."Look at my PJs!"..."Are you going to sleep here?"

It came up that the 2nd-oldest son was supposed to start the dishwasher after dinner. We sent him to bed (he locked all the doors before going like a good man of the house!) and said we'd take care of it. And take care of it we did! ...Oh, boy did we take care of it...

That morning we'd used cleaning products unlike any I'd ever seen. Very natural and unique. So when I looked under the sink for the dishwashing detergent, I wasn't thinking "box of detergent"...I saw the bottle and held it up to read the lable.

"I dont' see any instructions for how much to use..." I said. "Oh well. Must just be the normal amount." ...and I filled up the cups.

Stephan and I then took a seat at the table. Man, I thought, we're so good at this babysitting thing... not only are the kids in bed on time, but they're intact. We've done the dishes and started the dishwasher. They're sooooo going to want us back...

What's that proverb? "Pride before a fall," or something?

"Stephan, is there any tea?" I said with a pretty little flick of my wrist. "Let's brew some and just sit and talk until Dad and Son get home."

We did brew tea. We did sit and talk, and it was a great talk for about 20 minutes. Then I set my cup down, and in turn set my hand down in something on the table, and noticed it hadn't been wiped down after dinner.

I'm going to push this right over the top, I thought to myself, standing. I'm going to wipe off the table!

So I round the counter to get a rag, and the rest I can tell only from Stephan's discription. Apparently I froze and looked like a tarantula had just crawled out from under the counter.

"What's wrong?" he asked, getting up.

At first I couldn't answer. "W...we did something wrong!" I finally managed as he rounded the counter.

The dishwasher had rabies. It was foaming from all edges, and a little ocean was puddling in front of it. I had no idea what to do.

Thank God for husbands. Stephan stepped up to the dishwasher and opened it, revealing wall-to-wall foam in side. Everything was encased. I raise my hands to my face and let out a long breath. "Oh my..." I said.

Stephan pulled the bottle of 'detergent' out from under the sink. "Is this what you used?" he asked, holding it up to me.

"Yes..." I answered weakly.

He replaced it and shut the cabinet with a smile. "That's dishwashing liquid," he sang. "You put that on rags in the sink."

I covered my face with my hands. Then I started laughing. "What do we do...?" I said.

Stephan pulled the bottom rack out of the dishwasher and handed it to me. I took it an looked around me, finally just putting it down in the center of the kitchen floor.

"Don't worry," he said. "I've made this mistake before." He then went on to explain how once, as a kid, he'd run out of dishwasher detergent and though "soap is soap", and filled up the dishwasher with dishwashing liquid as well.

"You can't tell a dishwasher to drain," he said as he rolled up his sleeves, reached into the dishwasher, and litereally pulled out a armful after armful of suds, "so we've got to get out as much of the bubbles and soapy water that we can."

"By hand?" I asked.

"By hand," he said, smiling and reachingi n for another armful.

I started regaining fuctionality then, and moved to the sink, rinsing the bubbles he put there to make them dissapate before the next armful arrived. After this, Stephan took a cup off the top rack of the dishwasher and started scooping out the soapy water that had collected at the bottom of the dishwaser. Praise the Lord I'd been there that morning when we were cleaning and knew where the mop and towels were! I took that time to clean up the floor. Last, we took sports bottles (fortunately they're all cyclists too - did I mention that?), and as Stephan sprayed down the sides, I filled the next cannon with clean water from the sink, and back and forth we went until the well at the bottom of the dishwasher was full again. Stephan scopped that out with the cup again.

About this time I realized that Dad and Son could return any minute. "What od we say when they get home?" I began rambling to Stephan as I stood behind him, mop in hand, soaking up new drips of water the moment they hit the floor. "How do you put someone at ease when they come home to find this? 'You're kids are sleeping soundly?' 'You're kids are alive?'"

Stephan endured it patiently, as he aways does. We were beginning to think we might get the whole mess neutralized when we heard banging on the garage door. I remembered that second-oldest son had locked all the doors before going to bed, so now Dad and Son were trapped outside.

