check me out

I'm not slacking off. I was so gonna post this last night, but Blogger's scheduled outages are messing with me.

I did this. We'll see if anything comes of it. Things tend to not come of this kind of thing (follow that?) for me, but maybe this will be different. Whatever I do should prosper, eh?

That's about it. I've been working my butt off lately and trying to finish a zine a month behind schedule on top of it, so I really don't have anything exciting to report. I watched Luther again last night while I was zining (zeen-ing), which is really only exciting if you're me.

Every time I watch Luther now, though, I think about how I need to get a good biography on Jonathan Hus. I usually think on that for a minute and then start to daydream about getting one on Jean d'Arc too.

Timothy had a cool revelation last night while reading his Bible. He said he was going to blog it, so if you're looking for good content, check him out.

productivity is a relative term

I got sucked into a web of URL links yesterday evening. Now I really want one of these bags:

Alchemy Goods makes bags and wallets (and zipper pulls) out of recycled bicycle material. This one is recycled inner tubes (and a recycled seatbelt, which is not from a bicycle, but that's okay). Their stuff's a little pricey, but it's made in the USA.

I'm also eyeballing one of these monster coin purses from stitchpixie. Word has it they're the perfect size for iPod Nanos too.

Cuuuuuuute. And more in my price range than the bag.

I'm not really one for jewelry, but handmade julz makes some pretty snappy stuff. I dig 'em, but I'd save my allowance for the bag first.

Shawn Parks makes some nifty bags too. He does a couple different sizes, and he makes them out of that orange fencing that is supposed to keep you out of construction sites ... or is it snow fencing? They're cool bags either way.

When we have kids someday, they'll be decked out in lots of homemade gear, but probably this stuff too:


From sky&boat. They make a cute brontosaurus one too.

And is anybody else on Twitter? I'd been avoiding it for months, but I hear more and more about it every day. I set up my cell phone this morning. Let me know if you're rockin' it so we can hook up.

That is all.

bell

Rob Bell is the founding pastor at Mars Hill Church in Grand Rapids, MI (not Seattle). I just read some brief Q&A with him and was impressed.

Asked about the war ("Why do you think this has become so politically divisive?"):

I think that ... a lot of the American way was life, liberty, freedom and democracy ... But when the American way becomes addicted to comfort, and this comfort is dependent on a particular natural resource which we cannot provide enough of, we literally wage war to support our comfort and addiction.

When asked about his alternative:

There is an absolutely mind-blowing passage in Isaiah 19 where God calls Egypt His son and Assyria His beloved. Egypt and Assyira were the arch-enemies of Israel. Today, that passage would literally be "Taliban My son, Al-Qaeda My beloved." There's also this amazing metaphor where Joshua's going into battle, and he meets an angel of the Lord. Joshua asks whose side the angel is on, and the angel says, "Neither."

So should Christians be politically active?

We refer to ourselves as aggressively nonpartisan ... I don't know if you would say that's political or not, but if Jesus comes to town and things don't get better, then we have to ask some hard questions.

About the western Church:

I think the problem is that when people say "church," many mean religious goods and services where you come and there's a nice inspiring talk, good coffee in the back, snappy music and everything ends up fine. For us, if you can resolve the sermon in the course of the church service, then the sermon has failed. The only way to resolve the church service you just experienced, and specifically the sermon, is that you're going to have to go and wrestle with it and then live it out.

"By being innovative you face critics. How do you deal with this?"

There are around a billion people in the world who don't have clean drinking water, and 46 million Americans don't have health care. That means if they get sick, they don't have anywhere to go. Half of the world, 3 billion people, live on less than two American dollars a day, so the world is an emergency. It's an absolute crisis, and when followers of Jesus can think of nothing better to do with their time than to pick apart and shred to pieces the work of other followers of Jesus who are trying to do something about the world, that's tragic, and I don't owe those people anything.

Well said.

Kaitlyn's going to live!

