Faith for the Instant or Faith That is Constant

I've often beaten myself up for my apparent lack of faith--in terms of being able to believe something prayed for or declared will happen instantly. That it will be one of those miracles one always dreams of experiencing. The kind other people always seem to be party to. After all, shouldn't we be able to ask for anything in Christ's name--and He says He'll do it (John 14:14)?

However, He doesn't say when. If the elders anoint someone who is sick, the Bible says he will recover (James 5:14). Still...it doesn't say when. Many times over in Scripture God promises to restore health. And of course, He is the Great Physician, our Healer, the one by whose stripes we are healed. One of the most compelling verses for instant healing is Mark 11:24: "Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours." But...when?

So...all of this leaves me with some questions to pose. Can a lack of faith be an obstacle to healing? Yes, I believe it can. Can God's perfect timing have an impact? Yes, I believe it can--He sees the big picture and knows how all things will affect us in our lives for the good. And many times, I believe that "good" is not just for us--but for others as well. Maybe the man who received his physical healing too early would not have developed compassion for those in similar circumstances nor recognized a calling God had on his life. Perhaps the broken woman who received emotional healing would have missed out on some even bigger emotional blessings--or even the ability to make some life-changing decisions--had she received it months or even years earlier. We just never know.

But God does. He knows. Everything. For every person. At every moment. 

And that is what I've learned to trust. Yes, I want to see people healed instantaneously; and I want to have faith that expects that. Because I serve a really big God. But I don't want to get hung up on the faith thing. I think of a coat that is up on the highest hook of a coatrack--and its owner is trying to get it down. But it's impossible to do because it's simply "hung up" on that hook and doesn't show any hope of coming loose. Does the coat's owner simply give up and say "Oh, well. I guess I'll just leave it there"? No, of course not. He or she will get help, or get something to stand on so as to more easily unfix the coat from the hook. Or simply keep trying until success is reached. I don't want to be like the coat--held back, hindered. And neither do I want to be in the position of an owner who would walk away, giving up too easily. Both represent discouraged or diminished faith.

So what do I do? Ask God to grant me more faith? I certainly could--and have. But it's generally through hard things in which God comes through, provides, makes a crooked path straight (as He always does) that faith is matured. Certainly, it grows through the immediate answers too--the greater the number of immediate miracles, the greater one's faith for them. But is the faith for going through something--and coming out the other side still believing in the goodness of God--worth any less or any less valid than the faith that precedes a sudden healing?

I tend to believe that God honors all faith in Him. My faith has been proven--over and over again--through the "long haul" events. My parents' illnesses and subsequent deaths after several years of watching them deteriorate--their healing eventually coming on the other side; my son's fight-or-flight brain wiring that plagued not only him but us as a family for years, only to be seemingly rewired by an accident that could easily have taken his life; numerous financial struggles, even those resulting in the loss of a house--but through which our support system was strong and God continued to provide for us and walk us through, knowing we would come out stronger--and grateful for all that we did, and still do, have. More "process miracles" than I can count. And a trust in my God that is strong and unwavering. In my estimation--faith that is constant.

I know that if I want my faith for the everyday "BAM" miracles to grow, I have to practice exercising that kind of faith. But I do possess great faith. Make no mistake.

My right leg bears a tattoo that reads: "All things work together for GOOD for those who love God" (Romans 8:28). My favorite Scripture--and one that is written deeply on my heart because of all He's carried me through, because of the great faithfulness He has shown. I don't know if I will be one who moves regularly in healing ministry, but I do know that I will continue to trust Him--the one who is the Author and Finisher of my faith and the Sustainer of my life.

Variety Versus Change

I've always liked variety. In fact, I don't generally do something the same way twice. But while variety makes for interesting activities and adventures, it doesn't carry with it the permanency of true change. I used to confuse the two. I'd try to convince myself that an upcoming transition wouldn't be terribly difficult--or even unsettling--because, after all, I was in favor of variety. What I didn't realize was that there are day-to-day changes (those that spark new interest or enjoyment) and there are life-altering changes (those that may significantly impact the direction of one's life--including even the relationships one develops).

Variety: Fruit salad or cole slaw; Chef's salad or Waldorf salad; green salad or potato salad. Not eating the same cuisine day after day demonstrates that one's palette appreciates variety. But the decision is ultimately fleeting, and once the salad has been consumed, it is soon forgotten.

Or perhaps a teacher decides that her class is too restless for reading out of the history book today—so she leads an impromptu reenactment of the events her class is studying. This ultimately leads to stronger recall of said events and higher scores on upcoming quizzes and tests. A simple, spontaneous shift can have remarkable results. This is not a permanent change. The teacher won't approach each lesson the same exact way. But she will look for opportunities to help the children truly learn the material.

