25 Years Ago - Part 2

I said tomorrow and it's been well over a week, maybe two. Sorry friends.

Before I move on, I think I need to describe what kind of child I was. I didn't do that in my last posting. If Nellie Olesen from Little House on the Prairie and Anne from Anne of Green Gables, somehow morphed into the same person - it would be this person:


I was mean and a know-it-all but I also had a sweet side and an imagination that knew no limits.

Moving on.

We were sworn to secrecy when we returned to Columbus. I don't know how I kept my mouth shut other than the thought of the punishment I would receive if I did tell.

I don't remember too much about those few months before we moved to Tennessee.

I've always liked change. When we pulled up to our new mansion (split foyer, early 1970's style) I was in love. I didn't have a parking lot to ride my bike around but I did have a backyard with no fence to separate me from the front yard. And the oh, the front yard was huge and our driveway was so long (and by long I mean it fit more than two cars) and we were allowed to ride on the street! I also had my own room which had two, yes two windows. We joined a neighborhood recreational club (and by club I mean a pool).

And just like that, a soon to be fourth grader, was transformed into a suburban middle class American child.

I have debated in my mind about whether to go into detail about what my life was like after we moved to Tennessee. You see, it suddenly became like everyone else's life. I had a great group of friends at church and school. I spent my summers riding my bike, swimming and hanging out with friends. I was a terrible sister to all my siblings. I wanted to be a cheerleader like it was nobody's business. I wanted everyone to like me. I had a love/hate relationship with being a pastor's daughter.

But I think what I want to zero in on is my blindness. Let me clarify, my spiritual blindness. I had done the "asked Jesus in my heart" thing when I was five and like most children who grow up in a Christian home, I played the part very well. When I was a preteen, I matured enough to know that if I stopped pitchin' fits (and oh could I pitch em) and accepted what my parents said, I would not get grounded and in turn be given more freedom. Some kids figure this out way early but my strong will seemed to win out over rationale and common sense until puberty.

By my teenage years, I was doing pretty well playing the part. I was in a Bible study group with some kids after school and we had to do our quiet time. I remember trying and failing. Wanting to want to have a desire to read the Bible but just not getting it. And always feeling condemned by God because I forgot. I was on the youth council (which was a group of teens who got to go on retreats with the leaders and "plan" stuff - it was awesome). I went to youth camp and we'd all cry and talk about how great God was and promise never to sin again. And I think I "rededicated" my life about 734 times.

I think this type of life looked the same for a lot of teens growing up in the 90s. And by my junior year, I was done. I was over it. I wanted out of my small suburban town. Out of my fishbowl life. But I couldn't because I was still in high school.

I won't get into all I did in high school. It was stupid. I wish I got highs from studying and excelling in classes but I didn't. I remember my dad telling me I was the smartest out of all his children (sorry Aaron, you may be a doctor but I obviously got the brains) but that I was the least motivated to use my smarts (he probably only told me that thinking that would motivate my "well I'll show him" will, but it didn't work.)

By college I was a bonafide drifter. Well a college drifter. I went in and out of college. At one point I dropped out and became a waitress. Oh and not just any waitress, I wore barn dress, apron, and tennis shoes. I was what they call classy.

And by the ripe ol' age of 21 years old, I got burned out on the world. Thank you Jesus for my A.D.D. cause I got bored quicker than most do! So guess what I did? I got saved! Nope, just kidding I didn't. I actually started straightening my life out. Got back in school and did really well, started getting involved in church, met and started hanging out with some people from church. My life really seemed to be going well. But something was missing. I blamed it on the fact that I was jaded and my new church friends weren't. But through a series of events, nothing life shattering just honest people telling their stories and knowledgeable people teaching Truth from God's Word I realized that I didn't have a relationship with Jesus. I wasn't truly a Christian. I was just a girl who was raised by a mom and dad that loved Jesus and taught their children about Him, hoping one day they would follow Him.

That's when I became a Christian. When God chose to save me. It didn't matter that I was a bible drill champ. That I said a prayer when I was five. That I acted like a good Christian for years and picked myself up after being in the depths of a pit. God chose to save me when things were good. When I had fixed everything. Everything but my heart.

I don't waste my time wondering if I had come to God years earlier how things would be different (don't get me wrong I went through a time when I did). This is how He intended it. And since I've been changed by God, I've been a very good legalist on one side of the pendulum and on the other (yes legalism exists on both sides of Christianity). I keep thinking I have reached the middle where I'm balanced but my ever-loving God then shows me where I need fixin' next. He's so good that way.

Thankful for this journey. Thankful you're here too.

