In light of snow days, here's a more light-hearted post about what warms my memory on days like these....
Snow days. They start with that hopeful anticipation the days or nights before. Kids all frolicking at the thought of snow trickling down from the heavens, bearing freedom to their school-weary souls. So many glances out the windows, at school and home, looking for those white flakes of relief, those fluttering hopes of bliss in the sky. As a kid, we know the wonder, the joy, the great "watching" of the skies.
Growing up in Michigan, snow days were a given each year. And when a snow day came, it was really a snow day! It meant mounds of snow had poured, back yards were filled to the brim, plow trucks were scraping intersections, salt was dotted along every sidewalk, and family pets were layered in white, rustling through the acers.
In my home, snow days were a glorious bliss of activity and rest. We'd start with episodes of Saved By the Bell, syrup and butter oatmeal pancakes, and sit around in our sweatshirts. By mid-morning we were bundled in snowpants with hats and scarves and facemasks and heat pouches in our boots. We'd jump on the Arctic Cart and start the rumble of it's engine. After a few rounds of tracing the 20 acers with lines of evidence, we'd grab the orange Ziffy Whompers and plastic sleds and tie ropes from the snowmobile. Oh what fun! Hours found circles around our property, our bodies smelling like fuel, and our hearts laughing as we'd see how high we could get the sledder in the air on the jump between the 10 back acres and the front.
We'd waddle back inside, our legs thick with snowpants and hands frozen with iced threads. Time to stir the macaroni and cheese and warm our bellys and bottoms! Come afternoon we'd haul out games like Clue or Life or Payday, or create a "village" downstairs, each with given roles to play.
Then it was time for activity again: layers of Columbia and Cuddle Duddles insiutated warmth while we rolled out of the driveway for the Middle School Hill. Gigantic from a kid's eyes, it included handmade jumps and wipe outs and people from all over town. From bright colored ski jackets to camouflage to deer-orange hats, what a sight to behold! Dad's with kids lined up on old wooden toboggans, teenagers racing down on twirling red saucers, and mom's dragging two year olds back on the climb. The celebration of snow.
In college, I remember Snow Days manifested into cafeteria trays-turned-sleds, twenty year olds on Olson Lawn throwing snowballs, and hours spent with milky cappichino in the D.C. We'd spend quiet hours with movies on couches, girls piled in layers to see, and stir Easy Mac in plastic bowls. One January was Euker played endlessly in the hallway, girls learning to crotchet, and Alias streaming from hand-me-down tvs.
My favorite "grown-up" Snow Day was dominated by bright yellow walls and blasting green carpet, in the old brick house on Hildebrand Street. It was Angela, Marilyn, Jenelle, and me all snuggled inside under blankets and crumbs and relaxing in pjs. We'd cued up season after season of Gilmore Girls, propped our feet up, and filled the coffee table with every junk food possible -- from Doritos to Dove chocolate to red Twizzlers piled near our feet. The snow grew heavy, sheeted with ice, and we talked and sauntered and laid around to simply be.
I watched kids at school yesterday sparkle with the first flakes of snow. The first evidence of arrived anticipation, assured hope. They were giddy with catching flakes and tasting them on their tongue, awaiting the arrival of buses to go home. Today, I imagine they're inside, ready to spoon in mac & cheese, cue up another NetFlix, and find mittens for playing with neighbors. I'll sit here at the table typing with Mark, coffee both cupped next to our computers, still in our "scrunchies" at noon, and smile as I think, dream, and reminisce of Snow Days.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Friday, January 31, 2014
Daunting.
During wedding season, I barely looked through wedding magazines. They were the dreams brides are made of, all put together with pretty invitations and elaborate centerpieces and lists of how-tos and planning guides and color schemes and bridesmaid dresses and veil styles and favor ideas and laced white gowns and ceremony suggestions and sentimental song lists and sparkling rings and... Whew. That's exactly how I felt. So I set stacks aside and stayed with simplicity and myself.
And now I stare birth in the face. It's the third trimester and today I hit a moment where those first few weeks just exploded in my psyche. Mark and I have visited friends who were one-two months new parents. These couples most seemed crazily overwhelmed, unshowered, and full of woes when it came to having that little one at home. I can see their faces at church, or on their couch, or in a chair feel their fear and heaving forever imprinted in my mind.
As I look ahead I think of their emotions and all of a sudden everything feels overwhelming. The "world" likes to prepare, warn, laugh or look with pity and throws its layer of words to the pile, making that little baby seem like depression already won: sleepless nights, pain in breastfeeding, no couple time, etc... Oh joy, thanks. Then there's the how-to books and advice and every woman's story, contradicting each other left and right... (For a small taste of how this looks/feels read here: http://www.charlottemomsblog.com/2014/01/07/sleep-advice/)
When I hear these words, think these thoughts, read this language I am frozen in fear. Can I do it? What if I can't get out of bed because I'm so exhausted and my baby just cries? What if I feed her the wrong amount or at the wrong time? What if I don't know what that cry means? Its paralyzing, daunting.
When I approached marraige, the world spoke and warned of "ball and chain" or "institution" or "wait to you live with his quirks." However, to create a wall between that fear and negativity, I kept thinking of my parents' marraige and the love and joy they still expressed fully after 32 years. Their legacy left no fear. Additionally, I remember one woman from church speaking strongly: "Marraige is great. And don't let anybody tell you differently." Ahhh, hope.
Today I picked up a pregnancy/birth book and after a few chapters felt so fearful and daunted that my insides started to squeeze. And I thought back to those engagement days and the strategies and examples that helped make marraige a joy...
Which means today, I shut the book and grabbed sparkling cider. And I thought of my sisters. I don't know what it is about my family, but somehow everyone received a good dose of optimism and perspective and they live with a worldview that reflects that. So I think about Melissa and Blake sharing Judd into Mark and I's arms and smiling about the birthing room and being relaxed about the new-parent days they were in. And I think of Kelly who joined the Smith shopping trip two weeks after Jaxson was born and simply staying positive and having fun and joining in their general conversation. These two women for me are the voices I need, the inspiration for starting parenting, and the reminder to not over-research or take everything too seriously.