Change: Behavior problems at school lead to you (the parents) being asked to withdraw your son, which necessitates resigning from the position you (the mother) held, in order to home school. The emotional and neurological support needs lead you to a special program, which will target the biological root of some of the behaviors which precipitated this turn of events. The program enables your son to attend a new campus and meet and develop relationship with a teacher who will later go with him back to his original campus, where his second chance will not be wasted. Your (Mom's) love for him and understanding of him will soar in ways it couldn't have, had you not spent that time at home schooling him, waiting out his fits, drawing limits, and laughing and telling stories with him. A bond that will be needed again and again later on is built and strengthened during this unplanned, unforeseen interlude.

To put it another way, variety is the spice of life, a diversion that results in fun or pleasure. Change—though it may encompass variety—is the bigger picture. Change is hard. Change is work. Change implies a long-term shift in the way of things. Change is "to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone." 

But can varying one's preferences, choices, ways of doing things lead to change? Yes—if that variance is recognized as a catalyst. Whatever Edison did after his thousand first attempts was the variable that led to a permanent course of action—a way of devising and replicating a workable light bulb...which changed the course of history.

Change can affect many—as it did in the case of our son. Not only were our lives altered by the positive results of him meeting Mrs. Johnson; but so were his fellow students' and subsequent teachers'. Because he had done some hard work, he was now better equipped to re-engage with those he'd been with since preschool, and to truly develop friendships. 

Because the Ten Boom family, living in pre-WWII Holland, were willing to allow their home to be structurally changed—modified—so that a secret room was created, many Jews were spared the fate of going to Nazi concentration camps. They even changed the way that they communicated, instituting a secret code within the daily routines of their clock shop that only their Jewish visitors would recognize. These things they did at great personal risk and consequence; but their willingness to not turn a blind eye resulted in the saving of nearly 800 lives.


It seems to me that there is more spontaneity involved in the practice of variety, while change requires a certain level of clarity, planning, and commitment. It's a more mature level. I've always enjoyed and welcomed variety. But change can be scary. It is one of the strongest, most necessary forces in life—but one that we often seem to dread. However, without it, no real growth occurs. Variety is of value, but ask yourself: while variety enhances my life, am I able to then face the challenge of life's inevitable changes with bravery, faith, and enthusiasm? Do I dance around the bigger issues so I can lick the frosting off the spoon and tiptoe through the tulips, so to speak?  You may still experience some variety, but without true change you've got spice with no substance. A struggling couple can go to new places, eat new cuisine, meet new people—but until they address the core issues, learn to communicate better; thus, put in the hard work—nothing in their marriage will change or develop into something stronger.

We were never meant to do change alone. Proverbs 3:5-6 says, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart  and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight." It may not always seem like it in the moment, but when you look back...well, the proof is in the pudding. All that has transpired and all that it has cost, in hindsight—having followed the Lord—will be remarkably worth it. 
ⁿ 

Change matters. It's the brickwork of a strong life—one that cannot easily be blown down by any huff or puff that comes along. It makes a difference that cannot be easily forgotten or denied. Change is a vital constant. And that will never change.

The Banyan Tree – A Picture of Community

In August of 2017, my husband and I went to Maui, our first time in Hawaii--to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary. In one of the towns we visited (Lahaina), there is a Banyan tree that is over 100 years old. It grows in a unique way, producing roots that spread out and sprout up into new trunks—all connected to the one original trunk; so this “tree”—which appears to be a host of trees—takes up a full city block.

It truly was incredible to see—and it got me to thinking about how this tree is a picture of the Body of Christ, as it demonstrates the concept of community. Community is harder to develop than it is to define; it's something that doesn't happen by osmosis. It takes time, willingness, and ongoing investment for a healthy environment of community to thrive. Like the Banyan, we need the support of other "trunks" (people) to lift us up and assist us in our weak areas and times of great need. 

Our pastor likes to ask us (the congregation) from time to time, “How many churches are there in Salem?” The correct response from us is “one.” We are all one body—different expressions but all part of the same Body of Christ. In looking at the Banyan, the trunks that are farthest removed from the main trunk could be seen as churches that—though they are connected to the body (local church) one is a part of—are not necessarily well-known to us. It’s likely that our churches don’t really cross paths; or we as diverse believers tend to find ourselves in different circles, perhaps intersecting occasionally at community events or conferences. We are all “trunks” on the perimeter for the most part, as denominations and styles tend to go. But we’re still connected to the main Source trunk—Christ.