We got to share in the 1 - year banquet festivities for Kaitlyn Jane Krauss. Grandma Jane explained everything for two hours, only part of which involved the "why?" of the event. Apparently the first birthday is a big deal in China due to high infant mortality rates. Everyone assumes, though, if you make it to One, you're set. Way to go Kaitlyn!

The event began with everyone trying to pick up three stacked peanuts with their chopsticks:

Leeroy's a show-off. : )

Then we ate strange foods:

Mike Ingham even ate the strange food's eyeball:



Kaitlyn didn't eat strange food, but she's cute:



Then we ate more food. (Sorry about the chewing picture, Loretta.)

And Grandma Jane explained everything from holiday tradition to toasting to how to eat rice. It was awesome.

Then we opened presents. Aunty Grace got Kaitlyn a very tactile book. Grandpa Mike, as shown below, is appalled at "Dad's" scruffy face.

Then Uncle Timmy made funny faces and took pictures:

It was fun.

spitting toothpaste everywhere

Pajama shorts and a DIY, Revolution tshirt. Hair completely out of place. Reading Revelation 4 off the bathroom mirror while I brush my teeth before bed.

The bathroom sink didn't get officially cleaned this past weekend. I need to do that still. But not now. One toothbrush waits in the jar on one corner. I'm weeks behind on getting new toothbrushes. Add that to the mental Walgreen's shopping list. The hand soap thing is messy. How does it get soap all over it? Who on earth is having such a problem operating the little plastic pump? Even with St. Ives standing guard over it, it's messy.

St. Ives is the patron saint of at least semi-moist skin this winter. I wonder where he's been all my life, or at least every winter of my life. I tend to be skeptical about the formulas for those types of things. I'm convinced that all lotions are the same, all shampoos are the same, all toothpastes are the same - except for the color and the fragrance - they just put different things on the packaging to make us think we have choices.

This particular breed of St. Ives claims to be some serious, medically renowned "mineral" breed. It's so professional they didn't put pretty pictures on the bottle; they put a red plus sign and a lot of italic print. Skeptic though I may be, it has been the only thing that's worked - ever.

And as I continued my boring stream-of-consciousness, making sure to get my back molars scrubbed really well, my husband broke in by gently pumping just a dab of Dr. St. Ives, Mineral Man onto the tip of his right index finger.

I stopped wondering about the purity of minerals in the alps and started wondering about my husband, still waging war on plaque that might be seeking shelter in the back of my mouth, as he carefully divided the dab in half with his other index finger. As I pondered the many places such a small dab of healing ointment might be useful - temples, knuckles, toes, elbows - he abruptly dashed the serenity of evening ritual by plunging his right index finger into his right nostril.

I managed to prevent my toothbrush from diving down my throat, but not without choking a bit on either a gasp or a laugh and letting go of a short spray of toothpaste.

He turned to me as though somehow shocked at my reaction, and, maintaining eye contact, proceeded to twist his finger back and forth. Lowering my toothbrush to the sink, I gasped for breath as he calmly defended himself, "What?! Dry skin!" I nodded and, in the absence of that breath I'd been looking for, mouthed, "I know."

Without a moment's hesitation his left index finger, armed with a particular half-dab of lotion, followed suit and he cried out, "How else am I supposed to get minerals to my brain, Lex?!" I tried to brace myself on the sink without dropping my toothbrush, gasp for air and clutch my upper abdomen area as he insisted, "Huh?! How?!"

He left, brain full of fresh, straight-from-the-Alps minerals. I recovered, and wiped off the wall. Maybe you had to be there.

Your Love is Everything

This song has been ministering to me in ways I don't necessarily care to describe right now.

we make hoodies

We were home last Saturday evening. I finished a hoodie I was working on. It's one of two like it in the world. The first one's mine, this one's for sale ($40). It's currently on display in the Switch cafe. It's a Small; I'll make a Medium next unless someone wears a Large and really wants one.

I don't know why that picture is so yellow.

Detail.