"That's them..." I said, beginning to giggle. I leaned the mop against the counter and stepped over the bottom dishwasher rack on my way to the door. I grabbed the doorknob...then firmly planted my other hand on the doorframe.  When I opened the door, there was no way around me.  It was son.

"I just want to preface your entry with 'nothing's broken,'" I said, cheerfully.

His eyebrows dropped.  "Oooooooookkkkkaaaayyyyyyy......" he said, shouldering past me.  Behind me I heard his reaction.  "Oh  my gosh!  What did you do?!"  

No time to celebrate with them.  I still had to break the news to dad, who was just getting out of the car.

"Hi!" I called from my place in the doorway, and repeated what I'd said to his son.

He paused, one foot out of he car, one still in.  "Alright," he said, perfectly controlled.  "And what's the bad news?"

I toyed with saying something cute for only a millisecond.  Dad was a military man, and I knew how that crowd rolled.  I decided to just be direct.  "Bottom line up front," I said, "I put dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher, and now your floor is really clean."

He was coming in the door by that time, and came in, percieving the dishwashing rack on the floor immediately.  "Wow," he said.  "So, what happened again?"

We told the whole story again as Stephan scooped out the last of the water and I took a rag to the counter, then the mop to the floor.  Here I want to extol this family for how good-natured they are.  They listened and laughed appropriately (espeically when I recounted how I poured the liquid in even after not seeing any dishwashing instructions on the bottle).  They then poked fun at me, but all the while assuring me everything was fine.  I love people like that - ones who can laugh when things are funny, but without making anyone feel condemned.  What could have been humiliating turned out to be pretty edifying.

Everything was under control by the time we left.  We'd left the dishwasher opened so long that the cycle settings all reset and we were able to restart it with the appropriate detergent.  All reports since then indicate no permanent damage done.  Phew. 

Arlington

1999 - The Evans family got their next set of orders: not Japan, as hoped for, to in a suburb of Washington D.C.

2001 - Kari was unexpectedly (and undeservedly) accepted to a scholarship program at a local community college.


2001 - In said scholarship program, Kari met her future husband, as well as 3 members of the church she now considers the dearest place on earth.


2003 - Stephan and Kari graduate from Montgomery College with their A.A.s


2004 - Stephan and Kari wed


2004 - Stephan and Kari join Covenant Life Church - to everyone's surprise...even their own.

2005 - Stephan graduated from American University with is B.A. and begins looking for a job in his field, International Relations. He sets his sights on D.C.


2007 - Kari accepts a job at Covenant Life as the church's Starting Point administrator, getting the wildly fun job of personally greeting everyone exploring membership in the church


2008 - After years in retail management, being unable to land a job in his field, and after much prayer, Stephan returns to school to get his masters degree


2008 - Approaching his first summer of grad school, Stephan begins looking for an internship and recieves an offer...


"Wait, why are we even talking about DHS?"


I put this question to Stephan as he discribed the two interviews he was going to in the coming week. I was driving home from a training session for a crazy-fun service opportunity later that year, and he was driving home from school.


"...because I think it might be more interesting," he answered.


I chewed on that for a moment. I'd been praying for years that he'd find a job he enjoyed. I really didn't want to dismiss his honest comment lightly.


"Yeah..." I started, "...but you'd be taking an internship for the summer."


"Right," he confirmed.


"...as opposed to the position at Justice, taking an indefinite internship that would continue through your next year with flexible hours, health benefits, and the possibility of rolling into an actual job at the end..."


He was quiet for only a second.


"...yeah, why are we talking about DHS?" He laughed.


I smiled. Practicality ruled the day again. He declined the interview with DHS the following day and accepted the position at the Department of Justice.


He worked part time and finished his next semester strong. Then, in May, our marriage turned 4, and instead of a trip to a tropical paradise, we opted to go to the New Attitude (now NEXT) Conference, and serve on their excentric hospitality arm - a group of weirdos lovingly introduced to the conference attendees as "the Ninjas".