So what is community really? Howard Macy, author and Professor Emeritus at George Fox University, describes it this way: "Christian community is simply sharing a common life in Christ. It moves us beyond the self-interested isolation of private lives and beyond the superficial social contacts that pass for "Christian fellowship." The biblical ideal of community challenges us instead to commit ourselves to life together as the people of God." Life together. Did you catch that? To me, that means that no one is an island. No one is able to just slip through the cracks. There is a communal sense of caring, of being connected to all the other members. While each individual need not know everything going on in everyone else's life, a community shares the big things--they celebrate new jobs, new babies, new victories--together. And they grieve the loss of loved ones, financial crises, disappointments--together. Not just in word, but in deed. There is a reaching out, an embracing that takes place--those who are part of this kind of community know that they are loved; and they feel supported.

To be one who practices community requires maturity, which takes time. It calls upon us to step outside ourselves and our own everyday concerns and be brothers and sisters to one another. Howard Macy writes: "It’s a process that is revealed in the "each other" language of the New Testament: Love one another, forgive each other, regard each other more highly than yourselves. Teach and correct each other, encourage each other, pray for each other, and bear each other’s burdens. Be friends with one another, kind, compassionate, and generous in hospitality. Serve one another and submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. This list just scratches the surface, but it is enough to remind us that we need the community of faith to grow up in Christ." That's a tall order! If one section of the Banyan's roots were to stop providing nourishment, the whole tree would be in jeopardy. So it is in a human community.

Perhaps the very encouraging word you need to give to sister Martha is going to motivate her to share what the Lord has put on her heart to do for someone else. And perhaps that person, without that timely word, is going to become depressed and self-isolate--thinking that others don't care. Yes, we all have our own responsibility to care for ourselves and seek the highest good; but what we do--and what we may neglect to do--matters greatly. That is why God designed us to live life together, in community.

I believe people are looking for community. If they can't find it in the church, they will go outside the church. If ministry boxes are drawn too tightly, those who have needs that are not being met inside the boxes or who see that others have needs will either join together or be community-less. Structure isn't always--but can be the enemy of community. Structure isn't bad, so long as it serves a common purpose.

I saw many different types of people in Maui, gathered underneath the broad shady areas of the Banyan tree. Some were just reading. Some were visiting, some were playing with their children, and still others were taking pictures. There was something for everyone. Everyone found a place and an element of relaxation or fun.  My point? Ministry opportunities shouldn't become so narrow that some people "don't fit." If we say we want community, we have to be careful that we don't push out those with a heart for community by limiting options and administrating them down to a "well-oiled machine," rather than the life and growth a true community provides.

The Banyan is something one has to look at with awe and wonder. It's an interconnected, extended, growing organism. Is that what others see when they look at my church? Your church? Do we just see each other, and even mingle a little, on Sundays--or are we drawing life in abundance from our interconnectedness that is continually present? 

The Banyan is a marvel, a thing of beauty. I will forever be grateful to have witnessed it--in all its twists, nooks, and intricacies. And isn't that the Body of Christ? We're all "twisted" in one way or another, intricately designed by our Creator to be unique, and somehow we can all fit together, finding our individual areas in which to thrive--giving that combined life to all the other members. In community, we all benefit. Some are not left in "the desert." All travel together; and all are better for it. 

Can we, like the Banyan, grow old in community--with new parts being added so that the blending is virtually seamless? Is it possible? I pray that it is. May we be rooted and grounded in love so that all who see us know immediately that we are a community--because of how we love each other.

Amazed by the Season

“To every thing there is a season,…”—it has become rather cliché, but it holds so much truth. The rest of the verse where this statement is found (Ecclesiastes 3:1) gives the rest of the story—"and a time to every purpose under the heaven:” God has specific purposes He wishes to accomplish during each season of our lives—and He has set up nature in such a way as to mirror the transitions we, His human children, go through.

Generally, a season of trials, sorrow, hardship, and the like is followed by—providentially— a season of joy, celebration, or thanksgiving. Sometimes it seems like it takes way too long to get to the next season. But if we pay attention, I believe there is always value in what God is doing because He always acts according to Romans 8:28—my favorite Scripture: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Hmm, we are currently residing “under heaven,” as it were, and God has purposes abounding there—no matter where we are or what we are experiencing.

