Showing posts with label thankfulness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thankfulness. Show all posts

Once in a lifetime

(I figure it's the only time I'll ever get to say it, so what the heck!)


I have a lot to be thankful for this year. I am thankful for the childhood I was given, being raised without want in a peaceful community. I have never suffered poverty, hunger, or fear for my life.

This year has been one of great change for me personally and for everyone in my family as well. I am thankful for the kindness and love with which my family has faced my difficult transitions. Although we see this transition very differently, everyone who loves me has made sacrifices to try to understand and support me as I go through a year of metamorphosis back to myself.


I am thankful for a family of my own that is loving, accepting, generous and witty. Living in the moment this year has allowed me to truly appreciate the beauty of the quickly passing days of my kids' childhood. The snuggles at nap time, the crazy afternoons trying to get schoolwork done, the hot chocolate messes in the kitchen and the paint all over my kitchen island - they all are a testament to enjoying this stage to the fullest. 


My son showers me with affection so much so that I often have to introduce boundaries. (otherwise I might be kissed to death, truly) He is an original, this kid. I am thankful this year for a deepening bond between us as the difficult transition from spanking and punishment to teaching and rewarding is finally in the past. Although it is hard to accept just how long it takes this boy to enter new information into his long-term memory, we are making progress. I am thankful he is my friend and I am his. I am thankful for every opportunity to teach him, play Hot Wheels with him, and watch him grow.


I am thankful to have had Amelia for 4 years longer than expected. I am thankful for all the ways her difficult life has shaped her into a resilient, stubborn, caring and compassionate person. I love her sense of humor, her wild break-dancing, the volatility of her emotions, her "heart on her sleeve" way of living. This year, I am thankful for the educational leaps and bounds she's made - learning to read, mastering her numbers, beginning math drills, and beginning to use logic to solve problems.


I am thankful for my Rosebud, whose creativity and happy-go-lucky personality expand my horizons every day. I love every tinkly little tune she composes on the piano, the piles of paper penned with lyrics to her newest song, her burgeoning love of gourmet cooking and baking exploration, our mutual enjoyment of culture, most recently the ballet. She keeps me more light-spirited and encourages me to let go and let my imagination run wild. She is constantly proving to me that more is possible than I have ever dreamed. This year, I am most thankful for her kind heart and keen sense of empathy that sends her into my room often to comfort me and cheer me up!


My Katy is definitely a tween these days. She sleeps more, occasionally gets crabby with her siblings, needs her down time alone, and is even more helpful around the house. I am thankful for our shared love of books. Reading books together or one after the other has been a highlight of this year. Her depth of understanding of the world already astounds me and blesses me. Recently, we read a historical fiction piece together and she was able to identify all the cultural themes as well as the personal struggles of each character. This year, I am most thankful for her developing readiness to begin public school, her flare for drama, her storytelling, and her interest in my work. We have spent so many happy days discussing my lectures. She is going to be bored in nursing school when she's 19!


Mostly, I am thankful for this guy. This year hasn't been easy for him. It is his ability to be unapologetically himself, to love without boundaries, to see beyond labels, to imagine a world where very little beyond love matters…this is what has given me the courage to step fully into my own identity. He has continued to love me when I don't deserve it, forgive me when necessary, and to serve our family in ways I never dreamed a man would.


The one thing outside of my family that blesses me most on a daily basis is my job - or should I say, my coworkers and students? There is nowhere else I feel totally and truly myself and can give and receive openly and honestly. It is a place where I can restore my sense of hope in humanity and the world. It keeps me young, playful and relevant. It forces me out of my comfort zone constantly. It pushes me to be the best version of myself. It motivates me to be inspiring, authentic, and fair. I am so thankful to have my dream job and to find it is, indeed, my dream job!

What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?

Home for Thanksgiving

The sun glints off the mustard gold of the field across the way. I can hear builders in my parents' new house, pounding nails the day before Thanksgiving. The kids are hooting and hollering in the woods with cousins while Grandma bakes all everything again this year - another year I can't. I slowly remember that last Saturday was my sister's birthday and that I've once again spilt blood all over this day that is supposed to be cake and candles and presents and carefree. Something about that, knowing I wrecked her birthday, just like when I lost Theodore on November 17 in 2009, breaks me and I bend over double in my swing in the morning sun.