Timothy got inspired. Initially he asked me to make him a Jesus Heals Emo hoodie, but either he didn't want to wait, or he wanted something completely original, or he was bored. He made one himself:

It's a pleseosaur.

repentance?

Pride has also been known to mask itself as false humility, which tends to lead to false repentance. I don't think people always mean for false humility to be false, though. We really want to be humble because we know we're supposed to be, but deep down I wonder how many of us really want to be humble. I'm learning that unintentionally false humility is best exposed via false repentance.

My pastor can be mean. We were talking a couple weeks ago about my developing prayer life and some challenges hitting me in the face. "You know what you need ..." he trailed off as he approached the bookshelf.

Crystal Christianity is an edited collection of a series of sermons by a one Charles Finney. I believe the sermons were called Lectures to Professing Christians; they are those that Pastor Hoban affectionately refers to as the ones that will make you "wonder if you're saved or not." I think I understand his heart in giving me the book, but it was also a little mean. The way my mother-in-law will put lavender oil on an open wound and calmly reply to cries of agony with, "Well that's just 'cause you're toxic, dear."

That's right, it's like lavender oil on an open wound. Except it smells dusty, not flowery.

I read the first chapter and resisted the entire thing until Holy Spirit asked me what passage of scripture I was basing my rebuttal on and I couldn't come up with one.

Finney starts in 2 Corinthians 7:10 (KJV), "For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death." He goes on to write 30 scathing pages about how repentance that doesn't free you from the desire to repeat the sin isn't repentance at all.

True repentance is "not to be repented of." False repentance is motivated by fear, not love. False repentance is when we realize we've messed up, fear God, and apologize in order to absolve ourselves of punishment. False repentance is based in selfishness, because we are concerned about our own well-being, not love.

I'd always heard that if you struggled with something before you were saved, the devil will continue to tempt you in that same area. It's easier to pick open a scab than make a new wound, so he'll do that. While that makes sense to me, I couldn't come up with scripture on it.

And the more I thought about it I realized I didn't need scripture on it because being tempted with evil, and feeling the urge or inclination to give into that temptation are wholly different. Being tempted is not sin, disobedience is sin.

Finney writes that true repentance will cause a person to abhor the behavior repented of. It doesn't mean the temptation will never arise again - in fact probably the opposite, because how can you disdain something that never crosses your path again?

Pride makes me self-motivated and I repent for my disobedience not because I love God and regret having hurt Him, but because I love me and regret facing a sentence for my sin.

Which means I need God to enable me to truly repent because it can't be manufactured. I need to read the Word until my mind is renewed and ask Him to open my eyes, or I'll never be able to really repent of anything.

fear of man

(My pride has been surfacing lately, so I'm publicly exposing it to scare it away.)

Pride also disguises itself as the fear of man, which in turn can disguise itself as diligence, devotion, work ethic, etc. Case in point:

I have always done well. At everything. My mother, though far from a Bible-thumper, was a spiritual warrior during my childhood. She didn't know the verse, but she seemed to understand the power of her words (or she was just a biased woman with her first born). She was constantly talking to me and about me, regarding how smart and talented I am and how I can do anything I want to do very well.

And so it was. I always got excellent grades in school. I was usually relatively well behaved (or sneaky enough not to get caught and without the conviction of the Spirit of God). I was a good pianist, a good bicycle mechanic, a good writer, a decent photographer, etc. I got the scholarships, set the grade curves, breezed through the hard roles, sat first chair or marched center snare, had the coolest boyfriend, and it was easy. I am good at what I do, whatever that is, and everyone stinkin' knows it.

Now it suddenly seems everything is going poorly. It seems, if I were to live by sight, that's I'm doing a mediocre to downright terrible job at just about everything, and there's nothing I can do about it, and everyone stinkin' knows it.

And it's killing me.

Of course I know it's not true. Because I don't live by sight, and because God said that whatever I put my hand to will prosper. I know I have an enemy who doesn't sleep, and who wants more than anything for me to fail/quit. And be depressed and miserable in the meantime. I also know my God loves me, believes in me, forgives me, trusts me, has faith in me, is behind me, goes before me, is my strength, hope and peace.

And yet it's still killing me. And it hurts, because I don't like it when people are upset with or disappointed in me. I don't like it when people think I'm wrong. I want it to stop, but I know that if it does I'm in real trouble. I need to sit back, bite something, and let it kill me.

In the meantime, if I bite you, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm in a lot of pain.

pride

The other scar on my heart will (hopefully) continue to remind me of the dangers of pride.

2. Pride comes before a fall. Now no one involved here had become obnoxiously haughty. In fact it was so minor that I initially wondered if it was even that at all. The night before the attack Timothy and I were talking about it, though: what I'd noticed and what could be going on ...

Later I caught a glimpse of what must have happened, and Timothy and I talked it over in the car. Then Sunday morning Dennis even talked about it a bit in his message.

Pride is a subtle thing. It disguises itself in so many ways, and it doesn't take much to hurt someone.

Disobedience is motivated by pride. Disobedience springs from a heart that thinks it knows better than the authority it's under. Disobedience assumes God is not, in fact, all-knowing, or that for some reason it is not subject to His authority in a particular situation. It's the fruit of a heart tainted by pride, and that's why Proverbs calls it a precursor to destruction.

It bothered me for a bit that I saw it and did nothing about it, but I'm glad now that I saw it and you can bet that next time I'll intervene before a fall. You do the same for me. I've got a forest of pride in my heart that I'm trying to weed out, but if I become unusually haughty someone stop me before I fall.

who is afraid of whom?

I recently watched someone particularly near and dear to my heart fall very recently. It wasn't fatal, but it was painful - for both of us. As forgiveness and love healed hearts, two scars were left on mine to remind me.

1. I don't pray enough, and I'm not moving in the authority of the name of Jesus like I should be. Once I regained perspective on the whole thing, and my husband reminded me we don't war against flesh and blood, I realized what the devil had done. I got mad, and I set about tearing asunder his pathetic little kingdom.

Then I remembered that I hadn't gotten mad at my enemy since the last time he did something like this, and it dawned on me that on any given day he is not that afraid of me. He should be; he has every reason to be, but as long as I remain lazy about my authority he's just not. Not okay. I want to live and breathe in God's presence and in the authority He's given me so much so that the devil doesn't dare attack those that I love.

I'll save the other one for tomorrow so this doesn't get outrageously long.

from Ruth

Got another email from Ruth:

hello sister

HAPPY NEW YEAR

im sorry for not replying u dear, i thank god for giving me time to share with u. we are being contniuously praying for orrisa and praying for the deliverence and revolution for the orrisa and protection over the pastors, all the christians. thanks for ur reply. plz give my greetings to timothy.plz send this below message to all

i want to wish all of the american team a HAPPY NEW YEAR

as im searching for the job plz pray for me

I was starting to get worried. I'd emailed her to wish her a Merry Christmas, but also to ask about the riots I'd been hearing about in India. Most of the action was in another state in India, but that was most of the action that the American media outlets were talking about ...

But everyone's well it seems.

yes

Well we're several weeks into the new year and the "official" reviews of various Christmas services from churches all over the country are "in." I certainly haven't watched them all. Actually, in their entireties, I haven't watched any of them. I'm five minutes into Granger Community Church's service, and I had to give you the link.

I can't vouch for the whole service, but now I'm 6-1/2 minutes in and it's still fabulous. If you don't have time, or don't care to watch the whole thing, just watch the first four minutes. Please.

It's an "instructional video" about how to properly use the candles. It's hilarious. There are some stinkin' creative people at GCC.

Now I'm 8-1/2 minutes in and I still dig it. Go check it out. Seriously. Now. You should be there now. Stop reading and click.

I ... I ... I ... me ... me ... me ...

I want to learn how to knit. I mean really knit. So I can make these for my friends and my boys someday:

I want to be able to make my own pies from scratch, and even do that lattice thing with strips on the top.

I want to be able to read more - study even.

I want to write.

I want to zine.

I want to make buttons for unsigned bands and missionaries.

Sometimes I want to be a worship leader although I'm coming to face the fact that despite my efforts - and God bless Tami for hers - I really can't sing.

I want to fix bicycles for people who love - or at least really need - their bicycles.

I want a vegetable garden.

I want to be as creative and artistic as people seem to think I am.

I want to sit on the couch with my mom and watch White Christmas and listen to her sing every word of every song.

I want sunshine.

I want to play classical piano music again.

I want to buy a new CD without wondering how it's going to affect the checkbook.

But I also want to get over myself. I want to want to die daily. I want my life to mean something - and I want that statement to be motivated by something other than pride. I want to be honest with myself and my God, but I don't know how. Because I know the right answers, but they sometimes feel like a lie when I say them.

I don't really think I have any idea what it is I want. I wonder if it matters.

i listen like a teenager sometimes

I accidentally got some free time recently, which is really the only way I get free time anymore except for the occasional Saturday that gets overlooked. I decided to spend the first big chunk of it in prayer for our teenagers, the next slightly smaller chunk digging into a pile of administrative-type stuff, and the last little chunk on whatever I felt like.

It was that last bit I was really looking forward to. Just the thought of having - say - an hour and a half to practice bass, or sew something - anything, or zine. Man. Wow. Not that I don't sometimes do those things anyway, but they're usually scheduled days out in my head. The very idea of 90 whole minutes being totally unplanned was enough to accelerate my pulse and make me a bit giddy.

That's right - my life is a roller coaster. The little dragon one that gets set up at traveling carnivals and goes in a small oval with a slight rise at either end. At least that's what it feels like from time to time, but I live by faith so I know it's not so. I can't wait to someday look back at all this from eternity and see the war being waged, and the battles I fought from the corner of my bedroom.

Anyway, the first two chunks of time having been expended, I was driving home for the highly anticipated third chunk. I was also feeling a little drained and a little bored and a little worthless, so as I waited to turn back onto Algonquin Road I asked Dad. "What's going on?" And I was overcome with the sense I needed to go home and pray more.

Not really what I wanted to hear. I wanted Him to tell me he was going to bless the sewing machine so I wouldn't have to worry about the foot peddle taking off without me.

I reminded Him of chunk #1 and thought I didn't even know what was left to pray for. I mean, I'm sure I could think of something, but come on. And I still feel like I'm doing something wrong when I pray; I can't imagine what it could be, but I walk away sometimes feeling so inadequate. And if I'm supposed to be praying for something in particular, then what? He'd mentioned Africa via crazy dream a couple weeks prior, but He hadn't said anything about it since then ...

And He cut me off, "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Oh. Okay. Sorry.

I got home and positioned myself in front of my VOM Prayer Map. The sewing machine stayed under it's plastic cover; the bass stayed in the corner, and the zine is still all over the floor by the art dresser. It's alright, though. This life is a vapor and all the fabric wrist cuffs in the world won't mean anything when it dissipates.

i'm tired

*sigh*

scary

I had an inspiring experience Saturday at Panera. It was inspiring the way seeing a relatively healthy person die of cancer, heart attack, stroke, etc. will inspire you to eat leaner and take evening walks more often (at least for a while). It was horrifying as it happened, three days later it's still plaguing me, and I'm hoping the effect will be to throw me violently in the opposite direction.

It was a typical Saturday afternoon. I'd been cleaning since the moment I woke up - taking necessary breaks to eat, take care of my toes, read a bit, and finish a letter. I'd just had lunch for one because Timothy was out on errands, and was feeling like I needed to leave the apartment. The place was mostly clean, there were administrative tasks swimming through my head, I felt like an apres-midi tea, and 2 - 4 PM is the best time to go to Panera anyway.