So with that, Lord, lift my heart up and protect me from the daunting.
And now I stare birth in the face. It's the third trimester and today I hit a moment where those first few weeks just exploded in my psyche. Mark and I have visited friends who were one-two months new parents. These couples most seemed crazily overwhelmed, unshowered, and full of woes when it came to having that little one at home. I can see their faces at church, or on their couch, or in a chair feel their fear and heaving forever imprinted in my mind.
As I look ahead I think of their emotions and all of a sudden everything feels overwhelming. The "world" likes to prepare, warn, laugh or look with pity and throws its layer of words to the pile, making that little baby seem like depression already won: sleepless nights, pain in breastfeeding, no couple time, etc... Oh joy, thanks. Then there's the how-to books and advice and every woman's story, contradicting each other left and right... (For a small taste of how this looks/feels read here: http://www.charlottemomsblog.com/2014/01/07/sleep-advice/)
When I hear these words, think these thoughts, read this language I am frozen in fear. Can I do it? What if I can't get out of bed because I'm so exhausted and my baby just cries? What if I feed her the wrong amount or at the wrong time? What if I don't know what that cry means? Its paralyzing, daunting.
When I approached marraige, the world spoke and warned of "ball and chain" or "institution" or "wait to you live with his quirks." However, to create a wall between that fear and negativity, I kept thinking of my parents' marraige and the love and joy they still expressed fully after 32 years. Their legacy left no fear. Additionally, I remember one woman from church speaking strongly: "Marraige is great. And don't let anybody tell you differently." Ahhh, hope.
Today I picked up a pregnancy/birth book and after a few chapters felt so fearful and daunted that my insides started to squeeze. And I thought back to those engagement days and the strategies and examples that helped make marraige a joy...
Which means today, I shut the book and grabbed sparkling cider. And I thought of my sisters. I don't know what it is about my family, but somehow everyone received a good dose of optimism and perspective and they live with a worldview that reflects that. So I think about Melissa and Blake sharing Judd into Mark and I's arms and smiling about the birthing room and being relaxed about the new-parent days they were in. And I think of Kelly who joined the Smith shopping trip two weeks after Jaxson was born and simply staying positive and having fun and joining in their general conversation. These two women for me are the voices I need, the inspiration for starting parenting, and the reminder to not over-research or take everything too seriously.
So with that, Lord, lift my heart up and protect me from the daunting.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Shame On Skin.
I always thought I was a cute baby. Little bald head with big brown eyes and easy, happy smile. Soft, "olive skin," as my dad would say, with chubby little legs and natural bronze arms. My mom would dress me up with little eyelet dresses and shoulder straps held together with bows. Matching plush socks and tied proper shoes. This image of my first years is proudly dotted; without restraint I swell and smile at my adorable baby-toddler self.
Recently though, comments have made that for the first time in my thirty years, result in shame. About bald babies, or "less than cute" babies, or toddlers that don't quite meet the standard of the perceiver. And I can't help but feel a sense of guilt for the hairless baby I was, though my parents never made me feel this way. They laughed and bought with pink and beamed with pride at simply who I was: me. Their child. Their beloved. Their "very good" just as God created me to be.
In such contrast, I can't help but lean back into Genesis 3. I think about how words, verses, and feelings of pride are now juxtaposed with shame, and see the resemblance of the scripture pattern in Genesis 1 and 3.. In Genesis 1, God created humankind in his image, as his crown of creation. His greatest! Beyond the Grand Canyon, beyond Pagsanjan Falls, beyond the Alps. Me! Human! The greatest majesty of his creation. And the only part of his six day journey that he labeled not only as "good" but "very good!" Oh what wonder! What elation! What joy! In his creation! In me, as me!
Then Genesis 3 comes along, and Satan in all his sin-greatness slides through the beautiful joy and glory bursting, and raptures the words God, the holy one, the perfect one, spoke. And Satan taints them, so humankind no longer is visualized, accepted, or rejoiced in as "good" but instead is punctured with sin. In the Garden, humankind went from skin as their splendor, to skin as their shame, hidden and hurting behind make-shift coverings underneath masks of leaves and trees, with sin as a perpetual shield from full openness and relationship with God.
Oh how our skin has spoken shame ever since! How we ostracized based on color, remark based on tone. How we compare in regard to its flaws, and flinch in regard to its measuring. How we speak against its crackleing, and judge it according to texture.
And we hide! We hide behind our coverings -- clothes, comments, cramped inadequacy pounded within.
As I walk around now, with skin bearing seven months of new life beneath, these revelations speak strongly in new meaning. The sin pattern finds me hiding my flaws beyond blacks or embarrassed at growth -- my holy, blessed, God-endowed growth, but nonetheless embarrassed as sin has stolen the joy from me. Comments of others lend no help and hinder, only draw attention to if I measure "right" in their eyes -- too big, too small, hardly showing, showing enough; then scaling a size due to height and width and bones structured thirty years before. The assessment of my skin is spoken, though demoralizing, and only shame and anxiety and hiding result. Surely not the words and truths that God had spoken, still stamping: "It is very good."
Then I think of my precious, beautiful, baby daughter. Growing inside and forming and being made in his likeness. I think of her possibly bald head and can't wait to hold it, caressing its softness and smelling its life. I sigh at the depth of love and meaning already held at the hope and desire to nestle her skin next to mine. And then to whisper and coo and tell her she's beautiful, over and over again. For she is created good, very good.
Yet, in great horror, I think of the the already-spoken judgements on her. The sin that has already entangled her as the pressure to appear in the form of the perceiver has already committed her acceptable or non, based on blue eyes or blonde hair or brown curls. And I inwardly weep and anger and fight already for my daughter. Screaming inside to will sin's power and Satan's curses away from her.
