Christmas Review

I know it's almost been a week, but humor me.

Christmas in Springfield (which was Christmas #2 of 4 for us this year) was fun. Sunday morning we visited a church that Wildesign may be working with soon. I walked around and took pictures and considered making a sign for my chest that said, "I am not casing your joint." I got some weird looks. Some from my husband.

West Side Christian Church seems a little confused, but it has some good artists. All of the music was top-notch, and we found this piece sitting up against a wall in a hallway in the balcony:


I really like it. We set out a few hours later from Springfield to Taylorville and stopped for breakfast along the way at the Dirksen Diner. I love these kinds of places. It was off a gravel parking lot on the side of the road, but not facing the road - obscure enough that it was on the passenger side of the car, and I didn't even see it when we drove by. How can you not pull a U-y for breakfast at a place like this, though?


Timothy, of course, ordered biscuits and gravy and decided to launch a culinary review service dedicated sole to the art of B&G. Look for the B&G Review, coming soon to a sidebar near you.


My youngest cousin Ryan playing video games. He's been playing video games since he was three. I'm not exaggerating. In fact I may be underestimating. The kid's left brain is a powerhouse.


My cute little brother with a cheese sandwich - guarding the gifts from anxious little boys. (That's not one in the background, BTW, that's my auntie.)

It was a good time. I wish I had a picture of my great-grandma to share with you. She's 93 and still going strong (relatively speaking).

emotions as red flags

My high school health teacher was a strange man. I can't image what it must be like to be the one to discuss emotional and sexual health with teenagers day after day after day ... but this guy at least needed a break. I think he permed his hair too.

The guy was often right, is the problem, and it was difficult to take him seriously.

He used to always tell us that you can't hurt someones feelings. He would argue that you can't hold a feeling in your hand, so how could you hurt it? You can't hit it, kick it, stab it, etc.

He was trying to help us understand that our feelings are our own and that no one can hurt us emotionally unless we let them ... but trying to explain that to a room full of hormonal high school students was impossible. We argued. We called him names. We withdrew our trust and confidence, and refused to believe a thing he said for the remainder of the semester.

Of course, people can violate others' emotions. People from the dawn of time have been betrayed by those they trusted and loved, and who should have loved them back. And of course it is unhealthy to try to be an emotional island - keeping people away for fear of ever being hurt. "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never loved at all." I agree.

But I was talking with someone yesterday who had experienced a little bit of offense (although said person probably wouldn't have called it that), and I thought of that health teacher.

Day-to-day, our little "hurt feelings" are probably red flags that we ignore when we blame and accuse someone else's behavior. If someone says something to me - innocently or maliciously - and my blood pressure spikes, it's probably because there is something in me that Holy Spirit needs to burn out (and it's most likely pride).

If I get upset because I feel like someone is being condescending toward me, or because someone doesn't appreciate me - maybe it's because I hold myself in too high esteem. If I'm wounded because someone dislikes me for no reason, because a leader doesn't take my suggestion, or because someone doesn't trust me - it's probably my wounded pride.

Or if the "offender" is dead wrong it's because I'm striving for the approval of man and not God. Either way - it's me, not you.

Just a thought. Next time someone "makes you" feel a certain way - ask yourself why.

i'll never be happy enough

Star 105.5 makes me sad. And not just because the music is bad, or because I know the people I hear singing could be so much more than what they've settled for (because those have been my complaints until now).

Dave decided a few months ago that it's too quiet in the office. Anyone who's ever been in this office knows - it's like a library. A really old library in a stuffy north-eastern town. You could hear a pin drop at any given moment, and it's carpeted wall to wall.

So he brought in this stereo and of course the only thing PC enough (and with clear enough reception) is Star 105.5.

At first it was just irritating. And usually I open iTunes and play Audra Lynn or Hillsong - or I keep a browser window open to YouTube and just keep replaying Jesus Culture videos - loud enough to drown out the best of the '80s, '90s and today. But sometimes I'm tired of hearing the same thing.

The past couple days, though, office hours have been bordering on depression again and I couldn't figure out why (aside from the intermediate stretches of overwhelming boredom). It's taken me 16 hours of subconsciously analyzing my thought process, but I - at five minutes to the bell - figured it out.

Even though the hit singles are on the other side of the half-wall behind me, and even though I'm not really listening, I'm hearing. I'm hearing a little worldly longing and the occasional heartache, but mostly I'm hearing about summer vacations that will never end and people who have lives supposedly much more exciting than mine. I'm being reminded without paying attention that I want to be a rock star with no responsibilities and lots of money (by rock stars with no responsibilities and lots of money who are mostly very unhappy people).

And I catch myself thinking about how my job is boring or about college or about what could have been if ...

When really, I was horribly depressed in college and I know perfectly well that all that could have been if was addiction and torment. Not to mention I have the best husband in the world, the greatest church in the Midwest, a cute new bass guitar, and the primary affections of the One who was and is and is to come.

And maybe you did put on your blue suede shoes and board a plane, but I took up arms over an entire continent last night - and not even the continent I'm on.

It's strange how the seemingly harmless can be so harmful. How even the subtle implications we don't notice day after day after day really do impress our minds.

Luke 11:23//He who is not with Me is against Me, and he who does not gather with Me scatters.

hippies and bass guitars

So Jason and Cassandra came to visit Monday night. They left Tuesday morning for Arizona, and then they're back in Washington. It's strange how you get used to being without people, and then when they come back you remember how you never wanted them to leave in the first place.

We saw pictures of their trip last summer to Jerusalem. Made me want to go even more than I already do. We rebutted by showing pictures from TheCall and India, but it wasn't quite the same. Round one went to the hippies.

Although Jason's not really a hippie anymore because - as you can see below - he's got Timothy's hairdo.

For those of you who were blessed enough to meet them when they lived in Wisconsin a year and a half ago: they're doing well. They still love youth ministry (although Jason likes Jr. High better, and Cassandra prefers high schoolers), and are doing a Christian camp every summer. They're living with a nice couple in Washington who are hiring them out, apparently, to renovate bathrooms. We saw pictures of that too; they're pretty good at it.

Casandra trying to pack according to O'Hare's regulations.

Jason brushing his teeth.

Awwww.

Cassandra's gorgeous dreads.

And yours truly got an early Christmas gift from her amazing husband last night:

He snuck it into practice and put it up on the guitar stand so when I turned around (after he told me a billion times to tune up), there it was! My new bass!

It looks good on me.

more prayer

I can't seem to get away from this urge to pray for Africa. I meant to sit down with it yesterday, but our friends Jason and Cassandra came for the night (more on them tomorrow) and I didn't pull myself away from them. No one's fault but my own.

All day yesterday, though, I was thinking about how I really should sit down and read The Life and Diary of David Brainerd again. I kept thinking about it and I don't know why because it's a pretty unappealing idea. Brainerd's diary reads a lot like Numbers. It's for the most part very boring, but you read it because you know there's good stuff in there - mostly toward the end.

But Brainerd was a man who labored in prayer for revival among the Native American people he ministered to, and he saw it come to pass. It's his prayer life that I'm finally interested in (whereas the first time I read it I was interested in the move of Holy Spirit at the end), so I know it won't be as dreadful as the first read but I've developed a kind of knee-jerk reaction to the title.

Today I pulled up Craig's blog to see what's going on at LifeChurch.tv and guest blogger Anne Jackson has posted about the prayer lives of some extraordinary men of God:

• John Wesley prayed for two hours every morning, starting at 4 AM.
• Edward Payson prayed so often, deep grooves formed on the hardwood floor by his bedside where he knelt.
• William Wilberforce spent at least two hours every day in prayer, early in the day.
• John Welch (a Scottish preacher - and we know how those can be) considered his day wasted if he spent less than eight to ten hours in prayer, sometimes in the middle of the night.

And I didn't pray at all yesterday.

prayer

I've been praying a lot more lately. I mean a lot.

I read that story a second time. You know - the one that is so un-literary I have to try not to be offended at the poor language, but at the same time has so helped prop open my spiritual eyes. You can download it for free here.

It's inspired me to pray in tongues more. Driving is my designated pray-in-tongues time, and I drive a lot. I've also gotten into the habit of praying in tongues when I'm home alone, and when I'm working on mundane tasks at the office. It's only been a couple weeks, but it's amazing.

(And can I just say that tongues is the strangest thing ever. It doesn't make any sense at all, but I dig it.)

I think its starting to affect the rest of my prayer life. I've been able to sit in prayer (normal, I-understand-what-I'm-saying prayer) for longer than ever, and I'm getting some acute focus from time to time.

Like yesterday. Timothy and I were wrapping up the after-church nap and I had this crystal clear, techni-color, make-my-heart-pound dream. I woke up and spent about an hour praying for Africa.

Holy Spirit is so cool.

cards

It's been an enlightening few days, these past few days. I don't even know if I could articulate all of the little life lessons that seem to have taken root in my heart over the past few days, but I'm sure if I could I'd be right up there with Solomon. It's a drastic overstatement - for effect - but I feel the weight of something lately; spiritual growing-pains perhaps.

Which I think is why Solomon lost it in the end. I'm willing to bet that the weight of wisdom became a burden pretty quickly. Wisdom is a responsibility.