I got tea and a shortbread cookie and headed to my usual table in the back where I know there is an electrical outlet in case the battery on the Mac gets low. Like a mouse so focused on a morsel of cheese she didn't recognize the trap it was sitting on ...

I ran into an old acquaintance. "Lovely," I thought to myself. "I will have green tea, shortbread, and a lesson on love for here." Really. At the outset, my stomach did not twist into a knot and my palms remained freezing cold and very dry, as they tend to be in winter.

I smiled. I maintained eye contact. I asked clarifying questions. I did not interrupt. I did not offer information about myself until asked, and when I did, followed it with a question diverting attention back to the other individual. I was a pillar of patience, a textbook lesson in active listening, and a model of compassion. I was all of these things as I made mental notes such as, "Red flag." "Hmm - completely unbiblical." "I do not receive that." "Don't even nod at that comment." "Contrary to God's nature." "That completely contradicted what was said five minutes ago."

And then I lost it. Not outwardly, of course - although I deliberately became less patient, less attentive and a tad colder. As you might expect one to, having been stunned by the quick release of a spring and pinned down by a cold, metal bar to the neck.

Said individual - vaguely familiar with what Church in the Word was some three years ago - began to ask presumptuous questions about my church, my pastor, and my friends. I bragged about all three with no small amount of enthusiasm, and at the same time won the Better Listener award of the day. My glad acquaintance proceeded to critique our family, advise how we might be come more like his/hers, and predict our downfall if we don't comply. It was stunning.

It was also completely, wholly, and absolutely by the grace of God that I managed to bite my tongue. Especially when this person told me it was probably an act of God that brought me to that table at Panera at just the right time to hear that "message," and then asked me what my name is.

Despite my frustration, and the knot that only yesterday finally left my stomach, the moral of the story was, "Read your Bible." I knew the antagonist was wrong, and I knew I didn't need to defend myself. All the way home I tried to bless that person and prayed the Lord would bring him/her into His word, where the truth could be revealed to a misguided heart.

And then I realized it'd been a couple days since I'd read my own Bible ...

stay cool

Yesterday was a research day at Wildesign.

Bands I'm just hearing about:

Olivia the Band. Whoa. If you're a pop-punk fan, these guys are for you. In a big way. I think they sound like New Found Glory got saved; Timothy doesn't think so, but I think that's just 'cause he likes Olivia and he's got something against the NFG guy for his bad teeth. You can listen on their MySpace page. I like 'em. It takes me back to the summer in high school when I met punk.

The Glorious Unseen. You can get these guys on MySpace or Pure Volume, whichever you prefer. They're a little more melancholy, but I'm sometimes melancholy myself so we get along. I like 'em because they're obviously Christian, but they don't call themselves a Christian band. Some bands are Christian bands and they don't call themselves a Christian band because they're afraid they'll never become "more" than a Christian band. I read an interview with these guys, though, and I really believe they don't call themselves a Christian band because they don't believe Christian music should be quarantined. They're getting out there.

This is a live video, so the sound is bad, but it's the title track from their new album Tonight the Stars Speak.

As seasonal music goes, they're polar opposites. Get into The Glorious Unseen now, and get Olivia in the spring.

Other coolness:

Rice Bowls. Rice Bowls are piggy banks made to look like a full bowl of rice. The idea is you give them out, people fill them up, and you send the money to Rice Bowls, who uses it to get rice to children orphaned as a result of the HIV/AIDS crisis in the name of Jesus. AND they provide the cute rice bowl piggy banks for free (in boxes of 50).

Buy Shoes. Save Lives. This is a couple Americans in Iraq who decided they wanted a pair of traditional shoes (klash); one thing led to another ... Now they're selling klash (all handmade by poor shop owners in Iraq) at $100/pair to fund heart surgeries in Iraqi children. The really cool thing is that the kids get sent further east to Jewish heart surgeons. Shoes, heart surgies, and peaceful relationships.

XXXChurch. (It's safe.) This is a ministry run by a couple of young pastors who want to see God move through the porn industry. It's pretty amazing. The website is full of information, and you can watch videos of people testifying about how the industry affected their lives. It's sad. What's not sad is that they've printed the Message New Testament with this cheesy, '70s-porn-looking cover that says, "Jesus Loves Porn Stars." They set up "booths" at erotica shows and porn conventions, and hand out thousands of New Testaments. Of course there are those in the Christian community who don't like the idea of printing "Jesus loves porn stars" on things, but ...

There you have it. That's what's been distracting me lately.

button hole

I can't tell you how much I love having evenings off. CITW was closed yesterday due to the holiday, so there was no midweek service. I love the midweek services, but by the time I had updated the checkbook, zined an entire article, and eaten dinner with Timothy it was only 9 o'clock. Fantastic.

Having already spent most of the afternoon arguing with/crying at/pleading with the Lord I set my sights on my newly repaired sewing machine.

I'd been trying to do something like a fabric wrist cuff weeks ago when the button hole function refused to cooperate. I took it to my mom, and when she - the queen of quilting and all things otherwise sewn - couldn't get it to work, I knew it was dire. She'd taken it to someone to have a look-see, and had returned it to me Sunday evening.

When we sent it, we included a piece of fabric with failed button holes on it. When I pulled it out last night I noticed the same piece of fabric with four perfect button holes of all different sizes as if to say, "Look, it works. If you can't make button holes now it's your own fault."

I dug out the strip of fabric I'd stitched together some weeks prior, attached the proper presser foot, stitched down, across, up, and across, and voila - button hole! Not only did I gain a wrist cuff, I regained a bit of dignity I thought I'd lost at my inability to make a simple button hole.

Now the problem is I want to use my sewing machine and I have no more evenings off.

I found this amazing fabric at a resale store. I got almost a square yard for 25-cents. Sweet. You can't really see it in my almost-fuzzy photo, but there's some cute, red decorative stitching on there. The underside is a solid red fabric.

The button hole. It's blurry, but it's there.

It ended up being a little thinner than I would have liked, but Timothy found this big, red, plastic button laying around that fits perfectly inside the hem. I love it.

prayer

I said I was going to read it again, and I started.

I didn't really like the book much the first time I read it. I recognize an amazing man of God, but I also recognize captivating literature and this was entirely the former. I initially got the book because I'd heard of the way God used Brainerd to minister to Native Americans in the 18th century. I'd heard how he would stand and preach a simple message on the love of God, through a drunken interpreter, and half-way through people young and old would start groaning under the weight of conviction and crying out to God for mercy.

That happens, but that happens toward the end of Brainerd's very short life. For years all he writes about is his miserable condition before the throne of God, and the difficulty or ease with which he sat in prayer that day. That's it. He doesn't even bother the reader with his secular vocations or activities, nor is there mention of his family or friends - just what's going on between him and God. Over and over and over.

Four hundred years later, I am feeling completely worthless in prayer, but I'm also feeling the Lord wants more of it from me ... so I'm on a mission to figure it out. David Brainerd has some insight to offer, so I recently peeled back the cover again to read with new eyes.

Eighty pages into it, the first thing I notice is the extent of Brainerd's dependence on God. He expresses his need for God's mercy, blessing, goodness, etc. pretty clearly. "No poor creature stands in need of divine grace more than I, and none abuse it more than I have done, and still do."

As I'm trying to analyze his prayer life, though, I'm getting that Brainerd also understands that he is dependent on God just to pray. He uses the word "enabled" a lot in speaking of prayer; on good days he writes he was "enabled" to pray.

The more I think about it, the more I realize he's right and a lot of Christendom is wrong in the way we approach prayer. There are times when it feels like we're bribing God with prayer, as though He owes us something because we took an hour out of our day to talk to Him.

Even on the good days, when we're excited to get alone with the Lord for a while, do we consider that the act of prayer is a gift that we absolutely don't deserve? Do we understand that it's God who enables us to talk to Him, make requests of Him, or use His name in shaping the world around us?

I didn't.