We took up a red messenger bag stuffed with toothbrushes, playing cards, and lots of candy, and surprised and delighted the folks at New Attitude by slipping in and paying for their bookstore purchases unexpectedly, saving front row seats in the main sessions, handing out pens to those who forgot them, and showering them with fistfuls of candy. It was an absolute blast.


And all that in the service of my savior. Whoa.


And, it should be mentioned that an insanely fun (or...just...insane) duo named David and Casey also served as Ninjas...and we kinda hit it off.


We returned to Maryland thoroughly exhausted after a 7 hour delay on our flight home (full of cavorting in the airport...a story for another day). But, sometime after that, life returned to the Faherty house...and David and Casey made their first appearance too. The hitting-off persisted, and they quickly became some of our dearest friends.


Conversation began to drift out into the spring of 2009, when Stephan would graduate. We were convinced now that he'd find work in DC, being as there were few other places in the country where someone with his skills and training would be in demand. His commute was rigorous, and we started discussing if moving closer to the city would be a good idea.


"We only commute to church once a week," he'd say, "and caregroup is only once a week too. I'm going down to the city 5 days a week. All the time I'm spending in the car is time I'm not with you, and won't be with our kids one day."


His argument was compelling. "Well, let's see what it would take to move down nearer Bethesda," I said. "Or, perhaps we should even check out northern Virginia. Maybe there's a tax difference or something..."


"Yeah, I'm open to anything," he said. "We just couldn't be too far from Covenant Life unless we knew there was another good church there for us."


"Right," I confirmed. A variation of this conversation had been had throughout the years, and it always ended with that exchange: there must be a church there for us, or else we won't go. Right.


Thursdays are staff meeting morning at the church, and we all gather around a big table to hear from the church's adminstrator and pray. I was sick one particular thursday, and when I got to work, I found an email waiting for me from the administrator's assistant with the minutes of the meeting. One line in particular caught my eye. I immediately forwarded it to Stephan.


"They're planting a church in Arlington," I wrote. "We'd been talking about northern Virginia...should we pray about this?"


Stephan's always snappy on email. "Yeah, we can pray about it," he replied.


David and Casey came for dinner again, as they'd become accustomed to doing. We posed the normal "What's new with you?" question and got a surprising response.


"Well, David can't stop talking about Arlington."


Stephan and I looked at each other, then to David for an explaination. Apparently his heart had been stirred up big time after hearing about the plant, and he and Casey were seriously considering being part of the team.


A 'we are too' conversation followed. We both confessed that the thought of the other going to Arlington too built faith for going themselves.


The announcement was made to the church not long after. "If you're interested in exploring being a part of this plant, there will be a meeting next Saturday," our senior pastor said.

After many "Whadayouthink?"s and about 7 days, the meeting arrived. We were all asked to fill out a little questionnaire when we got there.

"On a scale of 1 to 10," one question read, "with 1 being 'not going' and 10 being 'I'm ready to move', where would you fall in terms of the church plant?"

I confidently wrote down "5". This was all very exciting, but I still had to be sold on it. It would be a huge change.

The meeting began. We heard some logistics, saying the pastors were hoping for a summer-time launch of the church. We heard some statistics, which were also seriously compelling and interesting. Then the guy who would be leading the church as it's new senior pastor, Eric, got up to talk.

He told us about a time a friend of his had called him in a panic, saying he just needed to talk to someone. Eric told him to come on over. This fellow was what the world would call 'messed up.' He had piercings all over and tatoos to cover the rest, was addicted to alcohol and drugs, and was absolutely petrified of getting HIV from his premiscuous lifestyle.

Eric recounted how he listed to his friend, and tried to share the hope of the gospel with him. He told of his friend balled up and rocking on the floor of his deck, absolutley overcome with fear. Then he told us about what happened after his friend left, and he gathered up his wife and 3 kids, and they all prayed for him - and Eric thought as he prayed "man, I just want to do this all the time. I want to hold out the hope of the gospel to the people like my friend who the world has written off as 'messed up'."