25 Years Ago - Part 1

I didn't know this was going to be such a long post so I've split it up into several posts. I love writing about things I haven't thought of in years.

25 years ago next month a tan and brown conversion van came into a small town in Tennessee filled with seven people. They had came from Ohio. A husband with Jim Bob Duggar hair, a wife with Michelle Duggar qualities and their five children who were nothing like the Duggar children. Nothing. Okay, enough with the Duggars.

I was in that van. I was eight years old and maybe the biggest brat that ever walked the planet (sometimes I think God is being gracious by not allowing me to have offspring, other times I realize He's bigger than that and my babies are going to be my babies no matter where they come from - and Lord please help me!).

I grew up for the first eight years of my life in Columbus, OH minus the first couple of years living in southern Ohio. My daddy is a preacher. Has been since before I was born.

I have very vivid memories of Columbus. We lived in the little parsonage that was in the back of the church. The church parking lot was our giant bike riding playground. We'd hang out on top of the dumpster (I can still smell that sour stench) and talk with our friends.

We lived in a bad part of Columbus but I didn't know it (Oprah says if you didn't know you were poor then you were po' - and lemme tell ya - we were po'). I didn't know our neighbors were drug dealers. I just knew we couldn't go over and we couldn't play in the front yard (my mom feared there would be a drive by shootings). Some nights my brother and I would sit on the back steps of our house and watch red, blue, and white lights flash in the sky. It took a few times to realize it was police cars next door. We couldn't buy ice cream from the ice cream truck because of fear of drugs in the snow cone (at least that's the story I got, it might have been a ploy to get me to quit asking for a snow cone, not sure yet).

I had the all American childhood, it was just in the hood not the burbs. And I loved it. I loved that the kids came to our backyard and played kickball. I loved riding my cousin's hand-me-down banana seat bike from the seventies around the church's lot.

I loved that I could run over and see my dad whenever I wanted. And that sometimes at night, when people would break into the church (seemed to happen all the time) I could get up and watch the helicopters fly around over our house with my mom while she waited for dad to come back home safely.

When I was eight my dad sat me and my older brother down and told us we were going to my cousins wedding in Tennessee but that while we were there, dad was going to preach at a church in the town next to where he grew up in Knoxville. I didn't know what all that meant but I did know that if we moved, I would be close to my grandparents, aunt and uncle, and cousins and that was the BEST idea ever. It would be like Christmas every day.

I remember the Sunday we visited the church. It was pink, the sanctuary that is. Pepto Bismol pink. I knew we were on display so I tried to act mature. I guess as a pastor's kid you always know you're on display. You grow up having most people critique your every move good or bad. It's a right some members of a church feel they have.

My dad was asked to come and be their pastor. The church was First Baptist Church of Powell. And little did I know, our lives were about to change.

More tomorrow.

Double Dipping

I've never been in a small group before. A place where we sit around and read then discuss God's Word. A place where people actually ask how you made out last week with your big work project you asked prayer for. A place where you can discuss (ahem, argue nicely) things that are grey. A place you can go without your husband if he is working or out of town one week and feel welcomed. I've never had this. Until now. And now I have two. Martin and I like to call it "Double Dipping."

Our friends Kellyanne and Bob have been building their dream home for about a thousand years and it's finally finished and all the years of talking about starting a small group has finally taken shape and every other Sunday night we meet at their dream house (which is secretly my dream house) and eat a huge meal, talk, laugh, and sit for a bit and discuss marriage and how God sees it. There are a mix of thirty somethings, forty somethings and fifty somethings. It's a perfect union of community and fellowship. The kids are usually upstairs or outside being loud and not having to worry about bothering us because we don't care.

But before this group started meeting, we started going to another small group. (Hence the double dipping.) Our other small group is a bit different than our dream house Bob and Kellyanne small group. It's full of twenty somethings and thirty somethings and tiny kids that scream and play in a basement full of every toy known in America, or at least that's the rumor. I love being around the young moms. It's fun to think I'll be a part someday (but just an old mom - fine with me). This group is my study group. I say that on two levels. 1. I study the moms. I mean really study them. I study how they react to their kiddos coming up to pee. I study how they respond to their husbands when they are more tired than I can comprehend right now (and trust me I stayed up late some nights watching LOST). I study how they act around each other. I'm kinda an outsider. Oh please. Don't feel sorry for me. I do it to myself. 2. They study the Bible. I'm not saying they are more spiritual than my dream house that Bob and Kellyanne live in group. That group is full of people in hardcore ministry in our church and it was designed as a place of refuge and safety. But this group, the young but not too young to call them the young married group likes to really dig in the Word of God and discuss stuff. We're reading the book Radical and well if you remember I went a bit crazy with that book so it's good to discuss some things in a group that doesn't want to sell all their things and move to Camden without even praying about it (me, that's me I am referencing). It's all about balance I'm learning.