Not that any tremendous wisdom is the weight on me right now, but I've gained some (because I asked for wisdom, and He gives it abundantly) and digesting it is a task. 'Cause once you've got it you have to decide what to do with it, and that's the hard part.

(Warning: Musing) Which is interesting because our culture makes wisdom the goal - the end prize of a lifetime of study and experience. To God, however, wisdom is the beginning. He's got all the wisdom and He'll give you as much as you can ask for, but will He be so quick to show you what to do with it? Because that's where spiritual growth really comes from, isn't it? In prayerfully deciding when to speak and when to shut up, what to say when it's time to speak, and how to gracefully keep quiet when it's time to shut up, whom to speak to, and what is just between you and God forever. When are you being wise, and when are you being prideful? When are you being humble, and when are you being false? Why is it that every bit of wisdom that answers a prayer seems to be laden with personal insights too?


To escape the life lessons I've been working on Christmas cards. I really didn't think this would be a project that ever got completed, but it looks like it might. I've made almost enough for everyone on my who-would-be-offended-if-they-didn't-get-a-card list.

wow

It's 4:55 and I'm trying to finish this chapter before I shut down my computer at work. I've been, of course, working three jobs from the office in Crystal Lake today as usual, and am just at the point where I cannot wait to be out of the internet's reach.

I'm reading a relatively interesting book on church leadership (and I can say "relatively" 'cause I've read lots ... at the architecture office, not the church office, which I just realized is ironic), and the following sentence just set me free from my afternoon:

"When leaders experience resistance, they know that they are actually exercising leadership."

Of course you can exercise leadership without being resisted, the author is merely suggesting that being resisted doesn't make you a bad leader.

It inspired a little sigh of relief in me this evening. I'm going home now.

just another day

It was a cold, icy evening and despite Timothy's valiant efforts, there wasn't a copy of At World's End for rent anywhere in the Algonquin area. Defeated by a legion of more ambitious movie-renters, he went home to begin crafting the culinary masterpiece du jour.

Sam and Lex approached Blockbuster with confident caution.

"Didn't Timothy already try this one?"

"Ya, but I'll bet he didn't pray."

Lex throws caution to the wind and both hands in the air as she petitions heaven for favor. Sam's eyes lock on the temporarily abandoned steering wheel, as if by sheer will power holding it steady.

"I'll cover you," Sam advises.

"If I'm not back in 15 minutes come around the back way ..."

Safely inside, Lex scans the New Release wall. N's ... O's ... R's ... back up. Only #2 on the wall. Why? Why? Oh ... there's a section designated for #3 - far away from the P-section. "Whose idea was that?" she wonders sarcastically. "How did you not see the big, cardboard banners?" she answers herself.

Data processing begins as she stares at the small section of shelves trying to discern where the rent-able ones go, which are strictly for sale, and which are #2 in the #3 section because it's Shopping Season. Satisfied that the rent-able #3 shelves are void of all hope, she files through the rent-able #2's with lightning speed and feline agility. Nothing.

Undiscouraged, she sets her sights on the front counter. As she approaches, the line comes into view and discouragement knocks gently on her heart. Mais non ...

She waits. Someone at the counter is apparently trying to order a cheeseburger at the video store. Nothing else could take so long. Finally, she's next in line. The moment of truth draws near and all she can hear is the crescendo of her heartbeat in her ears.

Trying as best she can to appear calm and at ease, she notices a man walk in the front door and directly to the counter. The intruder interrupts the adolescent employee taking care of another customer and his request carries on the wind, "Do you have a copy of Pirates?"

The accelerating pace of her pulse jerks to a halt as she waits, breath trapped in her constricted chest, for the pimple's reply. Casually, as if finally released of the burden of it, he reaches to the counter just beneath him and hands the betrayer a copy. With a thump, her heart cracks and her chest draws a sharp, final breath.

Victorious and unemotional, the man proceeds to the end of the line she so patiently endured only to be mutinied. When her gaze fails to set his body aflame, she drops it to the floor and - finally - exhales, "Shut ... up."

With a deep breath, she lifts her head. Cracked, but not broken - hard pressed, but not crushed - she holds fast to the hope within her as she approaches the counter with fresh dignity.

"Do you have a question?" the young man asks, as though he didn't know ... as though he weren't a part of the conspiracy.

"Do you have any At World's End in?" He pauses his gaze on her face as though she must be joking.

"I doubt it," he mumbles as he begins the obligatory search. One stack ... no ... she gaps for a fresh breath to hold onto ... a second stack ... no ... beads of sweat begin to form on her brow ... the opposite counter ... no ... she's sure the whole store can hear her heart pounding ... he asks Acne, who casually replies with shake of his head as if he didn't know that he'd just given away the very one destined for her to an impatient line-cutter!

With casual despair in his eyes, the conspirator returns to the counter to tell her no, that her long suffering was all in vain.

Just then, a glimmer of destiny flashes through the air. At the very moment that the messenger thinks to mumble a silent prayer that the princess will be merciful, his salvation is scooped from the bottom of the return bin and held triumphantly before him. He plucks it from the air and places it casually on the counter. "Is that all for you?"

"Yes," she replies sweetly as she quietly re-sheaths her vengeance, "thank you."

ramey whalen

At the risk of looking like a total hippy ... I love this song:

This was the last worship team at TheCall in Nashville this summer. I sent countless emails and posted on dozens of message board to try to find out who this was and never heard anything from anyone. In the end, it was a random YouTube suggestion: Ramey Whalen.

Whether or not you subscribe to your local drum circle, you can't tell me these lyrics aren't amazing:

" ... my soul is water from the purest well, hear me heaven, hear me hell; My dance carries thunder from the throne of Yah, look at me and know He is God ... Let our praises rise like a weapon in Your hand; Let our praises rise, oh God ... God of eternity, wonders and majesty; God of creation, ancient, alive in me; God of all nations, uncharted galaxies; God Who is Spirit, alive in me ..."

(Also consider it was the end of a 14 hour day of prayer that took place under a Tennessee sun in July. Those you see dancing are, literally, happy to have survived the day.)

What really amazes me is the revelation behind those lyrics. My voice affects the nations, heaven and hell hear me. My worship thunders - it's a weapon ... for real. We know that, but I wonder if we get it. Is that how we see ourselves? Do I see myself going to battle at the beginning of a worship set?

do what chuck norris says

You can't really argue with this:

say something you don't mean

Luke 6:45//A good man out of the good treasure of his heart, brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.

Timothy and I were perfecting patience in each other last night (and we're getting better at it, because it didn't take nearly as long as it used to). I started to think about the idea of "saying something you don't mean."

People tell you to count to ten or walk away from and argumentative loved one or wait a day to talk to a manager ... because you might say something you don't mean. But I wonder if it's even possible to say something that you don't - at least in part - mean.

You might say something that is unBiblical, cruel, or deceitful. You may be acting in your flesh or from your emotion, instead of your spirit. But are you saying something that some unperfected part of you doesn't mean? I doubt it.

And, really, I think we do ourselves an injustice when we write it off as, "Oh, I was angry and said some things I didn't mean." If bitterness, jealousy, pride, etc. came out of my mouth, that thing is buried somewhere deep within my heart. Rather than blame emotion - and distance myself from my words as though the real me would never say something like that - I should probably consider it a big red flag and start cooperating with Holy Spirit to pull some roots out of me.

Just a thought.

it's growing

Sam and I hung out Saturday. I like hanging out with Sam and I always tell myself I am not going to bring her to our apartment because the state of my apartment most Saturdays is not a good example of the way a young wife should keep her home. It always seems to happen that we end up at the apartment and I half-heartedly appologize for its condition. Half-heartedly because she's used to it by now, and I wonder if she even believes me.

This Saturday we walked in to a particularly messy apartment and instead of appologizing I said something like, "You know - I really want to be one of those people who has it all together. I really want to be one of those amazing women who can work full time (at an office or as a mother) and do ministry work and be creative and still have a home that's in order. I really want to, but I just can't yet." Sam chuckled and looked at me as though she couldn't possibly care any less what my apartment looks like. We proceeded to dye hair in the kitchen - making an even greater mess.

Later, I drove her home and on the way back to Timothy and grilled cheese and Ratatouille, was thinking about some of what Pastor talked about that morning at a leadership meeting. Mostly I was trying to diagnose myself as either a Manager or a Leader according to what bullet-pointed characteristics I could remember (I contend I'm an even hybrid), and then some about ministry often being messy. "If it's growing, it's going to be messy."

And I remembered a Brian Zahnd sermon about being born again, and the conviction we often go through, and a comment he made about how birth is a messy process.

And I stepped through the door of our apartment onto a soaked cloth rug. I paused for the briefest of moments to survey the chair in the middle of the kitchen that, instead of being put away, had become a coat hangar, the tinfoil scattered around the floor, the laundry waiting to be put away, the dishes waiting to be washed, and my adorable husband waiting for me to sit down and watch a movie with him.

I felt the corners of my mouth pull up slightly as I secretly ordained myself Pastor of Apartment-Keeping, preached my first official (brief and amazing) sermon silently to the socks in the corner about how our ministry is growing so naturally it's a little messy right now, and sat down on the couch with my Timmy.