Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Even the Prostitute

Last week, I was blessed with extra time one afternoon to over prepare for my Wednesday night girls group.  Because the curriculum is slightly outdated and somewhat LAME, I generally choose to redo it. I am tragically inconsistent, but every once in a while God steps in and helps me out.  

We have been talking about college and career.  True to my expectations of these lessons, everything was a little too... ugh... for me.  

Now, I'm an M.Ed in Guidance and Counseling, pro-college, pro-life planning, pro-education type of girl.  But I also am acutely aware of how often we package our expectations and try to align Christian values and a certain level of professional success.  Achingly upper-middle class.  
I'm also a social worker, culture of poverty, social justice soapbox kind of girl... and I was kind of struggling to rectify it all.  

Throughout this unit, I kept feeling like God wanted us to talk about more.... dig deeper.  Get a little gritty and real. In my notes I had scribbled - 

"God doesn't care as much about what we do as He does about who we become".

Initially, I had been drawn to Rahab.  I'm generally drawn to the women in the Bible who don't fit the mold.  The ones God redeems.  The ones God uses to show us that He loves us no matter what.

I resisted my gut and decided not to focus on how God allowed a prostitute to help with His master plan.  Heaven forbid anyone thinks I'm encouraging girls to choose prostitution as a career.... so I listed a bunch of other jobs and names all around her underneath another scribbled question - 

"Are there career choices where God can't use someone?"

We covered everything tonight and had amazing conversation... but, true to my gut instinct, we ended up talking about Rahab.  In a flurry of excitement, I threw her name out for everyone to think about. There were the snorts of derision about prostitution, and we digressed.  

We talked about human trafficking and sex slavery, and how there are still so many women and children sold into this kind of slavery throughout the world.  We talked about how God doesn't view the prim and proper middle class Christian woman as any better than the blatant, scandalous, sell-it-on-the-corner prostitute.  He loves every. one.  We talked about the tendency to get stuck in our mindset and look down our noses at those who chose a lifestyle we have deemed unworthy and illicit. We talked about the absence of choice so many women have in this messed up world and how we can never assume we know someone's heart based on their situation.

My heart aches for my girls to understand to their very core the great love God has for us all.  I want to roar when I see those who have been set free contributing to the oppression of the broken or ignoring the agony of the lost.  And I am constantly checking myself because I know I am just as guilty. It's so tempting to look the other way.

We skimmed the surface of a murky, ugly mess, and I left a little raw.   

Tonight, I came home and read Kristen's newest blog post and sobbed.  I love her for her honesty and passion and her commitment to women and children all over the world.  I want to be like her when I grow up.  

Until then, I'm praying that our honest, gritty, messy conversation tonight... the one that pulled off a few scabs and left my insides aching... left an impression, lit a spark, furthered empathy.  Helps them to remember Jesus died for us all.... even the prostitute.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

When Bad Days Happen...

Today was a day that will live in infamy in our home.  The day the cow escaped and we spent hours and miles looking and chasing and worrying.  The day we fell a tree into the goat fence.  The day nothing went the way we planned.  The day we wanted to throw our hands up and cuss and yell and stomp in the mud and throw tree branches and pout.

Instead we were humbled and reminded of God, who works all things together for the good of those who love Him.  We still don't know when those things will start working together for good, but I guess that isn't the point.

The cow is still out.  First day in the barn, and he didn't like it, so he leapt over the fence and took off.  We saw him twice and couldn't get him to go the way we wanted.  Three hours later, we tucked our tails, set out hay and drove away.

Those three hours were supposed to have been spent building a second place for our two smallest pigs, moving Connor's chickens to a better spot, cleaning the house, making granola bars, and meal planning for the week.

Jason barely had time to fall the handful of trees he's been needing to get down.  I interrupted him to see about an impromptu evening family run.  He literally roped me into helping with one of the trees really quick...

The tree is still on the fence.  That wonky alder that has been blocking the sunlight to our garden and leaning a little too close to the chicken coop for far too long gave us a big "I'll show you" on the way down.  I didn't want to help, and I hate when we fall trees.  Because I was imaging all sorts of improbable and likely completely impossible tragic endings to a simple tree falling, I didn't keep reeling in the cable when I was supposed to, and the tree fell a little too far to the right... right onto the goat fence. Then the chain snapped off Jason's saw.

I'm pretty sure the goats will be out tomorrow too.

Needless to say, our family run was necessary for burning off some steam.  We ended with some apologies and breakfast for dinner and family devotions.