I’ve always admired the beauty of the natural world’s changing seasons. But I don’t know that, since childhood, I’ve been truly amazed by it. Winter is cold—and Christmas comes. Family gets together and eats a lot. Then before one knows it, spring is here. What was dead now comes alive again, and the outdoors are filled with color. As the weather grows warmer still, people don swimsuits and crank up the AC. At summer’s end, kids reluctantly get ready for “back to school.” And as fall rolls around, there is a crunchy calm in the environment as leaves change and drop—and students and teachers settle into new routines.

Right now, looking outside, it is still summer—but fall is drawing near. Enter any department store and you’ll know it. School supplies are now marked down, pumpkin décor is everywhere, and people are planning costumes and harvest parties. But in my spirit right now, it feels more like spring. Why? Because it’s a season in which God—that all-creative, all-knowing, all-purposeful planner—is doing a new thing.

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Here, in Isaiah 43 (verse 19), God is talking about His people Israel—but they are a parallel to us, also His “chosen” children. Skipping down to verse 25, we read, ““I, I am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins.” God’s big-picture plan of redemption was Jesus. “For God so loved the world…,” and everything He does in our lives springs forth from that love. Even when everything looks dismal and dark, His love can illuminate that place with hope—and divine purpose. If we can recognize what He’s doing in that new season.

Right now, in my season, God has taken me out of a teaching position—which provided our family with a balanced, steady income; He has allowed me to have surgery to correct some years of pain and suffering—but I’m still in recovery; He has given me a grandson to love and cherish; and He has seen my family through one of the scariest events of our lives.

When I gave my notice at work—which I specifically felt the Lord prompting me to do—I didn’t know when my surgery would be. But God knew it would not happen until late August. I didn’t know that our son Josiah would have an accident, just less than a week before my surgery, which would result in a major head injury—leaving him in a neck brace for two months. But God knew. He knew He would deploy his angels at that exact time in that exact place to keep our boy’s life here on earth from ending prematurely.

God knew how much joy our grandson Gene would bring us—and what a blessing that would be in getting through some of the tough stuff. And before both the accident and my surgery, He allowed us a trip to Hawaii—something we’ll never forget. If we had known what was coming—well, we may never have gone. But God has a way of orchestrating our steps.

Though there are uncertainties in this season, I keep looking—and the more I look, the more I see life. Life that was not lost—a second chance for a future for our son; life pouring in through God’s redemptive provision during this time—and the love of the Body of Christ; life-giving memories as we look back on our Hawaii trip; life in the smiles of our grandson—and in his enthusiasm for all life has to offer; renewed life through the miracle of surgery—with the promise of happier, easier, and less restrictive days ahead. So…much…life!

If I only focused on the negatives or the “difficults,” I could’ve missed this season’s purpose entirely. God is reminding me that He is the giver of life—that He has given us life eternal through His Son Jesus Christ and that He gives abundant life every day through His loving-kindness. He’s reminding me that His plans are for my good—not to harm me but to give me a hope and a future (Jer. 29:11)—what a life-giving purpose!

I may not order many pumpkin spice lattes in the upcoming weeks (they’re not really my thing), and I may get annoyed when too many dead leaves start to pile up in my yard. I may have a challenge figuring out what to wear due to a limited fall wardrobe, and I may get caught in the rain a few times (this is northwest Oregon, after all!). I may find that I’ve missed out on some great end-of-season sales here and there. But one thing I will purpose to do—to see life—to speak it and declare it and to run with it. It is for freedom that Christ has set us free (Gal. 5:1a—punctuation emphasis added)! “Freedom” means “the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint.” It also has to do with not being prisoned or enslaved.

God has said in this season, “Be unlimited, not hindered. Be a life live-er, not a survivor. Grab on to new experiences that will lift you up; don’t be content to stay in the doldrums.” And finally, “Give out of what you have received—"A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you (Luke 6:38).””

So I am not averting my path to avoid the unpleasant; I am staying in the path of life. It is coming to me, and it will come to you. Certainly, I’ve been through periods of winter—and know that it was only by the grace of God that I came out the other side so my soul could experience spring once again. And I’ve been through the raging summers—where the pressure was turned up and everything was tense—and intense.

If all my digits were thumbs, I can almost guarantee that not one of them would be green. I’m not a gardener. I’m much better at killing things than helping them to thrive. But God is saying, “This is a fruitful time. Watch what I’m doing.” I stand amazed by the season I find myself in. And by a God who does all things well and makes all things new.