I feel it, just like that. I am all the way home here, in this broken world. I feel myself sliding back down like maple syrup on a cold winter morning, through my head, which suddenly glows warm with the knowing of all that has happened, and down into my heart, where I suppose I should have been all along. And though I couldn't know and I couldn't prevent, for whatever part is mine, I am broken. That once again it was November 17. And I am broken all over again that I have been given this beautiful life and this beautiful place and these beautiful people. And taken it all for granted. Poured my ugliness all over His beauty helter-skelter as if I had never been taught this lesson before.

As empty as I feel in that moment, as the tears cascade and my heart thunders loud in my ears, I know this moment is what stopping breathing was all about. It is why He continues to test and try. It is why He pushes limits and allows death to seep through cracks. He wants me here, at the foot of the Cross, fully aware of my neediness, my indebtedness, and my gratefulness.

This is exactly where He wants us all on Thanksgiving - and every day of every year of our short time here on earth. On our knees. Praising, faltering, grasping for more. 

How deep the Father's Love for us...
How vast beyond all measure!
That He should give His only Son
to make a wretch His treasure
~Stuart Townend (sung here by Fernando Ortega)~

I see myself there, for a moment, on that lonely hill of a past time and a foreign land. It's windy, and I pour out my soul like a pot of black mud where the Cross pierces the earth. I cannot look up, for what overcomes me in this moment of pouring out is the magnitude of His love as it pours down. This is the Love I felt in the darkness of those 40 minutes in-between. Who am I, that He would look down and love me, save me, and join me to that Love inseparably, eternally, for no price I paid or deed I've done? This is the Holiness and Awesomeness of God, when you come face to face with Him.

He says that a lucky man can number his days at 70 or perhaps 80 years. I've been given 33 and consider myself one of the luckiest people I know because I know what each day here is worth - the struggles of it, the beauty of it, the having of it. Thirty-three is, historians say, ironically, the same number He was given when He took the bitter cup that was mine and drank it down to it's last dregs, to save every last one of us. For this, I am thankful. For You, I am thankful. 

And for today.

Life is beautiful. My new nephew August with Katrina in the sun.

Savior I come
Quiet my soul...remember
Redemption's hill
Where Your blood was spilled
For my ransom
Everything I once held dear
I count it all as lost

Lead me to the cross
Where Your love poured out
Bring me to my knees
Lord I lay me down
Rid me of myself
I belong to You
Lead me, lead me to the cross

You were as I
Tempted and trialed
Human
The word became flesh
Bore my sin and death
Now you're risen


Moments of mystery {30 Days of Thanks}

Remission day was 8 months ago. I still have no lymph nodes in my neck, throat or chest. And so another infection slams me in a sudden 24 hour assault, and the good ear, the one I can still hear out of, swells shut, the ear drum torn, blood pouring forth, and I am on four more medications in addition to the 15 or so I take on a daily basis still. All because of cancer. A friend, newly diagnosed, asks me if life ever returns to normal. I tell her it does...sort of. It does, in the sense that the doctors visits spread out, the diagnostic tests are fewer and farther between, there are many days you forget about cancer altogether and enjoy life like never before.

Every small joy you ignored in the busyness of normal life is suddenly captured in vivid color. The miracle of a single orchid blossom...that orchid plant that all you did was water on your sill for an entire year...it bursts into bloom, and you are overcome by the symmetry of the blossom and the pinks and yellows, and there in the mundaneness of a Wednesday evening in your kitchen, you are face to face with God in a moment of utter praise for an ordinary miracle.


Life is shrouded in mystery. Why did I get cancer at 28? Why was it the aggressive kind that took four years to bring under control? Why does every check-up come with mixed celebration - no radiation in December, yes, but March? The doctor says probably. Tumormarkers rising, falling again. Scans inconclusive, then negative again. Hope is the thing with feathers...YES, but to me that quote rings true, not because hope is beautiful as a swallow captured in the hand, but because it is an elusive thing, a wide-eyed bird you can hold in the palm of your hand for only a brief second, feeling the pounding heart of fear under your fingers, the whisper of the wings fluttering as hope threatens to take wing away too soon.


