Letters to My First & Last

David,

My beloved gift from God.
You've been one miracle after another since you were born. Since before you were born. My tiny 2 pound baby with such old and wise eyes. Even when I was afraid I wouldn't get to see you grow up, I had so many dreams for you.

Yesterday, one of them came true. It was an honor and a privilege to watch you take those steps into the baptistry and make a public profession of faith. I know you were nervous about all those people watching you, but when the time came, you went boldly. That's who you are. You get nervous, you hang back, but when the time comes, you go boldly.

My prayer for you as you walk this journey of Christian faith is that you continue to go boldly. I also pray that you walk humbly. You have so many gifts that God can use for His Kingdom. Remember the One who gave them to you and honor Him with them. That's all He asks

"And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8

I love you,
Mom

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Sarah,

My little imp.

I love seeing that passionate delight sparkle in your eyes when you've found something you want to give your all to. I love how you commit and don't back down. And today, I love the committment you've made to our Savior.

You've thrown yourself into faith with as much fire and passion and delight as you possibly can, and you keep going. When you ran into Pastor Mark's office after he talked with David and said, "Paster Mark! Pastor Mark! I want to be a Christian too!" I felt my heart leap. When you told me later that you wanted to be baptized so people would know you are a Christian and you could tell them how much He loves them, I thanked God that He gave you to me. When you came home from school to tell me that you'd told one of the classroom bullies that you forgave him and Jesus could forgive him if he wanted, I was blown away.

I've learned so much from you about loving our God. You take the greatest commandment to heart:

"Love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength." Deuteronomy 6:5

My prayer for you is that your passion never dims. Give Him your everything and people will see Him shining through you.

I am so proud of you,
Mom

Happy Not-My-Father's Day

Pastor Mark,

I know you're not my father.

I loved my Dad very much and he was a good, Godly man. He lived and breathed the Gospel and discipled dozens of young men in the faith. Unfortunately, he never shared that part of himself with me. When I was about 16 years old he started writing the names of the people he witnessed to in the back of his Bible so he could remember to pray for them. There were 87 names there when he died. None of them were mine. To this day, I know almost nothing about his testimony.

There was never a doubt in my mind that my Dad loved me (though he rarely said it) and that he was proud of me. But his pride in what I could do led him to make assumptions about who I was. He never really knew me and I'm not sure he really wanted to.

And even still, saying "good-bye" to him was one of the hardest things I've ever done. To see him suffer... to watch him lose his strength and his brilliant mind... to let him go... to say "it's time to go get your crown in glory," and know that he never took another breath... Hard things.

Eight weeks ago I wondered if God would ask me to say "good-bye" to you too. And I wondered why you had come to matter so much.

Because I know you're not my father,
and I know I have no claim to you.

Except that you've said you're proud of me - of me - not of what I can accomplish but of who I am and who I'm becoming.

Thank you for the gentle reminders and the not-so-gentle rebukes. Thank you for asking for promises and holding me to my word. Thank you for the "FOOP!"s. I thank God for the person He's made you to be.

Even though I know you're not my father, I want you to know, I am proud of you.

I am proud of the man who, in the midst of his own suffering looked to the welfare of his wife, who asked about the health of a sick woman and who dared to ask why he was spared when others were not.

I am proud of the man who grieved over the death of a friend and neighbor; in part because he wasn't strong enough to comfort the family. I am proud of the man who considers it an honor to be there for people during some of their worst moments in life, and who is willing to do so day after day, no matter the hour.

I am proud of the man who considers it a privilege to care about four lost and needy children and their even needier mother. I am proud to call you my pastor.

If I could choose the type of men my sons grow up to be, and the type of men my daughters grow up to marry, they would look a lot like you.

And today...

I know you're not my father, but I am blessed, and better, because I know you and because you've taken the time to know me.

So...

Happy Not-My-Father's Day

Bits & Pieces....

... of life as I know it.

1 ~ My mom and I have many issues, but she definitely has her high points. She tracked down the person my roommate gave the bags of Tupperware to and asked her if she's already taken it to Goodwill. She said no and my mom now has my stuff. Yay!