Lord, let her come in Your Glory! Let her know and feel Your Acceptance! Your Love! Your bounty of spoken words through Scripture about your joy in her, your glory revealed in her as your perfect creation! Let the words she hears and feels and knows be, "And she is created good! Very good!"
Oh to redeem Genesis 3! To conquer sin, Satan, and the death it curses over souls! Oh to hear God speak great adoration over my stretching skin, my pregnant body. Oh to hear Him lavish his likeness over my daughter. Oh to bear and claim God's truth, it is good, against Satan's curse of shame on skin.
Recently though, comments have made that for the first time in my thirty years, result in shame. About bald babies, or "less than cute" babies, or toddlers that don't quite meet the standard of the perceiver. And I can't help but feel a sense of guilt for the hairless baby I was, though my parents never made me feel this way. They laughed and bought with pink and beamed with pride at simply who I was: me. Their child. Their beloved. Their "very good" just as God created me to be.
In such contrast, I can't help but lean back into Genesis 3. I think about how words, verses, and feelings of pride are now juxtaposed with shame, and see the resemblance of the scripture pattern in Genesis 1 and 3.. In Genesis 1, God created humankind in his image, as his crown of creation. His greatest! Beyond the Grand Canyon, beyond Pagsanjan Falls, beyond the Alps. Me! Human! The greatest majesty of his creation. And the only part of his six day journey that he labeled not only as "good" but "very good!" Oh what wonder! What elation! What joy! In his creation! In me, as me!
Then Genesis 3 comes along, and Satan in all his sin-greatness slides through the beautiful joy and glory bursting, and raptures the words God, the holy one, the perfect one, spoke. And Satan taints them, so humankind no longer is visualized, accepted, or rejoiced in as "good" but instead is punctured with sin. In the Garden, humankind went from skin as their splendor, to skin as their shame, hidden and hurting behind make-shift coverings underneath masks of leaves and trees, with sin as a perpetual shield from full openness and relationship with God.
God's voice marveled and said it was good. Satan's voice mocked and said it was shamed.
Oh how our skin has spoken shame ever since! How we ostracized based on color, remark based on tone. How we compare in regard to its flaws, and flinch in regard to its measuring. How we speak against its crackleing, and judge it according to texture.
And we hide! We hide behind our coverings -- clothes, comments, cramped inadequacy pounded within.
As I walk around now, with skin bearing seven months of new life beneath, these revelations speak strongly in new meaning. The sin pattern finds me hiding my flaws beyond blacks or embarrassed at growth -- my holy, blessed, God-endowed growth, but nonetheless embarrassed as sin has stolen the joy from me. Comments of others lend no help and hinder, only draw attention to if I measure "right" in their eyes -- too big, too small, hardly showing, showing enough; then scaling a size due to height and width and bones structured thirty years before. The assessment of my skin is spoken, though demoralizing, and only shame and anxiety and hiding result. Surely not the words and truths that God had spoken, still stamping: "It is very good."
Then I think of my precious, beautiful, baby daughter. Growing inside and forming and being made in his likeness. I think of her possibly bald head and can't wait to hold it, caressing its softness and smelling its life. I sigh at the depth of love and meaning already held at the hope and desire to nestle her skin next to mine. And then to whisper and coo and tell her she's beautiful, over and over again. For she is created good, very good.
Yet, in great horror, I think of the the already-spoken judgements on her. The sin that has already entangled her as the pressure to appear in the form of the perceiver has already committed her acceptable or non, based on blue eyes or blonde hair or brown curls. And I inwardly weep and anger and fight already for my daughter. Screaming inside to will sin's power and Satan's curses away from her.
Lord, let her come in Your Glory! Let her know and feel Your Acceptance! Your Love! Your bounty of spoken words through Scripture about your joy in her, your glory revealed in her as your perfect creation! Let the words she hears and feels and knows be, "And she is created good! Very good!"
Oh to redeem Genesis 3! To conquer sin, Satan, and the death it curses over souls! Oh to hear God speak great adoration over my stretching skin, my pregnant body. Oh to hear Him lavish his likeness over my daughter. Oh to bear and claim God's truth, it is good, against Satan's curse of shame on skin.
~ ~ ~
"God saw all that he had made, and it was very good." Genesis 1:31
"God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them." Genesis 1: 27
"Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt now shame." Genesis 2:25
"Then the eyes of them were both opened and they realized they were naked;
so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves." Genesis 3:7
"I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid." Genesis 3:11
"You crowned them [humankind] with glory and honor." Psalm 8:5
"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psam 139:13-14
Monday, January 20, 2014
Truth and Relationships.
I've been wiggling lately in several conversations over coffee and couches and cell phones. It's the same haunting that has prickled me for a few years, leaving me still uncomfortable, but justly so. It's that grimace of listening to those in close relationship choose lifestyles, craft choices, continually complain, or create narcissistic, negative attitudes that leave little room for joy, deliverance, repentance, hope or health.
I find myself shutting down the phone internally, while it is still on, or closing the conversation while its still going, yet then rewinding and replaying the whole struggle internally for days afterward -- so much so that it is hard to separate the conversations or choices from the person or friendship.
Thus I've been praying about this strain the last few months, weeks, days. Asking God to reveal to me what my role is in knowing and delivering Truth, in restraining from self-righteaousness, and in continuing to offer relationship while my convictions contradict the conversations.
I remember reading and listening to several reflections on this over the years. My friend Emily and I once had a long conversation over the tension of how to carry this cross with strength and clarity. Each time, there is one point that is consistent, one line that does not change. And it starts with: is the person a believer held to the Standards of God, or if the individual does not claim to bow or live under his care and guidelines. This principal alone, I believe, sets apart the words and form in which we are to handle Truth and relationships.
If a person does not declare the Lord as their Savior or wholly surrender to His teaching, then there are provisions made to offer grace. Relationship should always be extended, but judgment is rarely helpful in leading them toward salvation in Christ. Instead, acceptance and generosity are offered as the work of the Spirit alone enables their receiving of the gifts and guidance He offers.