You learn, on the hard road, to grasp quickly and tenaciously at the small blessings. You learn, on the path marked with suffering, to read deep the meaning of the allegories, the lessons shrouded in mystery. The hearing loss that marks today is a question of trust: do I value my hearing enough that I will give up faith in an everlasting, unchangeable God for the gut-wrenching and useless practice of worry, anxiety and helpless planning for tomorrow? Do I cling to the Cross, do I look down at the footsteps marked before me on this road, the very footsteps of the Christ I long to follow? Do I prepare again to sweat blood in Gethsemane as I pray that the cup may pass? Or do I fling the cup as far from me as possible, rage at the cup, rage at the God who proffers it, rage at my circumstances, rage at my helplessness?

I have made my choice, long ago, and I will not waver. I choose the path of joy and thanksgiving. I choose the easy burden He trades me for my difficult one. I trust Him to carry my pack of rocks - the yoke of cancer, infection, complications, endless consequences of a dreadful disease I did not ask for and do not understand. I trust that whatever outcome He has planned for me is exactly that - planned eons before my birth, eons before my diagnosis, and ages before this small infection that has cost me the hearing in my good ear. I choose to believe that He is bigger than, greater than, and more important than any sacrifice I might still be asked to make on this temporary road of life.

I choose to mark this day - with it's doctor visits, painful procedures, aching ear, silence, and orchid blossoms on my window sill - a day of thanks. Day 7 of my 30 days of November gratitude. For He has richly blessed me beyond measure. The least I can do is accept whatever tribulations He asks me to journey through, to take the cup despite the blood, sweat, tears, and prayers. To take the "no" answers with the "yes" and "maybe". To wait upon the Lord for my deliverance and the answer to my prayer for healing.

Will you join me? Count a gift each day for which to give thanks this November, the month of Thanksgiving? Will you join in the tradition of the pioneers - plagued by disease, death, and hopelessness - who set a feasting table in the presence of their friends and enemies and gave thanks for what little food and kindness they experienced in a foreign land? I arrived nearly 5 years ago in a desolate foreign land of a difference sort - the land of Cancer, where my landscape changed from the naïve, carefree life of a young mother at home with children to the desert of doctor's appointments, scary lab tests, surgeries, and radiation treatments. I expected something different. God gave me a whole new life to live. I chose to trade cursing for blessing, even in the immaturity of 28. I am going to keep choosing it now, 33 and still living in this foreign country despite that magical word "remission" spoken back in February.

Please join me - and see the orchid blossoms instead of your pain. See the joy of this day, instead of your suffering, your fear, your disappointment, your anxiety for the future. Trade your heavy burden for that which is light. He offers you His burden to shoulder, the burden where death has already been defeated, where sickness has been healed, where sorrow has been forever wiped away for an eternity of celebration. Can't we count one small joy, and focus our eyes on this and the prize that lies ahead, instead of whatever plagues us in our daily walk? It is such an easy trade. Mindless, really. Join me. Not on the road marked with suffering, but on the road marked with a million small graces, like diamonds in the dust, just waiting to be noticed and reveled in.


Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:29-30)

Thrive @ Home Link-Up

http://www.30daysofthanks.com/

30 Days of Thanks


Day 1: Waking up to a bed full of kids.

Day 2: Violets blooming on my kitchen windowsill.

Day 3: Orchids hanging rich with promise.

Day 4: A sign I've always marveled at. Been inspired by.

Day 5: Two daughters lovely, thrilled with their matching pj's.




When you're feeling hopeless, just look down

Take care, and be on your guard...for one's life does not consist in abundance... (Luke 12:15 exc.)

You live your life like it's broken, but it's really not so bad.
Believe me, I've seen worse.
Before you say, Don't judge me till you take that plank out of your eye,
Let me tell you this is all about my plank.
I wallow in post-cancer blues, arthritis returning like it does each October.
I curse cancer.

But I am still alive.

Beautifully so.

I'm not having surgery.

My pain isn't 10 out of a possible 10.

I don't scream in agony.

No one cut something the size of a football out of me yesterday.

I didn't have pieces of my bone shaved off or my flesh carved out or burnt or stapled shut.