I'm going to get rid of some of it (I really did have a lot), I'm going to bring some of it back home and I'm going to store the rest I want to keep at my mom's for the time being. I still have to have a talk with my roommate - there are many other issues - but at least I have my things.

2 ~ I'm going to be starting the summer Bible Study being done over at LPM entitled Me, Myself & Lies by Jennifer Rothschild. I got two books thinking I would ask someone in my "real life" to join me, but now that it's time to start I have no idea who to ask. There are 3 or 4 people I've considered asking, but I don't think they'd want to. Life is busy and I can't imagine why anyone would really want to spend one on one time with me (yes, I know I still need to work on the confidence thing).

I guess it's a God thing that the Bible Study is all about how we think about ourselves. From the back cover:

We talk to ourselves all the time. We evaluate everything we do, compare
ourselves to others, and even call ourselves names. We disparage who we are
instead of telling ourselves the truth about who God says we are. Me, Myself
& Lies deals with our destructive, unrealistic self-talk.

OUCH.

3 ~ I agreed to do something I'm not sure I can do - no matter how much I want to. I'm still trying to figure out how well I'll be able to step up to the plate. Only God knows, I suppose. If He's in this (and I let Him work through me), I'll do well... if He isn't, I'll crash and burn but at least I'll know. It's hard to figure out where you fit in the larger Kingdom picture when the thing you were sure God was asking you to do (for me, that was grad school and becoming a therapist) falls apart.

4 ~ My kids are out of school! That means I finally get to spend more time with them. Of course, right now they're revelling in their freedom and seem to have no intentions of returning home any time soon. =) I've recently had to talk to one of my sons about finding new friends... I'm cautiously watching his choices this summer. Could you pray for him? There are other things coming up and I want better for him.

I'm having more babysitter-related problems (well, actually, it involves someone who lives with the babysitter). She's mad at me for something I said - which I don't regret saying - and she's taking it out on my kids. So far the worst of it has been talking about my kids rather than to them, but they're all intimidated by her and she's hyper-critical of everything they do. Another confrontation I have to have. Joy. This could use prayer too.

5 ~ And to end on a positive note... Work is going great! I'm loving my new schedule and the opportunities I have to create groups and work closely with the clients. I've hit some bumps along the way and have ruffled a few feathers among my peers and superiors, but it's a good job that is very fulfilling.

I'm off to take my kids to the movies! Later!

Why Prayer?

It's interesting how this question has popped up in a number of places for me lately.
For instance, MckMama wrote an amazingly insightful post about the reason we pray to a sovereign God, I've been stewing about a post of my own on prayer for a few weeks and next week's sermon at my church was slated to be "Why Pray? (God knows everything anyway!)"

Only, next Sunday my pastor won't be preaching a sermon on prayer. He won't be preaching at all.

Yesterday he went in for a routine procedure and by the end of the day was in surgery for eight hours. He is now in the ICU with weeks of recovery ahead of him.

God knows everything anyway, indeed.

I don't know if I've mentioned on this blog how much my pastor and his wife mean to me. Maybe I have, but I promise you, words aren't enough to express what God has done in my life through their love and involvement. They really matter... and for some reason I can't begin to understand, they've made me family.

And my kids? Pastor M. is their hero. They adore him, and he's done more than I could have ever hoped to heal their hearts.

Throughout those hours of surgery, there was a real possibility that God could take him home... and it broke my heart. But the group of us who held vigil in the surgical waiting room prayed off and on through the night to our Sovereign God for healing, for peace, for His will and His glory. (And yes, your prayers are coveted too).

But why?

Why do we get down on our knees and pray for this chapter when God already has the whole book written?

The answer I have today is different from the one I would have written a couple weeks ago. Sure, my previous answer was Biblically and theologically sound. I did my research, and I probably would have done an adequate job of explaining why Christians do and should pray.

But it wouldn't have answered the question for ME.

Why do I pray?

I used to pray because I thought I could beg/whine/cry/complain my way into MY will be done. Of course I was wrong. My will was rarely done, and on those few times when it was, it was rarely as satisfying as I expected it to be.

And for a long and empty period in my life, I stopped praying because I believed it didn't matter anyway.

The simple truth is, prayer doesn't change God's heart, it changes ours.

Prayer changes our hearts toward the people we pray with - I've yet to be able to hold a grudge against someone with whom I've prayed for a common purpose. Prayer changes our hearts toward ministry opportunities we might have otherwise missed. Prayer changes our hearts toward the world around us - when we talk to God, we begin to see the lost through His eyes instead of our own.

But most importantly, prayer changes our heart toward God.

Last night I was angry and I was sad and I was scared. Someone I loved very much was suffering, perhaps dying, and the woman who has loved him for the last 25 years had to sit helplessly by and wait. It HURT.

Heaven help me, it hurt.

It still hurts. My dad was in the same hospital four and a half years ago when they told us he had only days left. Yes, my mind went there, and yes, I made the comparison.

I had three choices last night:

1. Stew in my misery - after all, God already knows everything anyway. What's the point?
2. Demand MY will - I want what I want and I want it NOW.
3. Give it up to God - He is Sovereign and I can trust Him.

I. Can. Trust. Him.

That's how our hearts change. This is why we pray. We hurt - we're angry and sad and afraid (and we want what we want) - but we take those things to God and we say "here! This is what I am. This is how I feel. This is what I want. Take all these messy feelings and desires and do Your best with them. I trust You."

I trust Him.

My Little Man

*pictures coming soon.

Dear Jonathan,

Baptism is a big first step on a long walk with Jesus. Sometimes that road will be bumpy and sometimes you might lose sight of the path and go your own way. But we serve a loving Father who will always guide you back to where you need to be.

Words cannot express how proud I am of you. I know that my job as your mom is to teach you about the world we live in and the God we serve - but more often than not, you teach me.

Today I watched you overcome one of your biggest fears so that you could obey God. I know it wasn't easy for you. I saw the nerves in your eyes - and then I saw them disappear. Today you reminded me that our God is bigger than anything we might be afraid of. I pray with all my heart that you continue to live your life with such boldness. Welcome to the family little brother!

Walk in grace little man, I love you.
Always & Forever, Mom.

Home...

What signifies "home" to you? Home is more than just place to live, it is a place of securityand rest. Home is sometimes the only place where you can be entirely yourself. For most people, home is a house or apartment or RV or wherever they happen to keep their clothes and sleep at night.

My house is not my home. It is the same house I lived in with my husband and no amount of new paint, "new" furniture or new decor can erase the memories. I sleep on the livingroom couch because I cannot sleep in what was once my room. I tried for nearly a year, and between the accusations of being a lesbian because I have a female roomate and the nightmares, my own room is intolerable to me.

My mom's house isn't home either. It isn't my childhood home and although I love my mother very much, everything about it is foreign and I can never shake the "guest" feeling.

My church used to be the closest thing I had to home (on this earth anyway). I felt safe and I felt real there. I was given a key a year and a half ago when I took on the S.S. Director role... and I used to go there sometimes in the middle of the night to just sit in peace - to pray, to vent, to rest. I walked into the Sanctuary on Sunday mornings and it was a sanctuary.

Now it isn't. And now I have no place I can call "home." Even when I'm the only human being in the church, it doesn't feel safe. A year ago, I loved church and couldn't imagine ever leaving. Yesterday, I realized that I dread church every Sunday and seriously entertained going elsewhere.

My husband comes to my church. And he sits in the same pew, and even when I get up and move, he moves with me. He touches me before/during/after service and follows me everywhere during potlucks/fellowship times. Now he wants to be more "involved" and maybe even teach Sunday School (say WHAT?).

I walk into the sanctuary on Sunday mornings and I feel confined, restricted and sometimes downright panicked. My stress level is so high, I find myself throwing up at church almost every week. And worst of all, I have to wear this mask because it doesn't feel safe to be real.

I want to go HOME.