However, for those who profess to live under the surrender and instruction of Christ, the Will of the Father, and the choices that lead to holiness and righteousness, the Word speaks with clarity and conviction. Since the Old Testament, God has marked out laws and guides, grace and Truths, that are meant to help lead the way to a life that is set apart under his care. This noted, the Word is poignant in for role of believers. It reads, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another" (Proverbs 27:17). Ouch. But that friction of truth helps create in us a holy godliness that we must be willing to submit under. He uses his people to prune, bring clarity, and offer insight into the roads we choose or the fruit our soul bears.
Moreover, the Lord says his Word is to be used to instruct, discipline, and grow his disciples. "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful in teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness" (II Timothy 3:16) Paul's Epistles follow these lines and speaks forth as well as against false teaching, attitudes, and living in relationship. Like Daniel, he uses "wisdom and tact" in discerning how God leads him to use Truth, but he still is willing to do so (Daniel 2:14).
A few years ago I was riding home from Asheville with my favorite "church" of roommates: Angela, Marilyn, and Jenelle, and we were discussing this very point: our struggle with the tension of delivering Truth while maintaining goodwill in relationships. Riding back on 74, I remember their words distinctly, as if God gave clarity to the angles of this discussion: "As believers, we are called under God to instruct and call out those in our life to live holy and blameless lives. With careful words, we should talk to them about choices and honoring God according to the patterns he set before us. However, it is that person's choice how to respond. We offer relationship and friendship and grace in its fullness. If they walk away from Scripture or us, that is not our prerogative. We are to follow God first, model his grace, and leave the offer at their response." It is not our call to fear their response, or duck because of it, or withhold a pruning because of our selfish desire to maintain a sense of harmony.
In his book, Boundaries, Henry Cloud gives insight to this concept. He writes: “There is a big difference between hurt and harm. We all hurt sometimes in facing hard truths, but it makes us grow... That is not harmful. Harm is when you damage someone. Facing reality is usually not a damaging experience, even though it can hurt.” Noting the difference between hurt and harm offers some relief concerning the principle and aftermath of sharing Truth in relationship.
Yikes, this is easier said than done. When one reads or writes, the words appear simple and clearly Divine. Yet to picture delivering Truth to the caller on the phone or the coffee date across the table, to see their faces and feel the emotion of their reply, there is an altogether other sense of strain. Nonetheless, God doesn't always call us to the easy or peaceful, but he promises the guidance and sustainability of His presence. He also often prepares and tends to the heart of the listener, giving them the grace to accept the discipline or words or guidance. For God too, cares about the deliverance, acceptance, and call to holiness in Truth and relationships.
I find myself shutting down the phone internally, while it is still on, or closing the conversation while its still going, yet then rewinding and replaying the whole struggle internally for days afterward -- so much so that it is hard to separate the conversations or choices from the person or friendship.
Thus I've been praying about this strain the last few months, weeks, days. Asking God to reveal to me what my role is in knowing and delivering Truth, in restraining from self-righteaousness, and in continuing to offer relationship while my convictions contradict the conversations.
I remember reading and listening to several reflections on this over the years. My friend Emily and I once had a long conversation over the tension of how to carry this cross with strength and clarity. Each time, there is one point that is consistent, one line that does not change. And it starts with: is the person a believer held to the Standards of God, or if the individual does not claim to bow or live under his care and guidelines. This principal alone, I believe, sets apart the words and form in which we are to handle Truth and relationships.
If a person does not declare the Lord as their Savior or wholly surrender to His teaching, then there are provisions made to offer grace. Relationship should always be extended, but judgment is rarely helpful in leading them toward salvation in Christ. Instead, acceptance and generosity are offered as the work of the Spirit alone enables their receiving of the gifts and guidance He offers.
However, for those who profess to live under the surrender and instruction of Christ, the Will of the Father, and the choices that lead to holiness and righteousness, the Word speaks with clarity and conviction. Since the Old Testament, God has marked out laws and guides, grace and Truths, that are meant to help lead the way to a life that is set apart under his care. This noted, the Word is poignant in for role of believers. It reads, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another" (Proverbs 27:17). Ouch. But that friction of truth helps create in us a holy godliness that we must be willing to submit under. He uses his people to prune, bring clarity, and offer insight into the roads we choose or the fruit our soul bears.
Moreover, the Lord says his Word is to be used to instruct, discipline, and grow his disciples. "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful in teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness" (II Timothy 3:16) Paul's Epistles follow these lines and speaks forth as well as against false teaching, attitudes, and living in relationship. Like Daniel, he uses "wisdom and tact" in discerning how God leads him to use Truth, but he still is willing to do so (Daniel 2:14).
A few years ago I was riding home from Asheville with my favorite "church" of roommates: Angela, Marilyn, and Jenelle, and we were discussing this very point: our struggle with the tension of delivering Truth while maintaining goodwill in relationships. Riding back on 74, I remember their words distinctly, as if God gave clarity to the angles of this discussion: "As believers, we are called under God to instruct and call out those in our life to live holy and blameless lives. With careful words, we should talk to them about choices and honoring God according to the patterns he set before us. However, it is that person's choice how to respond. We offer relationship and friendship and grace in its fullness. If they walk away from Scripture or us, that is not our prerogative. We are to follow God first, model his grace, and leave the offer at their response." It is not our call to fear their response, or duck because of it, or withhold a pruning because of our selfish desire to maintain a sense of harmony.
In his book, Boundaries, Henry Cloud gives insight to this concept. He writes: “There is a big difference between hurt and harm. We all hurt sometimes in facing hard truths, but it makes us grow... That is not harmful. Harm is when you damage someone. Facing reality is usually not a damaging experience, even though it can hurt.” Noting the difference between hurt and harm offers some relief concerning the principle and aftermath of sharing Truth in relationship.