Confessions of a Kindergarten (One Year Counts, Right?) Teacher

My first experience with educating kindergartners was during my Master's program internship. As it turned out, the teacher and I weren't a great fit. But those kids were so eager and cute. Once while doing recess duty outside, an autistic boy in the class who was considered "nonverbal" pointed to the ground (it was a sunny day) and clearly spoke the word "shadow." I had just earlier taught a science lesson about the sun and shadows. This mainstreamed student, who made a lot of noise but whom we couldn't tell was grasping anything or not, had obviously been paying attention and retaining--and it had made enough of an impression on him to put forth the effort required to form the word! I was utterly amazed, astounded, and excited. My mentor teacher wasn't terribly impressed. But it's something I'll never forget. It was the moment I questioned (for just a minutes) whether I might actually be cut out for kindergarten. In the end, personality conflict demanded a switch--and I ended up completing my year of student teaching in a second grade classroom. I had learned not long after starting the internship that I was indeed pregnant with our firstborn. The second grade class was a tough group, but my overseeing teacher was very understanding; it proved to be a good choice.

After graduating with my Master's in Teaching, having a baby a week later, and failing to get an actual "teaching job," my next real kindergarten immersion was going to work in a childcare when Kristiana was ten months old. These 5-year-olds were definitely high-spirited--and they always wanted a push on the swing here or a boost onto a bar there. But I had quite a bit of energy back then.

I didn't feel that I had a great deal of patience for "little people" that were not my own, so I began to pursue elementary classroom teaching again, spending a year subbing in Beaverton, six months subbing in Hermiston, and a few months subbing in Albany.

When Kalina was of preschool age, we relocated to Salem. I commuted for eight months to Corvallis to teach one-on-one in a reading clinic, where I met Ellen, a spunky kindergartner whose parents very much wanted her to learn to read. I'd never taught anyone to read "from scratch" before. This was my first "success story," as it turned out. Some days I remember being rather mentally exhausted after her forty-five minute session; I mean, keeping a five-year-old focused for that length of time--and learning at the same time can be nothing short of miraculous. I enjoyed her funny quips and struck a good balance between answering and redirecting her comments and questions--but I was always glad to see my much older clients coming.

After the reading clinic, I took a job at Cornerstone Christian School. It wasn't the right timing for my young family for me to be working full-time, as it turned out. But...we loved the school--and the following year we enrolled both girls. Kalina was in preschool; Kristiana was in third grade. There was more to my "kindergarten education" ahead.

I had marveled at Kristiana's kindergarten teacher, Miss Tunnell (in Albany), for dealing with Kristiana's "daydreaming" and her flair for the dramatic. I marveled once again at Kalina's teacher, Mrs. O'Connor, as she entered kindergarten--she could be stubborn and challenging, but this woman had the ability to teach her to read, among other things. I thought to myself, 'I could never teach kindergarten.'

I subbed for Mrs. O'Connor several times over the next few years, finding the kids adorable of course but always secretly thinking, 'I'm more cut out for the older kids.'

Once Josiah was in kindergarten at CCS, I was the librarian there--and that year I ran a program with my co-librarian, Mrs. Franklin, that we called "Kindergarten Storytime." We would read a story to the kids, then lead them in a corresponding arts and crafts project. I found this to be a delightful time and carried on the program by myself the following year--boy, was it hard to complete some of the projects in the allotted time! I had to learn what kindergartners en mass were capable of and try to plan accordingly. I was inclined to think in terms of what an older child could accomplish in fifteen or twenty minutes. I liked that it was a short, bright, fun spot in the day for them--but was thankful that I didn't have to plan an entire afternoon's worth of lessons and activities. Once again, the kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Bittner, had my utmost respect--and as much as I loved storytime, I didn't envy her job.

It wasn't until I had a couple temporary school district jobs, a fifth- and sixth-grade job share, a second- and third-grade classroom position, three years of language arts pull-out classes, and several years of being a librarian under my belt, that I even considered the idea of teaching kindergarten. It was part-time, which wasn't what I'd set out to obtain--but the schedule appealed for several reasons. Still, it was kindergarten! It had become a necessity for Josiah's school, which was now known as Crosshill, to add a second kindergarten class. I remembered Mrs. O'Connor's words to me years back, when I'd first gotten to know her: "You can do all things through Christ." For some reason, I had peace about this idea and found myself saying to the principal one day on the phone, "I'd be interested in the kindergarten position." This came as a surprise to...everyone--especially me!

I was hired and began setting up a classroom, for the first time in eight years. It had been determined that I would have two of my friend Vonnie's grandkids in my class; their family were missionaries to Ukraine, and they'd be spending a year in the States. Their Seth reminded me in some ways of my Josiah when he was younger--and we managed to make a fast bond. Havalah took a little longer to "fall in love" with me, but once she did she was one of my biggest fans.