I discreetly scratched out my 5 and replaced it with a 9. "Me too..." I thought. I didn't have exactly the same burden, but his heart to show mercy to the people society has rejected did resonate with me deeply.

We left the meeting and had a dinner with David and Casey. We were all pretty moved, but aware we'd have to count the costs.

Stephan and took stock of life over the next few days. Stephan had a job in DC. We both loved being downtown. We both had a desire to care for those with physical needs, and there was such a concentration of them in the city...it seemed like God was channeling us toward the city. We met with our pastor and he remained very involved through the whole process. As we talked more, the plant began to make more and more sense...and we slowly transitioned to saying "When we move to Arlington" instead of "If we move to Arlington"...

"Why aren't we just committing?" I asked Stephan one night. "We're already saying when, not if." It seems we're both in faith. What's holding us back?"

Stephan was very honest. "I just don't feel like I've prayed enough," he stated.

That was enough for me. When facing big decisions like this, it's absolutely critical to make the decision in faith bourne out of prayer. Otherwise, when you hit a rocky time, you'll be tempted to think you made the wrong choice. But if that decision was made in faith, you can be confident you just need to persevere. "Take all the time you need," I told Stephan.

"Give me a week," he said.

The next day he came home from work declaring he was ready to committ. "Email Eric," I said.

"Can't wait to labor with you guys in Arlington this Summer!" he responded.

----------------

That was over almost a year ago. We'd been told the team would solidify in early 2009...but we hadn't heard anything from leadership by February. An email brought the answers for the questions we were beginning to ask. The plant would be postponned, possibly up to a year - or possible canceled.

Now we're waiting for God to lead again. Everyone who'd committed was basically released by the pastors to pray and evaluate again once more details were to be had.

Why'd we have to walk this road? It's not unprecedented that God would give a clear direction to do something, then reveal that he'd had another intention all along - take the story of Abraham and Isaac, for example. Abraham had given up hope for kids by age 100 - but then God promised him a son, and a son came. Isaac, a child of promise, was born, and Abraham loved him.

Then God commanded Abraham to slay Isaac as a sacrifice to him. Abraham was heart rendingly obedient, going so far as to hold the knife in the air over his son on the alter, when God stepped in and stopped him, saying he'd commanded Abraham to do this to see his true aligence. Abraham proved true to God.

We may be experiencing a 'slay your son' moment...where we felt God say one thing, but it turns out he's got different intentions. If so - wonderful! I'm up for the adventure! God's been so faithful to us this far in life, I'm confident he will be in the future too.

More as it developes!

It's public...

From our church administrator, to the staff - 1:21pm, January 30th, 2009...

"Dear pastors and staff,

After much discussion with Kari's boss and overseeing pastor, as of this coming week, Kari will begin working a part time schedule. She and Stephan expressed a desire for her to work part time so that she can give more attention to their home prior to their transition to Arlington this summer. Kari will continue to support all aspects of Starting Point and membership when she is in the office Tuesday, part of Wednesday, and Thursday.

Any questions, please feel free to see her directly!

We are grateful for the way she continues to serve!"

"It's the little things..."

I was sitting at my desk one day laughing at something absurd I'd just read...

A friend of mine leaned over my cubical and saw me laughing. After my explaination and a pause on her part, she said "...It's the little things, I guess..."

"Oh yes!" I replied enthusiastically, "I love little things! I wish someone would just show up with a bucket of little things and just pour it out on me!" I sighed, finally getting over my chuckle. "That'd be the best..."

So what was I laughing at? The inside of a Dove candy wrapper...



Go ahead! Indulge in breathing!

I seriously lead the funniest life ever...

Kari(s) is here!

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!

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:

"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:

"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)

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.

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!

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.

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...

"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."

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:

"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)

It came at an appropriate time and encouraged our souls very much. The giver plainly wants to remain anonnymous - so my hope is that it's someone who reads my blog and will know that their gift was a true word in season. The words meant more than the enclosure. Thank you.

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'm going camping!!!

Hurray!!!

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!

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.

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! =)

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.

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!)

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 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 2:12-13

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.

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!

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.

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)