I haven't had to beg for mercy from nurses, the air I breath and the God above.

I'm just a normal person, most of the time, even if I have my moments of pain
frustration
desperation even.

The truth is
we all live in abundance

we all live better than someone

we just need to keep looking down
to see the hand reaching up for hope

instead of looking up to covet
looking up and saying, Why can't I have what they have?
Why not me, God?
Why are they so blessed?

Somewhere down there
there's someone screaming out in pain
or crying out for hope
praying for rain
or a drop in the bucket of their empty bank account
a seed to fund joy in their swirling despair

just someone who notices
touches them
says, Sanbonani - I see you.

If this were always our practice

to look down instead of up

humble souls

however weary we walk

who might we lift up?

Photo credit


Wake-up call


You are as purple as the winter sunset sky, and my pulse quickens as the code bell rings, signaling to the hospital that another fragile person has fallen prey for lack of oxygen and a good heartbeat. We flock around like sightseers to the sunset, but you rally and suddenly you are gray, and then pink again. You, the reason I pried little fingers off my scrub pants last night to go to work. You, whose dying day is written in His book...but it is not today. I stuff the yellow tag from the code cart into my scrub pocket, the rasp of the ziptag tugging at my fingers cracked and bleeding from hospital soap. A reminder of someone who breathes again because of quick feet of these people who live out lives in the fluorescent of the hospital lights, working through the night to watch God push up dawn for a few dozen people who lay on beds hovering between this life and the next. To me, for most of the night, you were just the patient moaning in the room next door, not my patient, not my burden. My heart was heavy for the one in my room, as that code call looms for us in that room, the patient struggling to maintain a blood pressure as two nurses scurry all night to keep the veins open and the heart pumping strong.

As the code bell rings, and I look down at my patient, still breathing, heart still beating, I run with the rest to the room that calls, and see you there, purple like death. For this I have given up sleep and a warm bed full of husband, for this I have washed my hands a million times, sat through countless classes, and worked my way through an orientation folder thick with tasks at a new job miles from my home. For this my laundry piles high and the doorway clogs with coats. For this the dishes lie undone and I rush from the door anyway, emancipated for a few hours to tend the sick.

It has been a hard transition from stay-at-home mom and scholar to working mom. Even if it is two or three shifts a week, pulling on my nurse scrubs is hard when I wake up in the afternoon red-eyed from a day of interrupted sleep against the sun and Circadian rhythm and crying children. I have questioned my sanity many times since taking this job, and suddenly it all flashes into focus as I watch you vomit and eyes open to see us all sweating over your bed.

As I drive home from your code, the day you didn't die, I am sobbing for my husband, thankful we're all together and breathing this hectic life in the same rooms. I realize afresh that He put this calling in my being because it is a job that matters to him. It is not just extra income or a night off from the house. It is saving lives and loving people and being the hands and feet of Christ in the desolation of the dying night. You cause me to see the sunrise with fresh eyes. You bring thanks to my lips anew. You open the channel I've been searching for days to find, the channel that brings me to heaven's doorstep in a way that the Word alone on paper sometimes cannot. You, with your purple skin and first new breath, fill the world with new verve and my legs with new vigor. I ran fast to bring you life through the oxygen tubing, and instead I find it is I breathing afresh, the world washed clean as all of life that doesn't matter scatters clean away in the sudden rush of thankfulness for home and hearth, kith and kin.

Thank you, stranger, for waking me up this morning to His mercies made new every dawn. Thank you, Father, for breathing life into the dust of our fragile human frames and raising us again to see that You are enough, more than enough, the richest of blessings and bringer of sweetest days.