As the year went on, I could not believe how fast it was racing by--and how some days seemed way too short. And then as it ran down to weeks left, I found myself thinking, 'I haven't had enough time with these kids.' You see, I had fallen in love. They had made me laugh. They had learned and grown. They had developed socially. They had let their little--no, their big--personalities shine. And I was going to miss them all.

I assumed I'd be teaching kindergarten again the following year, having learned the new language curriculum and all. But enrollment didn't have two kinder classes in store. Instead, I ended up teaching fifth grade. I adored my fifth-graders as well. But looking back, there was something pretty incredible about my year in kindergarten. So many milestones reached, so many things learned--not just for the students but for me.

Will I teach kindergarten again? I don't know. But now I know that I am not scared of it--that I would actually welcome it. I figured out that I could be over-animated--and guess what? Kindergartners love it. I would sometimes randomly change lyrics to songs to keep them on their toes. I would give them "true or false" statements that were sometimes ridiculous. And I had one student who absolutely loved it when I would show "the wrong way" of forming a letter on the board, pretending I was doing it correctly--so that the students would have to tell me the right way to do it.

In the movie Mrs. Doubtfire, Robin Williams' character, Daniel Hillard, expresses a theory about educating children--that "you don't have to play down to them. You just play to them." And that's kind of what teaching kindergarten is like. Yes, there are the more serious moments--but there's energy--as a kindergarten teacher, you have to keep it fun and engaging if you want true learning to take place. And the best teaching moments are when they're having so much fun that they don't even know they're learning.

I miss the light in their eyes, their innocent and often complex questions, the way they learn to use scissors, the messy "just ate snack" faces. All of it. So here's my confession, in a nutshell. Deep inside...I just might be a kindergarten teacher.

Be Still: Salvation Comes

Noah expected the flood -
he prepared (and he built) for its coming.
The pounding of rain and the beats of his heart
were in sync like a drummer's song drumming.
The beat never wavered, the rain didn't stop -
while the ark kept them safe, warm, and dry.
Noah knew God would be their salvation.
But what of the days drifting by?
Would there be any doubt of God's promise
when the waters weren't quick to retract?
Would a righteous man question God's wisdom
on such an extreme judgment act?
Perhaps there were questions he pondered,
while giving his family assurance.
But might he have questioned the sojourn
in terms of his human endurance?
Did doubts ever breach the equation,
though God had assured them his care?
Did fear ever sneak in the window -
which disclosed no land anywhere?
Did patience wear thin in the waiting,
not seeing an end to this phase?
Was conflict or discord an issue
those 300-something long days?

Like Noah, we know there'll be torrents -
that flooding will sometimes ensue.
But in those long periods of waiting,
the question is 'what will we do?'
Will we fret or complain or throw tantrums
or lash out at loved ones nearby?
Will we obey the Lord without question
though circumstances go awry?
Will we heed to the naysayers' voices
when the Father has told us 'stay put'
or willingly give up our courage
when trouble or trials are afoot?
Or...watch for His rainbow of goodness,
for the moment we once reach the shore -
and keep looking for beams of redemption
to pour in when He opens the door?

My Sweat Glands are Screamin' (parody of "California Dreamin'")

All the cool is gone, much to my dismay

It is much too hot for a summer’s day

I’d be nice and cool up in Canada, eh

My sweat glands are screamin’ on such a summer’s day

Stopped in to a store I passed along the way

Well I grabbed an ice cold Coke and I forgot to pay

You know some people saw me guzzle

I don’t care what they say

My sweat glands are screamin’ on such a summer’s day

All the cool is gone, much to my dismay

It is much too hot for a summer’s day

There’s a place in Anchorage—we could leave today

My sweat glands are screamin’ on such a summer’s day

My sweat glands are screamin’ on such a summer’s day

My sweat glands are screamin’ on such a summer’s day

The Dichotomy of Me

Yesterday I realized something--something I've known, yet not in the way it was revealed to me at that moment. I would describe myself as a person who has struggled. In my emotions. In trying to figure things out. In just how in the world to discipline myself in any area. As I stood in worship on Sunday, I asked myself why I don't just "cut loose" sometimes the way I want to. After all, I've been told that there's a "wild thing" in me that wants to get out. The answer came in the form of a two-sided coin, if you will. I am often reserved and self-conscious like my dad, but I have some wilder tendencies like my mom. My life has been, in many ways, a constant struggle to balance those two parts of my personality. I really do believe--no, I know--that I inherited both. And it truly has been a challenge to negotiate social situations, work environments, and the like.

One could argue that what was bequeathed to me from my father is the more sensible, logical path of life--and that I should always embrace that. But there's also value in knowing when one should stand up for what's right, fight for the underdog, or speak one's mind without inhibition. My mom could be one fiery force, especially if her passions were questioned or her loved ones threatened in any way. My dad was usually one to "keep the peace" and not "rock the boat." But he was equally as passionate about the things and people he loved.

Sometimes in trying to figure out how to respond in a particular situation, I can almost hear my parents arguing with one another, each presenting a valid thesis on the matter at hand. It's like I've got two different consciences at times. Two separate, yet often converging, ways of looking at things. And so I spend a lot of time in my head, weighing out actions--which sometimes results in inaction, something I picked up mostly from my dad. Lack of action was his m.o. when fears set in. My mom would err more in the realm of seeing the fault in others--hypocrisy, gossip, deceit,--declaring that she didn't want to be in the same circles with those types of people. These hang-ups kept my parents on the fringe of society for the most part. And I've tried to not let that happen to me.

My mom grew up feeling unwanted, and in her mid-teens she ended up dropping out of high school because she couldn't cope with the drama at home due to two alcoholic parents. She sought love and acceptance and thought she had found it with her high school sweetheart, whom she married at seventeen (giving up her dreams of being a performer in the process), only to learn that he really had eyes for almost everyone else and was an easily-angered, physically abusive person.

My dad grew up on a ranch, learning to love the outdoors but always working overtime intellectually to invent, explain, and investigate topics of higher reasoning. He grew up feeling loved yet misunderstood. He was plagued by the physical limitations of impaired vision--and damaged nerves due to a fall from a hayloft in his early youth. And though he graduated from college, he allowed the fear of failure to hem him in, never achieving the successes he aspired to.

A couple of hard-working, highly-sensitive, underachievers--my parents finally found each other. My mom always dreamed of a family--four kids to be exact. But my dad only wanted one--a little girl. I was a "miracle" to both of them, as my mom had difficulty conceiving. I didn't realize until later that many of their own hopes and dreams would rest on me as well. Perhaps it was too late for them, but they believed I would achieve greatness where they hadn't.

I knew greatness was in me, but it was always difficult to truly believe in it--to see past what others saw. I was the kid with the weight problem who wore thrift store clothes and lived in a run-down trailer. And so what if I went to college? Would I ever really be good at anything? Would I ever find a place where I fit? Or would I, like my parents, simply have a lot of "potential"?

It's been several years since I lost my parents (first my dad, then my mom), but I can still see their very clear imprints on my life. I was in my late forties when I got my first tattoo--and I'm planning several more. That "wild idea" has my mom written all over it. She wore what made her happy and said what she thought and didn't care what others thought of it. My mom was a spender, though there wasn't ever much to spend--and she wanted to enjoy the simple pleasures that made her heart happy. My dad, on the other hand, worried about money, worried what others thought, and dwelt on the what if's. As hard as I try, I find myself often drifting--or maybe floating/sailing--into these currents of thought.

It wasn't until my mother had a thyroid storm in 1992 that she became obsessed with the likelihood of bad things happening and harm coming from all directions. My mom, the "strong of faith" one--the "rock" of our family--fell apart mentally due to imbalances in her body. And part of my world was shattered. I could no longer trust my mom's judgment. I couldn't confide concerns in her. I had to protect her from too much information. I had to be more like my dad.

Years later, when my dad developed Alzheimer's, I had to protect him as well--and I had to listen and try to relate as he relived past events, often those that had occurred before I was even born. The strengths I'd grown up seeing in my parents were gone, and now I was left to pick up the pieces. I resented it. I didn't want to be the parent--I wanted my parents to be! It was during a particularly frustrating time that one of my best friends told me, "God chose you specifically to be their daughter." I didn't want to hear it. In fact, I rather hated that she'd said it. But as time went on--both during their health crises and after their passing--her words would replay in my head as a comfort. There was purpose in my being their child. There was an understanding of who they were that no one else would ever have. There was a deep, shared love between the three of us that I knew I would never trade for anything.

My dad would avoid risk, while my mom would embrace it--that's something I'm constantly trying to balance out, as I'm pulled in both directions. My mom would lament that she'd never had more children, while my dad was perfectly content with one--he didn't think he had the energy or patience for more. I find it hard to balance what I think I can handle with what I desire. What's reasonable with what will satisfy my heart's longings.

My parents were both wonderfully generous people--sometimes to their own detriment; that's something that's in me that can't be shut off. Mom and Dad didn't know how to advocate for or represent themselves--self-doubt and deficits in social graces got in the way. I'm still learning what questions to ask, what avenues to pursue, and who to trust--I often wish I had a better skill set for marketing and advancement in my creative pursuits.

Yes, we are more than just a combo of our parents' strengths, weaknesses, and tendencies--but I've realized that there's so much of my mom and dad in the mix of me that it's a bit like sorting through a deceased loved one's belongings. You have to decide what's worth keeping and what isn't going to be missed. What is useful and what can simply be kept as a memento. What to toss--and what to pass on through the generations.

I believe I inherited more good than bad and gleaned more true life lessons than trivialities. I remember my folks in my laughter and honor them with my wit. Like my dad, I can turn a rhyme like nobody's business; and in the face of an impossible situation, my mom's optimism and bold faith will rise when least expected--but most needed. Yes, the deep thinking and heavy emotions that are a part of me present adequate struggles--but they are the very clash of values, priorities, and purposes that push me toward my calling. Though I wrestle within because I carry conflicting and complex facets of two incredibly gifted people, I believe God made me who I am for a reason. And I'm still on the road to discovery.

No wonder we put pressure--whether intentional or not--on our kids. We want them to be better than us, more successful than us--to go farther than us. We don't want them to struggle in the same ways. We see ourselves in them and want them to perfect the mix. And so it is my honor, my legacy, to find the balance...and to tip the scales.

Anxiety, the Lying Isolator

I've recognized it as a lie--yet it's one I sometimes still believe--probably more often than I care to admit. The lie (or series thereof) goes something like this: You can't be around people today. It would be very unhealthy for you. You are too vulnerable. You need to protect yourself and stay away. The problem is...though this undoubtedly feels true at the time one hears it, it doesn't represent truth. God's Word declares in Philippians 4:13, " I can do all things through Christ[a] who strengthens me."  Proverbs 18:1 tells us, "One who has isolated himself seeks his own desires; he rejects all sound judgment." The most important thing that often can't happen if you give in to the lie is hope and encouragement. Agreement with any kind of a lie kills hope. 

For example, this belief that anxiety should be obeyed instead of exhortations such as "enter His gates with thanksgiving" or "do not forsake the assembling of yourselves together," causes an ultimate lack of hope when one decides not to go to church. 

This morning, I felt that "anxious bug" trying to bite me. I had woken up late, and my husband was already at church. I entertained the thought of not putting forth the effort, and as soon as I did...I could feel a hopeless cloud beginning to descend. I quickly  forced myself up, got ready, and went to church--where great truth and revelation awaited me, as well as the love of other believers and the opportunity to worship God together with them. My own mind had tried to go into a negative default it's had for years. But I got the victory--I allowed a mind-renewing process to begin.

Sometimes the urge to "not engage" with people is so strong that I've found myself walking just a little faster when someone else is approaching the same door or area of a store or church sanctuary, etc. that I am. My anxious adrenaline bids me to "just speed up; don't make eye contact; avoid." 

There is another lie, I believe, attached to this behavior: If you engage or acknowledge, people will expect something of you--and you will disappoint them. Akin to this is a true yet faulty position, that others may see something in you that you don't want them to see. But the core fear at the base of that is the fear of being vulnerable. You become afraid (or ashamed) to admit to the right people what you are experiencing--and that, at least in part, is due to another lie, which says: Others can't really help. 

But the truth is...others will attempt to "speak life," and in your anxiety, you've already chosen death. Isolation leads to relational death, however small in degree. Remember, death is the permanent ending of vital processes. Death, in terms of our choices, doesn't happen all at once--it's a process. But it leads to unwise thoughts and illogical actions. "Bouncing back" can be really difficult. The ability to do so becomes dependent on one's self-perceived level of emotional stability. This leads to decisions based on feelings.  If left unchecked, it certainly can lead to physical problems as well. But it's important to address the source. Our beliefs--yes, our own minds.

Is anxiety real? Of course. But should it rule us? It doesn't preach freedom to our souls. Its core message is captivity--in the prison of one's own mind. 

Every day I make choices regarding how I conduct myself in the midst of others. Most often, I choose to believe that anxiety is worth fighting against. But do I fight when it's most important to fight--when the battle is the hardest? Do I declare the truth over my mind, taking "captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ" (II Cor. 10:5)?  These are the questions presenting themselves clearly to me today. 

I am choosing to live a life of hope. Jesus said, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full" (John 10:10). Anxiety has been a persistent thief in my life, and today I am putting it on alert. I want the fullness of peace, of joy, of faith, of wisdom, of relationship--of everything God has provided for me in Christ Jesus. And I hope you do too.