Yikes, this is easier said than done. When one reads or writes, the words appear simple and clearly Divine. Yet to picture delivering Truth to the caller on the phone or the coffee date across the table, to see their faces and feel the emotion of their reply, there is an altogether other sense of strain. Nonetheless, God doesn't always call us to the easy or peaceful, but he promises the guidance and sustainability of His presence. He also often prepares and tends to the heart of the listener, giving them the grace to accept the discipline or words or guidance. For God too, cares about the deliverance, acceptance, and call to holiness in Truth and relationships.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
And the Bride Wore White.
White rose petals blossoming in hand, I walked down the isle on my wedding day. It was a day filled with flowers on vines, greenery arching sunward, candles glowing from tables, chattering murmured across white garden chairs, and monogrammed fans whisking the wind.
It was a day of so many answered prayers; of years hoping and wishing; of friendships blooming around, gathering to worship at what the beauty and purity of marraige symbolizes in the heart of a believer, the heart of a woman.
At the same time, it was a day of such sacredness, of great culmination, of faithfulness and hope fulfilled. What great joy and peace echoed within me as I radiated the with exclamation the purity of what marraige was sacred to be.
During the season of engagement, the floral lace dress hung like a white symbol in my home. The white dress was less of a trophy or prize or garment to be earned, but instead a gown to be celebrated in. An outward expression of the inward purity I treasured so intimately inside. It's presence paralleled a phrase that cycled through my thoughts and heart. Not so much as conviction or warning, but as pleasure and confidence, echoing all the goodness I felt inside:
In today's culture, there is an illusion that wearing white is simply "bridal" or that waiting for expressions of love until marraige is a lost art, like Amish bread or handwritten mail.
However, in the stillness, in the quiet recesses of my soul, I desired so greatly to protect the grandeur of marraige that it was pride-filled, in a holy way. I inwardly committed to set aside some physical acts or dating rituals or homemaking skills until that union was complete. I wanted marriage to feel different than dating, and to have the small joys of hope that I had pictured to be unique to it - whether sharing our first breakfast at 'my' table or completing God's physical blessing.
As I watch friends enter holy matrimony, what difference in these marriages is exclaimed as a radiant joy on their faces when they come before their love with purity! This fullness glitters on their faces as their gather their white wedding garments and father's arm and come before their Lord and the one that they love in full union during that holy ceremony. There is something pure in the air, and most who gather can feel that purity sparkle throughout the space. Oh what joy, oh what testimony that Spirit shares to those in the waiting spaces -- what hope to wait, what desire in union, what encouragement to continue to come together in their own marraige in celebration of what God has done.
Throughout my "waiting and hoping" years I'd heard friends talk, I heard pastors preach, I read books from I Kissed Dating Good-Bye to Passion and Purity to When God Writes Your Love Story... Though they aided in my conviction, caused controversial conversation, and kept me hoping for one more day that pure love would come, nothing convinced me of the greater power and joy of purity than that season of engagement. I kept glowing in the inward knowledge that I was coming before my bridegroom without scar, without fear, without heaviness, and was able to offer my Love this gift of freedom and honesty and the joy of intimacy.
I often reflect on Proverbs 31:12:
It was circled and underlined and memorize and pondered for at least fifteen years before I ever understood the full impact of its message. All the days of her life: her dating, her hoping, her high school, her college, her single, her engaged, her tears, her frustration, her unseen hope: She does him good.
Oh my dear friends, if you are hoping, if you are waiting, do him good. Create that beautiful white wedding dress in your mind and know it sparkles even more than you imagine when your heart is cleansed and joy-filled in purity beneath it. Hold on to greater hope, engage in repentance, and trust in the goodness he offers to your faithfulness. May, one day, your marraige be blessed and shine forth in full evidence of His benevolence. May you walk down the isle in radiant testimony to what the Lord has offered as a covenant to his people in the union marraige, rejoicing to proclaim, "And the Bride Wore White."
It was a day of so many answered prayers; of years hoping and wishing; of friendships blooming around, gathering to worship at what the beauty and purity of marraige symbolizes in the heart of a believer, the heart of a woman.
During the season of engagement, the floral lace dress hung like a white symbol in my home. The white dress was less of a trophy or prize or garment to be earned, but instead a gown to be celebrated in. An outward expression of the inward purity I treasured so intimately inside. It's presence paralleled a phrase that cycled through my thoughts and heart. Not so much as conviction or warning, but as pleasure and confidence, echoing all the goodness I felt inside:
And the Bride Wore White.
In today's culture, there is an illusion that wearing white is simply "bridal" or that waiting for expressions of love until marraige is a lost art, like Amish bread or handwritten mail.
However, in the stillness, in the quiet recesses of my soul, I desired so greatly to protect the grandeur of marraige that it was pride-filled, in a holy way. I inwardly committed to set aside some physical acts or dating rituals or homemaking skills until that union was complete. I wanted marriage to feel different than dating, and to have the small joys of hope that I had pictured to be unique to it - whether sharing our first breakfast at 'my' table or completing God's physical blessing.
As I watch friends enter holy matrimony, what difference in these marriages is exclaimed as a radiant joy on their faces when they come before their love with purity! This fullness glitters on their faces as their gather their white wedding garments and father's arm and come before their Lord and the one that they love in full union during that holy ceremony. There is something pure in the air, and most who gather can feel that purity sparkle throughout the space. Oh what joy, oh what testimony that Spirit shares to those in the waiting spaces -- what hope to wait, what desire in union, what encouragement to continue to come together in their own marraige in celebration of what God has done.
Throughout my "waiting and hoping" years I'd heard friends talk, I heard pastors preach, I read books from I Kissed Dating Good-Bye to Passion and Purity to When God Writes Your Love Story... Though they aided in my conviction, caused controversial conversation, and kept me hoping for one more day that pure love would come, nothing convinced me of the greater power and joy of purity than that season of engagement. I kept glowing in the inward knowledge that I was coming before my bridegroom without scar, without fear, without heaviness, and was able to offer my Love this gift of freedom and honesty and the joy of intimacy.