I was on a fast curve, lost my nerve on a dead end road 
I was goin’ nowhere faster than two legs can go 
Never thought I’d slow down 
I’m glad I finally know now 

I never really noticed when he moved in next to me 
Sometimes it’s amazing just how blind a girl can be 
If I weren’t busy runnin’ I might have seen it comin’ 

That’s life, if you open up your eyes 
You’ll find it gets better all the 
Time, time, time 
Running out of time, I’m runnin’ away 
I’m running out of ways of running away 
Got to slow down, if you don’t, you’re gonna break down 
I’m runnin’ out of time, time, time 

I was cooking dinner, heard a ring at my front door 
I opened up and saw him, never felt like that before 
The moment that our eyes met I knew I’d never forget 
Sometimes the thing you most need is right there, but you can’t see 

That’s life, if you open up your eyes 
You’ll find it gets better all the 
Time, time, time
~Sugarland, Time, Time, Time~

Life: Unmasked

Novemberish


 The weekend dissolves into a chaos of sleep and awake, night shifts wrecking havoc on my already Novemberish brain. The house a pigsty of dirty dishes and laundry, summer clothes and shoes yet to be packed away, a sheet music scattered living room and clothes-riddled bedroom. I feel my failures deep and sure, the housewife that never can be found in November, when the seasons hush and slow to winter's lone-harp song, and my body slows with it, always sensitive to cancer meds in this fresh winter. I bog down into low thyroid days, when all I do is sleep or dream of sleep. The children call me Mama Bear, hibernating for the winter, and I wonder why my cubs don't climb into the den for a long winter's nap like the black bear in the woods.


On Saturday, we are up late to cheer my hockey team on at an important semi-final in a tournament, and I sit with hockey moms who are still perfectly coiffed at 10 p.m., talking about how much housework they got done between games today, each mom one-upping the last with her beauty and time efficiency. I feel the prickles of my newly growing hair like a crown of shame, think about all I have not managed to do this weekend, and realize this is what Joy is after: life unmasked in the blogosphere, where we let our imperfections be part of our beauty and don't hide in the dark when life doesn't go as planned. I slide on thankfulness like a warm coat, and insulate myself from the tyranny of this perfectionist motherhood. My husband smiles down at me, sensing my soul rest, his brown curls unruly under his wool cap, our children running amok up and down a ramp to the men's bathrooms, burning off late night energy.

I wake up Sunday to a road too icy to trek to church, even in all-wheel drive. Slide under the down comforter and praise for a few more hours rest. In the sunlight, the world is frosted with snow, a wonderland of crystalline beauty, in all our yards autumn messiness. The children track mud and snow into the house and there is a small snowboot track on my sheet music still scattered on the front room floor.

I don't have time to maintain these regrets when I think about how He loves. ~John Mark McMillan
Instead of sliding down into the nothingness that perfectionist thinking breeds, I count my blessings at Sunday's end,

...the white glare of snow making sunshine bright and world clean
...hair growing back, black and plentiful
...music from The Story blaring through speakers
...safety on icy roads
...moments with my dear aunt and uncle
...Sunday dinner with Grandma and Grandpa, gales of giggles echoing
...sleep, sleep and more sleep
...another week of night shifts winking at me
...down comforters and warm husband

Back to Black

Our black lab sits by my swing, panting in the warm autumn sun. Black soaks up the sun, I tell my curious daughter. That's why she's hot.

And then it hits me. What if black soaks up the Son?

Over the past few days, my sin has been pummeling me like an attacker with a baseball bat. I know who wields the bat and thought up this beating - Satan. But my part in it is paralyzing. I did those sins that haunt me now.

Wave after wave hits me, and I know exactly what God is asking me to do in allowing this pain back into my life. He wants me to confess some very specific things to some very specific people. This is so hard. I would rather heal in the dark, by myself, locked in myself. I don't want to open up my storm-battered heart to others because I am so afraid of the next blow.


But recovery is like the morning sun just kissing the maple hill, a glimpse of what and who I could really be if I go free from this torment of years gone by.



Like the lone golden leaf in a sea of wet rocks, yellow against black, a glimpse again of the beauty that I hold within right alongside those stinking sins.


My world is peopled, not silent. I have to engage to be part of this life. What if going free from my past sins means my daughters will never do them? What if I allow God to reshape my black heart into a mural of His glory?


I believe He allows Satan to pummel us so that we are brought to the place on our knees, tear-stained faces contorted and starving for His mercy. I so desperately want the connection with Him to grow stronger until we are two beings pulsing on the same wavelength. What if the blackest of hearts is the one who appreciates most the gift of His scarlet blood making us white as snow?