If you've ever been through the Jesus Calling devotions, you'll love this next part.  February 7 was meant for us.

Why am I so sad?  Why am I so upset?
I should put my hope in God.
I should keep praising Him, my Savior and my God.
Psalm 42:11

"Sometimes things just don't go the way you expect them to, or even the way you think they should.  Bu I have a plan.  I also have the Power to take all those unexpected things- even the not-so-good ones- and use them for good in your life."

We laughed until we had tears rolling down our cheeks.  What else could we do?  We double checked the date, and sure enough... February 7th was today.  

Today was a BAD day.  It wasn't the worst.  But it was pretty suck-tastic.  And God knew it would be all along.  He also knew today's crappy circumstances weren't going to get better for us by the time we read our devotion.  And He knew what we needed to hear.

When BAD days happen, read Psalm 42:11 or Romans 8:28.

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.

I'm staying up tonight to get this all down, knowing full well that tomorrow might not be any better...or even worse.  I've already cheated and read February 8th in the devotional.  Hopefully, it's not a sign.

So.  When your cows get out, or you fall a tree on your goat fence, or something more mundane, but equally crappy, happens... remember, there is a reason.  God is working it for good.  

And it might be a few days... or longer, before you see the good.

Monday, January 4, 2016

The Que Sera Christmas

This post was fresh in my mind over the holiday.  Itching to break free and find life in the interwebs... but, alas, I've been sidetracked by pork dumplings, meatballs, and tree demolition.  And my current guiltiest pleasure... Blacklist.

I'm going to digress here and there as I attempt to reawaken the phrases that kept running through my mind.  Since the poetry escapes me.. I'm going to say it out right.

This was THE most relaxed, non-stressful Christmas I've EVER had.  


Since my children and the pressures of grown-up life anyway...

And that, my friends, is a BIG deal.  BIG. 

Even the hubs agreed and said so to others... which means truth.  We had a 4-H party at the house the week before.  Family over for dinner on Christmas.  My modest home had 25 humans in it at one point on Christmas day, and we all fit.  And talked and laughed.  And I didn't start breathing funny or have to wave my hands around my face in our closet to calm myself.  I set no time for dinner.  Jason deep-fried a turkey (which didn't freak me out as much as it normally would have), and we ate when we ate.  And it all worked out.  And it was good.  

We did all the usual things.  But without my usual meltdown. There is always some kind of meltdown.  The Christmas of 2011 will forever hold the place in history as the Christmas of the most epic meltdown.

But somehow, this year was better. The best.  And I failed in many ways.  There are still some lingering cards that need sent.  I never did bake the cookie plates for the neighbors.  They must think we hate them.  We didn't make the grandparents calendars. I had to work over "break", which is new this year and would normally have stressed me to the max.

We started the month out with a fantastic trip to Southern California to visit family and take the kids to Disneyland.  It rocked because we went without a major agenda, focused on the family time, and spent more time exploring LA and museums and trails than searching for theme parks or famous people.  Although, I shamelessly posed in front of Shakira's star on Hollywood Boulevard.
Because, SHAKIRA!

Maybe it was the week off with family free from our usual stressors. Maybe it was our approach to the holiday season. We focused on staying calm and doing what we could do.  I made like a duck and let the things I missed roll off my back instead of getting under my skin and causing grief.  We que sera'd what needed let be and talked to the kids about not expecting as many gifts because of Cali.

This year, like every year, I wanted my kids to really feel the true meaning of Christmas.  I wanted to feel the true meaning of Christmas.  When Grady prayed one night, "Please give us the strength to remember Christmas is not about the presents", my heart melted.

Just before bed on Christmas Eve, we read a few Christmas books, including my favorite Nativity story, "This is the Stable", and when I prayed with the kids that night, I broke down in tears... but the good kind of tears.  The tears just rolled when the enormity of Baby Jesus hit me and I couldn't breathe imagining the heavenly hosts and the reality of birth in a stable.  It's humbling and powerful and indescribable.

And Jason got that look in his eye when he came around the corner and saw me crying for no apparent reason. The PTSD meets "husband who wants to fix things"look.  He got a chuckle out of me trying to explain why baby Jesus and the angels was making me cry happy tears.... but I could tell he was relieved.

This was the best Christmas EVER because somehow we let it be what it was.

Now if I can have that attitude for all of 2016...