I often reflect on Proverbs 31:12:
She does him good, and not harm,
All the days of her life.
It was circled and underlined and memorize and pondered for at least fifteen years before I ever understood the full impact of its message. All the days of her life: her dating, her hoping, her high school, her college, her single, her engaged, her tears, her frustration, her unseen hope: She does him good.
Oh my dear friends, if you are hoping, if you are waiting, do him good. Create that beautiful white wedding dress in your mind and know it sparkles even more than you imagine when your heart is cleansed and joy-filled in purity beneath it. Hold on to greater hope, engage in repentance, and trust in the goodness he offers to your faithfulness. May, one day, your marraige be blessed and shine forth in full evidence of His benevolence. May you walk down the isle in radiant testimony to what the Lord has offered as a covenant to his people in the union marraige, rejoicing to proclaim, "And the Bride Wore White."
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Slow to Speak.
"Be imitators of God..."
Ephesians 5:1; Philippians 2
Often I peer at the world and people around me and wonder: Does the Holy Spirit in me show differently?" If non-believers are aren't held to the laws of the Christ, do I as a full believer demonstrate his laws in my heart then in full difference?
The last few months have brought this to the forefront concerning the words and attitudes etched in conversations among believers. As I listen, as I watch or participate in conversation, inwardly I cringe. Words are blunt, anger is snapped, remarks are quick, retorts come forceful, and small trials produce great negative reactions.
I come back to the continual call of the Epistles to be self-controled, to groom the fruits of the Spirit, to model Christ in love, and yet am left broken, discouraged, and dismantled by the words I hear instead.
Yesterday, amidst feeling the outcries of this negativity in my own spirit, I heard the radio host announce:
"My dear brothers and sisters,
take note of this:
Everyone should be quick to listen,
slow to speak
and slow to become angry."
James 1:19
It was God's poignant clarity to guide my heart and actions, gaining strength through the Holy Spirit.
James later speaks about the power of the tongue, the devastation it can wrought, and the contradiction of how we use it both to reveal glorious worship and angst, uncontrolled distress (James 3).
Children of God, if we claim to be One with God, our bluntness is only bold for the Gospel. Our anger only righteous for His causes; our adversity only pleading for His grace.
May Christ give us the discernment and conviction to know when to close our lips and when to courage in speech. May we humbly then accept his direction, imitating Him by the Spirit who filters our hearts.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Pinterest and Proverbs 31
Five women sit with Spanish food flared all around, our mouths chattering between spoonfuls regarding everything from toddler woes to recipes to teaching. More topics were strewn about, platforms we all stand on or walk over, engaging our minds as women in current Church issues and family values and feminine callings. Somewhere toward the end of dinner our conversation fell on Pinterest - ideas gained, inspiration given, and ideals growing. This turned our discussion into the emotions Pinterest also triggered -- envy, comparison, and greed as well as self-doubt, discouragement, and dissatisfaction with our own reality. We sat back in our chairs, now moving onto coffee and pondering the Pinterest world and its implications for us as Christian women.
What people rush to do, often out of the difficulty of living in the tension, is draw lines around topics, issues, concerns, and choices. It is easiest to live in a world painted black and white, labeled good or bad, stamped holy or evil. I'd like to assign such headlines to Pinterest, but I don't think thats the issue. In other words, I think it can be used for great good, like the buffalo chicken wreath recipe I'm cooking for my husband tonight.
Yet Biblically, I think we need to assess our interaction with Pinterest. Many passages pop into mind regarding temptation, contentment, and simplicity, yet I perhaps the truest analysis was spoken at the table that night, giving the the strongest contrast I'd heard, catching me in a way only clear comparison and truth can. As the writer of Hebrews 4:12 states: "For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart."
And so His Word was brought forth at the dinner table: "Consider the difference between Pinterest and Proverbs 31..." The atmosphere gained momentum and our discussion grew vehemently, each woman delving into it with conviction, asserting their wrestling with the statement spoken, and feeling the implication of identifying that contrast.
The Proverbs 31 Woman. The woman we all long to be, are sometimes overwhelmed by, and yet given model through. The passage outlines qualities and mannerisms of this woman of nobility: she "works with eager hands" (v13), provides for her family (v15), uses money wisely (v16), and works hard and purposefully (v17). "She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy" (20). "She is clothed with strength and dignity...she does not eat the bread of idleness." (v25, 27). In highest regard of all, she is a woman who is fully pursing the Lord, thus earning the respect of her husband, her family, and her village in these efforts.
With her time, she cares diligently for her family, and she serves the poor. I picture her today washing sheets, putting chicken in the crockpot, and volunteering at a local school, nursing home, or shelter. She may have a career, she may tend to her little ones, she may help her elderly parent. With her time, she is purposeful, productive.
The money she has and the money she earns is used with wisdom. She considers purchases and their intent; she saves and is generous. She contemplates the value of a craft and is discerning on the funds that it may use. She honors God and her family with her use of wealth and resources.
This is where I pause with the awareness that this forceful conviction has rumbled in me for nine months and hasn't made its way to the page because its impact has been profound and cut so straight to the heart of what I see women consuming that presenting such an issue demands wisdom. Furthermore, it requires words and contemplation that allow and guides a conscientious process.
As with many addictions, Pinterest pulls in slowly and does not harm all partakers. Some drink to it like leisurely glass of wine, tasting every few days or weeks and use an idea here or there. Others are unaware of the state of their consumption, pinning away like one more trip to the bar, until their reality is tainted or left with more emptiness, desires, and wants.
What people rush to do, often out of the difficulty of living in the tension, is draw lines around topics, issues, concerns, and choices. It is easiest to live in a world painted black and white, labeled good or bad, stamped holy or evil. I'd like to assign such headlines to Pinterest, but I don't think thats the issue. In other words, I think it can be used for great good, like the buffalo chicken wreath recipe I'm cooking for my husband tonight.
Yet Biblically, I think we need to assess our interaction with Pinterest. Many passages pop into mind regarding temptation, contentment, and simplicity, yet I perhaps the truest analysis was spoken at the table that night, giving the the strongest contrast I'd heard, catching me in a way only clear comparison and truth can. As the writer of Hebrews 4:12 states: "For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart."
And so His Word was brought forth at the dinner table: "Consider the difference between Pinterest and Proverbs 31..." The atmosphere gained momentum and our discussion grew vehemently, each woman delving into it with conviction, asserting their wrestling with the statement spoken, and feeling the implication of identifying that contrast.
The Proverbs 31 Woman. The woman we all long to be, are sometimes overwhelmed by, and yet given model through. The passage outlines qualities and mannerisms of this woman of nobility: she "works with eager hands" (v13), provides for her family (v15), uses money wisely (v16), and works hard and purposefully (v17). "She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy" (20). "She is clothed with strength and dignity...she does not eat the bread of idleness." (v25, 27). In highest regard of all, she is a woman who is fully pursing the Lord, thus earning the respect of her husband, her family, and her village in these efforts.
With her time, she cares diligently for her family, and she serves the poor. I picture her today washing sheets, putting chicken in the crockpot, and volunteering at a local school, nursing home, or shelter. She may have a career, she may tend to her little ones, she may help her elderly parent. With her time, she is purposeful, productive.
The money she has and the money she earns is used with wisdom. She considers purchases and their intent; she saves and is generous. She contemplates the value of a craft and is discerning on the funds that it may use. She honors God and her family with her use of wealth and resources.
This is where I pause with the awareness that this forceful conviction has rumbled in me for nine months and hasn't made its way to the page because its impact has been profound and cut so straight to the heart of what I see women consuming that presenting such an issue demands wisdom. Furthermore, it requires words and contemplation that allow and guides a conscientious process.
As with many addictions, Pinterest pulls in slowly and does not harm all partakers. Some drink to it like leisurely glass of wine, tasting every few days or weeks and use an idea here or there. Others are unaware of the state of their consumption, pinning away like one more trip to the bar, until their reality is tainted or left with more emptiness, desires, and wants.
The caution is for Pinterest to be a help in your pursuit of caring for your family and tending to your work, as Proverbs 31 states. Yet compelling clicking can instead lead to consumption so great that dream worlds are built, fantasy collections are sought, and boards are bursting bigger and better than real life could possibly boast.
This danger leads directly back to the call of the Proverbs 31 woman and our challenge to look inwardly, noting her time, her talents (money), her purposed life, and her pursing God. Dear women, consider these callings. Consider the comparisons, the contrasts. Consider your consumption and its interactions with his Kingdom.
In your interaction with Pinterest, may his Truths guide your wrestling, his creativity your creations, and his conviction your clicking.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Penning Prayers on Paper.
Prayers on Paper. My first journal I nicknamed Penning the Soul because that's what the Lord was doing with me -- writing my heart within the lines of scripture and notes and prayers on paper. He funneled my emotional spirit using one camp counselor, one little black notebook, and my desire to grow with Jesus. This counselors prayer journal suggestion began to reaped growth in me, internally.
Prayer journals. Writing, focused, a way to read and scribble through Scripture, to scrawl thoughts on paper, to keep the brain organized and flowing. I remember telling a friend a week later on a camping trip about my new prayer journal, with full excitement at such a solution. And now here I sit, nearly twenty years later, and look at the years of prayers contained in pen.
I thumb through them, noting how many scriptures were circled and underlined and remarked on in my pages. Remembering the tenderness of my heart to the Lord through the years, and seeing my cries and struggles and rejoices lined out before me. Without opening, the covers bring back memories, of days in the Philippines, my couch on Krefeld, Taylor breakfast mornings, angered confusion through '09, with boys and trips and dreams in-between. There's a years notes from a challenge to read the whole Bible, and so many times I laid out life choices with fear and trembling and begging for direction from the Lord. Oh, how He used pen and paper to grow me closer to him!
I've kept them all these years, thinking some day I may use them in writing. Perhaps referring back to a time He grew me, or an answered prayer, or a way to mark his work in my life. But today I pull them out from layers of storage, slightly coveting how tender I used to be, but knowing its not the only way God speaks to me.
I'm thankful for the years of growth he's given me. I'm thankful for the prayers answered, and unanswered. For a home to rest my soul, a husband who holds my heart, and ministry that continues to provide hope. I'm thankful for that young Taylor camp counselor, and direction God continued to provide for me each step along the way. And tonight as I look at the spread before me, I'm thankful for the way he wrote his Word in my heart through penning prayers on paper.
Prayer journals. Writing, focused, a way to read and scribble through Scripture, to scrawl thoughts on paper, to keep the brain organized and flowing. I remember telling a friend a week later on a camping trip about my new prayer journal, with full excitement at such a solution. And now here I sit, nearly twenty years later, and look at the years of prayers contained in pen.
I thumb through them, noting how many scriptures were circled and underlined and remarked on in my pages. Remembering the tenderness of my heart to the Lord through the years, and seeing my cries and struggles and rejoices lined out before me. Without opening, the covers bring back memories, of days in the Philippines, my couch on Krefeld, Taylor breakfast mornings, angered confusion through '09, with boys and trips and dreams in-between. There's a years notes from a challenge to read the whole Bible, and so many times I laid out life choices with fear and trembling and begging for direction from the Lord. Oh, how He used pen and paper to grow me closer to him!
I've kept them all these years, thinking some day I may use them in writing. Perhaps referring back to a time He grew me, or an answered prayer, or a way to mark his work in my life. But today I pull them out from layers of storage, slightly coveting how tender I used to be, but knowing its not the only way God speaks to me.
I'm thankful for the years of growth he's given me. I'm thankful for the prayers answered, and unanswered. For a home to rest my soul, a husband who holds my heart, and ministry that continues to provide hope. I'm thankful for that young Taylor camp counselor, and direction God continued to provide for me each step along the way. And tonight as I look at the spread before me, I'm thankful for the way he wrote his Word in my heart through penning prayers on paper.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Spode.
Spode. They are the festival of Christmas. They are beautiful and fragile and timeless all at the same time. They are the look of the table, decorated with careful thought. They are the feeling of tradition, home, on December nights. They are the treasure that unviels each holiday season, and hide tucked away like advent, awaiting the coming King again amidst the months between.
My family holds a tradition of Spode. My mother gathered it, in pieces and boxes, packing it as her own when her parents were no more. An heirloom she cherished, a piece of heritage that only Christmas could behold. We used them each year, covering an evergreen tablecloth with red candles and holly leaves with berries spruced inbetween. They charmed the Christmas' of years at Homerich, and left comfort in our lives with the roots they grew and the food they served.
The Spode wasn't shared after my mom's death, though many of us had heart strings attached. My brother went and purchased his own set, complete with the evergreen rims and presents around the base. I waited in coveted longing, the season boldly showing the absence of Spode.
As engagement for Mark and I unfolded, Spode began to arrive, wrapped with ribbons as bows. We agreed to leave it off the registry, yet somehow the sentimentaly of the story was told. Bread bowls, dinner plates, and tea pots unpacked, each tied with a note from one of Mark's aunts. The Spode heritage began Smith, but now blurred with Stone, just like the heritage we now vowed to create.
This year I thought of the Spode with fondess, then hesitated knowing the hectic holiday that instead was abreast. No Spode would don the table, no plates would carry family dinner. Yet I breathed assuredly, knowing the faithfulness that grew below my bossom. Our children will know the story; our children will carry the heritage of Smith and Stone, sharing Spode dinners and traditions for years to come. What tangible inheritence of the lives of familys, of generations bearing legacy. What joy to know that Christmas blessings will, for Stone and Smith, still be served on Spode.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Baby Things I Don't Do.
This comes with a little bit of hilarity, a seriousness that's flippant but grounded, and perhaps a warning...
My beloved author Shauna Niequist writes a chapter in her book, Bittersweet, "Things I Don't Do" and I think back on it often with such freedom. Because the worlds ideas or expectations, the feminine or self ideas or expectations, the should do, would do, could do, don't do list sometimes seems endless, but her list was like, "ahhh... thank you!"
My friend Bekah Wallace wrote a post a few months ago I loved too, regarding these concerns as a mom, and I thought, "whew... thank you!" as she took the pressure off. Somedays I feel like if I don't do cloth diapers or make my own baby food or feed fruits and vegetables at dinner.... If I do let my child watch TV or drink straight apple juice or cry until they sleep, then somehow I have let someone, or myself, down.
So perhaps this is just the beginning of the freedom, and the learning. Noting now, first, the baby things I don't do, won't do. To myself, and to prewarn, re-warn others so questions are averted and disappointment can be handled internally, without me.
So here's the start. Baby things I don't do:
1. Seven Day Baby Pictures: I'm not into awkward poses, naked gestures, and babies coming from buckets. Sorry.
2. Maternity Pictures: Again, sorry to disappoint. Those monthly Facebook post glare at me, and the professional photos find me squirming. So I'll be hiding this belly with prudence and poise.
3. Weekly Sticker Pictures: I know this is the big trend, but I think I'm going to choose to miss out.
4. Smocked Dresses: Welcome to the South. But my mama heart is still midwest and that means no smocked. No way. Never. Why smock when there's Gymboree and Janie & Jack and adorable matching floral anything...
5. Southern Boy Outfits: Oh dear, rolling my eyes. Hate them. Give me a boy with John Deere and brown boots and mud on his hands any day.
6. Princess Themed Anything: Sorry, but happily ever after only happens in heaven. And that's what I want my girl to learn. Not about false truths that princes' here finish your life, and that body is perfect and you are the center of the world. Can't do it. Against my convictions.
7. Elf on the Shelf: Seriously, what happened to Advent, awaiting Emmanuel?
My beloved author Shauna Niequist writes a chapter in her book, Bittersweet, "Things I Don't Do" and I think back on it often with such freedom. Because the worlds ideas or expectations, the feminine or self ideas or expectations, the should do, would do, could do, don't do list sometimes seems endless, but her list was like, "ahhh... thank you!"
My friend Bekah Wallace wrote a post a few months ago I loved too, regarding these concerns as a mom, and I thought, "whew... thank you!" as she took the pressure off. Somedays I feel like if I don't do cloth diapers or make my own baby food or feed fruits and vegetables at dinner.... If I do let my child watch TV or drink straight apple juice or cry until they sleep, then somehow I have let someone, or myself, down.
So perhaps this is just the beginning of the freedom, and the learning. Noting now, first, the baby things I don't do, won't do. To myself, and to prewarn, re-warn others so questions are averted and disappointment can be handled internally, without me.
So here's the start. Baby things I don't do:
1. Seven Day Baby Pictures: I'm not into awkward poses, naked gestures, and babies coming from buckets. Sorry.
2. Maternity Pictures: Again, sorry to disappoint. Those monthly Facebook post glare at me, and the professional photos find me squirming. So I'll be hiding this belly with prudence and poise.
3. Weekly Sticker Pictures: I know this is the big trend, but I think I'm going to choose to miss out.
4. Smocked Dresses: Welcome to the South. But my mama heart is still midwest and that means no smocked. No way. Never. Why smock when there's Gymboree and Janie & Jack and adorable matching floral anything...
5. Southern Boy Outfits: Oh dear, rolling my eyes. Hate them. Give me a boy with John Deere and brown boots and mud on his hands any day.
6. Princess Themed Anything: Sorry, but happily ever after only happens in heaven. And that's what I want my girl to learn. Not about false truths that princes' here finish your life, and that body is perfect and you are the center of the world. Can't do it. Against my convictions.
7. Elf on the Shelf: Seriously, what happened to Advent, awaiting Emmanuel?
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