I came here tonight with a mission
To confess what I'm trying to hide 
But here in the hour of decision 
I'd rather give you the company line 

There are secrets I don't want to tell you 
And wounds you might not want to see 
But they keep me bound to my sorrow 
And I really want to be free 
And you're the one holding the key

You don't have to give me an answer 
An answer is the last thing I need 
There's no magical cure for this cancer 
I just need you to listen me 
'Cause you're the one holding the key 

We were made with these hearts 
Meant to be open 
Then we locked them away 
Afraid of being broken 
But we're given each other to set it free 
And you're the one holding the key 

This dark room is perfect for hiding 
But I don't want to hide anymore 
You can't force the light here inside it 
But you can help me open the door 
You're the one holding the key 

We were made with these hearts 
Meant to be open 
Then we locked them away 
Afraid of being broken 
But we're given each other to set it free 
And you're the one holding
The key to the truth 
Of what's really going on 
Your listening ear 
Is the grace of God 
Love will take the shackles off 
But you're the one holding the key 

We all need it sooner or later 
A safe place for telling the truth 
I'm happy returning the favor 
'Cause I'm holding the key for you
~Jason Gray, Holding the Key~

I am the mountain

I walk the short distance to my parent's house, and I am in a cloud of yellow butterflies. My camera dangles about my neck, my computer slung over my shoulder. It's supposed to be a serious afternoon, writing papers, editing. But here I am in a swarm of yellow butterflies - the ones a friend calls cabbage butterflies and I push that name out of my mind because they are simply too beautiful to be linked to "cabbage" in any way. Click, click, click goes the shutter, but I can't capture their beauty, transparent iridescence in autumn afternoon sun, as they flit up from the green oats and loft into the shafts of sunlight coming through maples scarlet.

Perhaps this is another key on my joy hunt. Beauty is fleeting...indescribable...hard to put your finger on. Facts are easier, trials lending themselves to description. Health problems are so discrete, well-delineated. You can look them up in the dictionary and get a paragraph description.

There is no paragraph written to describe the soul's dance as the butterflies twirl carefree in a circle about you.

All this against a backdrop of gravelly tar, weeds in ditches, the sound of the puppies down the road caterwauling. The beautiful in the midst of the ugly.


The light is harsh on the cherry tree, barren now of leaves, it's fruit too bitter for the birds. A lone spider crafts his way from branch to branch, weaving lace between them. I stop to watch him work. What's he hurrying for? What happens to spiders in the winter anyway? Isn't he just working on the last stretch before his frozen death?

I push death back out of my mind and just see the maroon of the cherries and the white of the spider's lace. Force my mind onto the joy path again.


Over at the High Calling Focus, a prompt is posted: try to make rust beautiful. I find this ironic, because I've always loved rust. The only thing better than something new is something old, rusty, well-used, beautiful in it's old age. I have a hundred photos of rust. I take another just because. The rust flourishes out in florets from the center of an old gas can. It shines purple and red and orange in the sun. A smile flashes brilliant over my face, and I walk on.

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. (James 1:17)

Gifts, every moment of every day. The child who is disobedient at nap time ends up huddled in a little ball next to me under the comforter while wind brings a storm over the valleys. The curry not spicy enough is beautiful in it's gold bowl. The hard work of therapy melts into strength and calm at the end, as this beloved therapist guides me quietly back from grief to joy. I stand in mountain pose, thinking this is the mountain God wants me to move with my mustard-seed faith.

This body, mind, soul...what He wants to mold and change and move. The mountains and hills answer to Him already. The rocks stand ready to shout His holy name. It is I from whom He begs praise and love.

I love you, Father. Thank you for these gifts overflowing from every moment of my day.


Got nothing in my hands to part these waves 
Got nothing in my bank account that saves 
Got no more might left to muscle through 
But Oh, I’ve got you 
I’ve got you 

Got demons gather ’round oh laugh it up 
Spreading doubts a plenty I can’t drink this cup 
Got no one left who thinks I’ll make it through 
But Oh, I’ve got you 
I’ve got you 

Got faded memories of better days 
Got a prayer that they’ll come back around my way 
You’ve got me and oh that gets me through 
Oh, I’ve got you I’ve got you 
Oh, I’ve got you I’ve got you 
~I've Got You, Shaun Groves~

Simply thankful


I get so sick of being depressed, I decided to do a yellow post.