So those are our small groups. We also have a Sunday School but we won't get into that. Let's just stick with the Sunday night small group at the dream house that Bob and Kellyanne are going to give to me and the Thursday night small group with the millions of tiny children. I'm enjoying double dipping. I think it builds our spiritual immune system. Get it? Double dipping spreads germs and when you put a spiritual spin on it, it's funny. No? Okay, well I tried.

Let Me Tell You Who I Love

Last week in small group we talked about why we don't tell others about Jesus. Now y'all I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I hate telling people about Jesus. Well, let me rephrase that, I hate telling people who don't love Jesus about Jesus. I'll talk till I'm blue in the face about Jesus to other Jesus lovers. We'll cuddle up with some good coffee or tea and talk all about him. But for someone who doesn't love Jesus, to talk about him, I'm as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs.

I stayed pretty quiet during the discussion (for some - you know that's not normal, for others - you just don't know me well yet). The discussion pretty much was the same as others I've heard. "People know I'm different but when it comes to telling someone, I'm scared."

Well, it's just like the Holy Spirit to not let me just brush this aside. I've been fighting with him. I mean like, good, justifiable excuses. I'm so stinkin' good at them. I know I missed my calling as a lawyer. But as I've dug deep down to the bottom of my soul, my heart was yet once more exposed. And peeps, it ain't pretty.

You see, the reason I don't tell others about the Jesus that found me as a twenty-one year old is not the one I love. I love me. I mean, I really love me. I get up first thing in the morning and all I think about is me. How can I make the day go easier for me. What food can I get in my body for me. What clothes will make me look good. I wish I had better make-up for me. I want to make a nice dinner for Martin...so he'll praise me. I need to exercise so I can eat whatever I want or so I'll start losing this stinkin' weight. Goodness gracious, I even pray for our future children selfishly (Lord please let them be loved by someone so they don't have attachment issues when we adopt them cause that will be so hard) Me, me, me, me.

I don't not tell others about Jesus cause I'm scared (I am - like really scared), I don't tell them about him because I love me more than them and I'd rather not share Jesus. I don't regularly pray for those I know know something about him. I don't ask those who are witnessing regularly about the ones they are sharing Christ with. All because I don't care.

Here's the good thing out of all of this, my conviction is one of the proofs I am saved. Who we are without Christ is U.G. to the L.Y.

And this is where I am. I know so much about God and doctrine and I love learning it but right now I'm like the Pharisees who liked to talk about God and learn about God and then they were content leaving it at that.

For the last several months I've gone through a depression. After reading a book that called me out on my sin, I didn't know the next step. Do we sell our house and move to Camden? They need Jesus over there. I wrestled like I've never wrestled before. But as usual, I thought I needed to do more for God right now or I wouldn't be approved by him. And it hit me the other day. God told me to go over and talk to my neighbor (I'm not the friendliest neighbor in the world). I obeyed and went over to talk to Carol. By the time I walked over there, sweaty palms and shaking (she's super nice person - I just got scared at the thought I might bring up the Jesus thing)she had gone inside. I chatted with her kids for a bit and oo'd and aah'd over their new frisbee and left knowing one thing, I obeyed the Spirit right then. But that's not where I stop. It's where I start.

So, I ask you to pray with me and for me; that I will tell others about Jesus. God doesn't need us. But I've taken that and twisted it and justified it to God doesn't want us to help and honestly, my actions would say that I'm a functioning universalist. *gasp*

That I won't just look at this and turn away and forget it like the man in James 1. That I'll allow the Spirit to mold me and make me into the woman he wants. And I know that woman is one who talks about her Jesus outside of her safe zone. And out of that, comes service to others, and true radical living.

On my wall in my kitchen we have written, "My biggest fear, even now, is that I will hear Jesus' words and walk away. Content to settle for less than radical obedience to him." (David Platt) May it never be.

Why Me and My Kindle are Breakin' Up

I have a strong affection for my little Kindle. I like reading it before I go to bed and I have a great Spurgeon devotion that I read (well, try to read) day and night. I have my ESV Study Bible on it - so I don't have to lug my Bible to church on Sunday. I have some great books and my oh so favorite Fortune magazine is delivered as soon as it's released. (I love Fortune magazine. - I devour every article, giggle at the geekiness of it, and read little blurbs to my husband - which I'm sure he LOVES.)

So why in the world am I breaking up with it? I'm not, exactly. I am keeping it for all I mentioned above. What I am quitting is having my devotions on it. I wish I could say that I've been doing my devotions (a.k.a reading my Bible, meditating on and memorizing Scripture) as well as I read Fortune but alas, something has happened and I am not. I guess you could say that I am looking at reading the written words of God like I read the rest of the Kindle's content, when I want and when it's convenient.

So, I'm dusting off my old MacArther NKJV study bible and heading back downstairs to my trusty devotion chair in the living room. It's what I work best with. And if it works then why fix it? I tried to upgrade and it works for things like Spurgeon and Fortune but not for the Bible, and I'm totally okay with that.

Birthday

Tomorrow is Martin's birthday. He'll be 32. I am so thankful for him. We went out to eat with his parents, brother and his girlfriend, Missy then ended the day at our house where we had red velvet cupcakes (more like tiny cakes) and coffee.

It was a good day.

The Good Wife

There is a girl on Facebook that I am "friends" with. We went to college together and had mutual friends. I think her then boyfriend and now husband and my then boyfriend now husband were in the same dorm. I remember having one conversation with her. She's from California and uber cool. She's a photographer and a mom and a wife and a lot of other fab things. I guess I'm a bit obsessed with her. I don't mean to be but she is very real and I just love real.

I don't feel like I get much real in my life. I try to be real but my real isn't uber cool like hers.

She's been reading and quoting a lot of this book Created To Be His Help Meet: Discover how God can make your marriage glorious by Debi Pearl. So of course I bought it on my Kindle because she's so uber cool.

Let's just say it's been rocking my world. Seriously. I don't realize how much false teaching has crept into my heart lately. I know that's how it starts, false teaching, creeping in and slowly taking over like an ink stain on a piece of paper.

In 2 Timothy, Paul warns Timothy that in the last days, people "will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power." He says to, "avoid such people. For among them are those who creep into households and capture weak women, burdened with sins and led astray by various passions, always learning and never able to arrive at a knowledge of the truth."

I like to think I am all strong and mighty but Paul (through the Holy Spirit) knows the woman's heart. It is easily strayed.

Back to this book. I'm in the middle of the second chapter, there are twenty-four and folks, it is practical! I tried something I read yesterday but let me give you a background first ::

Martin's car broke down and we had it towed to the closet Jeep dealership. We don't know this dealership and the estimate was $500. I hate feeling at the mercy of someone you don't trust. Days went by and we got the run-around - parts backordered, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, we'll call you. You all know the drill. During all of this we both had to go to work and Marin's job is, let's call it mobile. He has to travel a bit and he's generally gone from 6:30 AM to 7:00 PM. And I have one of those cushy jobs that goes from 8:30 AM to 4:30 PM with an hour break for lunch. Guess who was in control of the car? Yup, my mobile husband.

We both compromised our schedules. I went in super early. He went in a little late. He left super early. I left a little late. The weekend was hard too. But Tuesday came and it was a glorious day, the Jeep was ready!

But there was a catch, Martin was working 2 hours away from my place of employment and the Jeep was 45 minutes away from there. After being in my office from 7:15 AM to 5:45 PM yesterday I decided to go downstairs to relax on one of our stiff 1980's lobby couches. I got a snack and Sprite out of the vending machine, propped my feet up on the 1980's coffee table, and got my Kindle out. Now, I knew Martin would be there in less than an hour and would probably be hungry but honestly, I didn't want to get him anything. Somehow in my mind, since it was his Jeep, it was his fault. So no, I wasn't going to get him anything.

But let me tell ya'll, this book has put so much into perspective. I am his help meet. And one practical thing I got out the chapter or so of reading was that I needed to be a happy wife. One who smiles and laughs in front of my husband. We are in a competition with the world and people in it and I need to be a place of relief for him. I immediately purposed in my heart right there to make our 45 minute trek down to the dealership a happy time. I went and bought him peanut M&Ms and saved half my Sprite. And ya'll, we had the best trip down. While there we looked at cars in the showroom and agreed we hated the new Jeeps (they were much too pretty for our taste) and went looking at some minivans. I am anti-minivans but only because my heart is so full of pride and yuckiness. We went to dinner and I let him sit facing the Flyers game (that's hockey, mom). It was the best night.

And the weirdest thing happened, I went to bed with a happy heart. Funny how we let the lies creep in to our lives - that if we make our husbands [insert coworkers, friends, parents, children] pay for our discontentment that will make life better.

I guess the old saying "A happy wife, a happy life" is true. It's just all about how you look at it.