Monday, October 19, 2015

Rethinking Pro-Life

This is a topic where my insides scream and sob and my fingers can't begin to type what my heart is crying.  I just sit here with tears rolling down my cheeks, and I don't even know where to begin.  So forgive me, because it's messy and raw, and I can't seem to make it all line up like it should.

This is a topic where everyone draws a line and chooses sides and wants it all to be black or white.  

This is a topic that has gotten so legalistic and Pharisaical in my Pentecostal Evangelical world that I just want to scream.

We are missing the point.  

We are alienating and labeling so many women.  So many doctors.  So many people. So. Many.

And here I am.

Struggling and sick to my stomach about how to deliver a Pro-Life vs. Pro-Choice message to my group of teenage girls.  Dreading the topic because I can't wrap my heart around delivering a message clothed in legalism and judgement.  

First, I'm going to back up for a minute and clarify a few things. 

Do I believe life begins at conception?  Yes.

Do I believe abortion is wrong?  Yes.

Do I believe God has a plan for every life?  Yes. 

And that's why I can't. 

That's why I can't support arguments that put the majority of the focus on the murder of an unborn child and barely mention God's forgiveness available to every woman who chose abortion.  To every doctor who regularly aborts unborn children.  To those who make excuses or rationalize choice.

I can't do it.  

I can't because when I think of abortion, I don't cry for the baby.  My heart rips in two for that girl. That woman who went through it.  The one so many want to cast as the unwed she-devil who selfishly chose her life over the life of an innocent child.  It's so much easier to judge when we've made up our mind about the sinner ahead of time, isn't it?  

But I can't.  

I've sat in rooms with women who were contemplating abortion and listened... doing my best to appear unbiased.  I've cried with those who have come undone, reliving the abortion they didn't choose to have.  I've regretted not being there for friends who went through the procedure without telling me, thinking I would judge them because of my beliefs.  I've wept for that baby I never knew... but I've sobbed for the women who had to make that choice.

Here's the thing.  We'll just get it out of the way in case anyone is sidetracked by the thought.  
I've never had an abortion.  I don't truly understand.  By the grace of God, my unplanned pregnancy just happened to be with the man I married eight months later.

But God's grace is for us all.  Not just me and my less than innocent, but abortionless, past.  

And here's the thing I think I am struggling with the most.  We profess that our God is omniscient and all-powerful and then bemoan the loss of an innocent life like God had no control over it.  

What?  Did we just give Planned Parenthood more power than our God?

I'm going to argue something different.  I'm going to argue that God knew from conception, that every life lost to an abortion was going to end when it did.  That "harlot" didn't foil God's plan.  That abortion clinic on the corner isn't single-handedly ridding our world of potential.  

I'm going to argue, because I know it to be true... what the enemy intends for evil, God works for good... (Genesis 50:20).  I'm going to argue that every tiny soul lost to abortion, God uses for good. My God is stronger than politicians and abortion clinics and legalism and picketers full of hate.  My Jesus would never hold a sign and scream "Murderer" to a woman full of fear, walking into a clinic.  He would hold out open arms and show her grace.  He would draw a line in sidewalk chalk and invite those of us without sin to continue holding our signs (John 8:3-11, loosely translated).  And we would have to drop them all and walk away.  And He would show her Love.  He would show her Grace.  And if she chose her abortion any way... He would use it for Good.  Because my God is in control.  And my God loves with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3).  He can rebuild us all from the past that has made us crumble.   

My Jesus died for the woman who has chosen abortion over and over and is proud to shout it out. My Jesus died for the girl who had her choice made for her over twenty years ago and still cries herself to sleep at night.  My Jesus died for the doctor who performs abortions every day. My Jesus died for everyone.  His grace is sufficient (2 Corinthians 12:9) and His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23).

While there are so many who want to focus on the loss of life, the murder of an unborn child... I'm rejoicing because every one of those babies is in Heaven right now, being loved by their Father.  And He is using their death for good. When we focus on crucifying women and doctors and politicians, we aren't really as pro-life as we think we are.  If we truly want to be pro-life, we need to love all the lives involved.  We need to love that woman, that doctor, that politician, that lobbyist. We need to show forgiveness and open our arms and be Jesus.  Because that's what He expects from us.  That's why He died for us.  

Where sin increased, grace increased all the more... Romans 5:20.  

As I write this, my tears are falling for women...  I want them to feel His love and forgiveness and be able to walk freely in His Grace, regardless of their past.  I want them to know God values their life as much as He values every other life.

As I write this, my tears are falling for my girls.  The teens I hope never have to make that choice or have it made for them.  The teens I pray learn to love as Jesus loves... with open arms and abundant grace, so they can truly show the world what pro-life means.  

Monday, August 10, 2015

Back in the Wheelbarrow

I haven't been in a very good place lately... since my rant of January, I've struggled to find some forward momentum.  Work has sucked more than ever.  I'm overwhelmed with life and struggling to comprehend the tragedies hitting those who are so dear to me.  I'm questioning too much, and spending a lot of time fighting back tears I should probably just let fall.

My fingers are itching to type, and my crazy roller coaster of a mind has surely had some great tracks to record in the last few months... but I just couldn't get the two together.  At least not until today. I'm feeling a little nostalgic, so bear with me.

When I originally started blogging, I wanted to be funny... funny homemaker mommy blogger who made jokes about silly things and kids and life.  Then I started following lots of amazing women on social media and started feeling the pressure to find a focus... develop a brand.  A blog about something.  One thing.  The thing.  The topic that would make me cool and unique.  Crap.  

That was too much.  

I tinkered with fitness.  I'm a runner at heart, but I'm not too fast, and I'm not too fit... so...Crap.

Then there's homesteading.  We farm.  We garden.  We forage.  We hunt and fish.  We build things out of other people's junk.  But, we aren't off the grid or homestead-y enough.  At least not compared to those people in Mother Earth and Grit and Pioneer... so... Crap.

Aha.  Fashion.  No... I can't even put all my clothes away, let alone organize them into outfits or get it together enough to do a capsule wardrobe....Crap.

Foodie blog.  I can. I make fresh sausage.  I bake cakes.  I dehydrate everything I don't can.  I do all sorts of crazy things with food.  But I rarely follow a recipe exactly... and I can't compete with Hank Shaw or Alton Brown.  So... Crap.

Well, I could be a Christian mom blogger.  I adore Beth Moore.  I would die to be featured on (in)courage.  But I'm too cynical, and I really like IPA.  And I've already said "crap" five or six times in one blog post.  yeah...


I don't have a niche.  Or a brand.  Or a point, really.

That coupled with the fact that I've been kind of an MIA grump lately.  I've battled some guilt from my January rant.  So much so that I edited my original post about the lost boys.  It's not my place to single people out or rally for children's ministry.  Nothing I say or blast on the Internet is going to change someone's heart.  And it was pretentious and Pharisaical of me to think I had a right to point fingers or jump to conclusions about the status of anyone else's heart for God. 

God has been spending the past few months pressing me to look at my own heart.  And I've been kind of stubborn about it.  He is still working on me...  He probably will be until I'm dead.  And I'm okay with that, because all I need to be is okay with letting Him be in charge of my life... and my blog.

Today, it was crystal clear that I need to get over not having a niche.  I need to be okay with the fact that I will never have a fitness sponsor or my own recipe book or a featured article in Mother Earth.  I need to let go of my own agenda and secret desire to have fame and fortune for doing nothing more than living my life and drinking an IPA while I blog about randomness.   I need to get my butt back in the wheelbarrow and let God steer me in the right direction 

I'm not kidding. 

It couldn't have been more clear. 

Today our worship leader said (as we walked in LATE to church AS USUAL) that she remembered hearing those stories about people who would climb in a wheelbarrow and let someone else push them as they walked across a tightrope.  How scary would that be?  And I smiled.  Pretty scary.  

Today, our pastor talked about how we need to actively FOLLOW Jesus.  We can't just passively believe and call it good. If we don't choose Him first, above all else... then it doesn't matter what we do.  So.  That's what it came down to for me.  That's my brand.  


Jesus is my brand.  I decided to follow Him a long time ago, and I can't fall into the trap of letting something else come first.  

I can't crack under the pressure to find something else cool and unique and Twitterific.  

It doesn't matter what I blog about here or how many people read my posts.  What matters is I let you see my heart for God in everything I do and everything I write. 

I'm all the things I said before...and more.  Mom, wife, runner, foodie, fashionista, bargain shopper, homesteader, farmer, gardener... but above all else, I'm a child of God.  I've chosen to accept Jesus as my Savior, and that is not the easy path.  But I've decided to follow Him... and nothing else matters (cue Metallica (which is totally inappropriate)).

I'm back in the wheelbarrow, and I'm hoping I can do a better job of sharing my ride.

Thanks to those of you who have hung in there and asked me to keep posting. Your encouragement meant a lot. 

Welcome to those of you who are new and wondering what level of crazy I really am. You will soon find out.  ;)