Nothing dark, nothing dreary, no cries for help.


The truth is there have been more and more good days lately.
(minus the pneumonia)
Today I began a new medication regimen nicknamed the "California Rocket Bomb" by psychiatrists who have see the synergistic effect of these two particular drugs together.


While the word "bomb" related to my health care does not endear me to the treatment, I am hoping it does just what it is supposed and depression really gets under control.


Thank God for yellow houses with blue shutters and sea spray crust.


Praise Him for every bit of yellow that peppers my melancholy days.
Praise Him for waking up happy some mornings.
Praise Him for friends that really last.
Praise Him for life.



What I learned at my old church : lessons after leaving

We left our church in October and set out on a journey to find a church we felt called to, Aaron and I. It wasn't easy to leave our church, especially our dear friends who were our first and deepest relationships in the Eau Claire area when we moved back in 2004. Even before we were married, I started traveling on short term medical missions led by the senior pastor, and have memories of some of the most intense periods of spiritual growth in my early adulthood during those trips to El Salvador and Honduras.

It has been hard to know what to say or how to say it, here to friends and strangers, and to those in the community who've asked questions about what caused us to leave. I am finally at a point where I can say it "out loud" - "yes, we left our church. We're at a different church now". Months later, I find myself reflecting on the things that I learned at that church that I wouldn't have learned otherwise. Here is a list.

1. At my childhood church, if you'd asked me to draw a picture of someone worshiping God, I would have drawn you either a stick figure with folded hands, or one bowing low. The only worshiper I could really picture being myself was the stoic with folded hands. The drawing below is by Rosy, and shows how she thinks of worship. Yes, that's my daughter with her arm raised high, surrounded by the "cloud of the Holy Spirit" as she sings. At our last church, the tension in every fiber of my body started to slowly ease over the years and yes, every now and then I, a reserved Scandinavian, raised my hand in worship. Our old church taught us to practice I Timothy 2:8a: I desire that in every place, men should pray, lifting holy hands. I am really glad my kids learned it at an earlier age than I.


2. I learned to serve my community and made some attempts at local outreach. This is not something I had experienced, attending a church quite far away from my home through my childhood and teen years. Going to a church that was truly local offered me the opportunity to serve the poor, homeless, hurting, and those searching for God right in our community, where we spend the bulk of our time. I (and we as a couple) started to develop a mental folder of ideas for outreach and service that we will carry with us to our new church.

3. I grew more comfortable with praying aloud in groups. Public prayer wasn't part of my growing up years (other than around the family dinner table and at bedtime). The first time I had to pray in front of people I didn't know, I nearly had a panic attack and I think I might have stuttered. I am glad I'm more comfortable with this practice now, as the Bible frequently portrays group prayer (notably Acts 12:12 and II Chronicles 6:13-42).

4. I learned that music can be relevant to the culture and times. Using a drumset is not inherently wrong. Prior to coming to this church, a "band" was anathema to my understanding of "church music", the cornerstone of which was, of course, propriety and staidness. I was rather shocked to read that, back around 1200 B.C., Miriam ran around dancing with a tambourine and a bunch of other young women (never mind that she was a prophetess..that's an issue for another post). (see Exodus 15:20) A new understanding of music and performance style has opened my eyes to a vista of worship and praise that I had previously deemed sinful. I know some readers will disagree, but I don't think repeating a chorus 3 or 4 times in a row is any more "vain repetition" than repeating the chorus after each verse, as older sacred music is fond of doing.

5. I found out there are other Bible translations than the King James Bible...and learned that the King James Bible is also a translation (contrary to what I had heard about the KJV being the "literal Word of God"). Unless you feel like grabbing a scroll and learning Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek, you will be reading from a translation of the Bible as a modern-day English reader. At our old church, the favored translation was NIV. Although I myself prefer the ESV, which is a more literal translation of the original language texts, I often study in a parallel Bible that includes NASB, NIV, NLT, KJV, NKJV, and Amplified. For an academic discussion of the history of Bible translations, read on here. I recently discovered The Message (after resisting for years), which is an idiomatic translation of the Bible done by an excellent Bible scholar. Themes of grace and (rather ironically) God's sovereignty became clear to me while reading The Message, themes that I had missed in many other translations of the Bible. Although I can't recommend reading that one all by itself for Bible study, it is similar to the older Phillips New Testament used and oft quoted by the likes of Elisabeth Elliot, and can be useful for understanding some of the more emotional or heart level themes of the Bible. It can also be useful for rediscovering connection when you feel distant from God. Often The Message echoes the cry of my heart in the loneliest of times. I would liken it to reading the blog of a Christian struggling through issues of faith: although you need to study a good translation of the inspired Word, sometimes the viewpoint of another Christian is very valuable. Again, there will be readers who disagree with me on this point #5 (or parts of it), but this leads me directly into point #6:

6. I learned more about the principle of "freedom in Christ". I no longer felt like a heathen if I was wearing pants at church. I understood that tomboys, female sports fanatics, artists, songwriters, and all around average people were accepted at church - and even allowed to serve. I felt like I had to hide my identity at the church of my youth, and, for many years, my last church was a haven for me to show others parts of the "real me". Although I felt pressure to conform in some ways, there were many elements of my personality and gifting that I expressed for the first time at my old church. I am thankful for entering a new realm of "freedom in Christ" there. Although there were parts of my personality and gifting that were not welcome or celebrated there, this church was a major step in my ability to express my God-given self in a corporate church setting.

7. I was introduced to missions. I alluded to this in the introduction. Prior to being part of my old church, my idea of "missions" was an inner-city outreach. Although I heard quotes from late greats like Hudson Taylor and Amy Carmichael, I had no current exposure to people involved in missions. My very first experience was my exposure to an entire family of missionaries, who became friends as I tended their son/grandson/nephew for nearly 18 months on the bone marrow transplant unit at the U of M where Aaron and I met. This family was integral to our falling in love and marrying, so I had a pretty positive first-time experience with modern day missionaries! At Cedarcreek, I had the opportunity not only to support other missionaries and missions, but to participate in them as well. The very first trip I took felt like a dream come true. I credit this church with introducing me to the long-term calling God has placed on my life - on our lives as a family...to be part of long-term out-of-country missions, most likely to Central America, where both Aaron and I traveled for our first ever short term mission trips.

8. Finally, this church has taught me volumes about relating to people within my community, whether or not I attend church with them. I have learned a few things about passive evangelism (in Judges 14 and the life of St. Frances de Sales, my favorite "saint"), contrary to my childhood church, which would be labeled a "Bible-banging" or aggressive evangelism church. An interesting article on 3 types of evangelism (pulpit, passive, and aggressive) can be read here.

At the moment of choice, there is always conflict. Whether you're deciding which can of spaghetti sauce to buy for dinner, or choosing whether or not to leave a church, there is conflict, albeit on different levels of intensity. Choosing to leave our church was something we did with a lot of prayer, seeking advice, guidance from the Bible, and trying to take things as slowly as possible. By the time we left, we were sure we were being "called" by God to do so. On the other hand, you never leave an experience with only negative reflections. As we seek Him, God is faithful to teach us as we journey along. No matter which church we choose to call home, He has lessons for us to learn. I am thankful for this last church and the many things I learned about God's character, my response to Him, and how to share my faith. I don't know exactly where He is taking us next, but I see His faithfulness each step of the way.


Excerpted from my Gratitude Journal, #116-146:
116. Wool sweater that smells like Aaron
121. Bible in 90 Days
122. Story of Tamar
123. God's vigilant pursuit
126. The best babysitters in the world
127. Grace = "one-way love"
128. Walking without crutches
129. Elevating leg forces me to hold my baby boy
130. Driving with the window down
133. Seafood dinner with my lover
138. Owl punch set
139. A break coming soon
141. Heidi Frank
143. Sunrise on melting snow
146. "So if a man lives many years, let him rejoice in them all; but let him remember that the days of darkness may be many." (Eccl. 11:8)





Very merry


Did you ever hear of something so glorious as a parade in winter? At night?


Streets lit...


Boys throwing flames...



Hands stretched out for candy...




And then the very next day you get to go cut down your Christmas tree in the forest?






Oh, the incomparable joy!

(Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Mt 11:28)






Linked to Ann's gratitude campaign: