His Nut Speaking

She Speaks if He wills

2011-03-10T05:09:00.004-06:00

Last summer I went shopping and bought some special outfits that I really don't need for my farmwife-stay-at-home-Mom-to-6-kids kind of life. Then I packed these clothes in my new airline-worthy luggage (the well-worn family duffel bags just did not cut it) in anticipation of flying away for the weekend to do something radically different than my farmwife-stay-at-home-Mom-to-6-kids kind of life. I had been anticipating it for months, not just for the break from my summer at home with said children, but for the fact that I knew I was going to a place where I would get to mingle with women like me. While I love my life and have a multitude of friends with whom I have much in common, and while I am daily validated by my husband and these friends, there is a side of me that I really don't have in common with anyone close to me in my life. I've made claims on this blog to be a nut, to have dreams and visions, to want to serve the Lord in new and exciting ways, to have burning thoughts and desires in me that seen to stand in contrast to my farmwife-stay-at-home-Mom-to-6-kids kind of life, and to want to be challenged. And it's all true. So you can imagine how excited I was when, in July of last year, I found a wonderful conference that finally fed these, ahem, attributes of my personality.

I packed my new clothes in my new luggage and went to She Speaks!

She Speaks is a truly amazing three-day conference hosted by one of my very favorite ministries, Proverbs 31 Ministries. In their very own words, "She Speaks is not just another conference … it is a true experience with God and a revival in your calling!" In my very own words, She Speaks is a place where I discovered that I am not that nutty after all! At She Speaks, I found there are countless hundreds upon hundreds of women who so desire to serve the Lord that they are sacrificing sleep, easy lives, and who knows what else, just to speak, write, and lead other women. Of course, the conference was pristinely planned, from the moment I stood at the registration table to the moment I walked away with a tear in my eye. They had chosen a location that for most of us gals was the luxuriously welcoming respite we needed. The equipping sessions were powerful. And the three days of fellowship was incredible. But the very best part of this conference, in my opinion, was the opportunity for hundreds of women with passions and desires and dreams and callings, to be fed by other women living the very same dreams and callings.

I got to stand among them and it was truly amazing.

God is very gracious to give His children once in a lifetime opportunities upon which to build memories, be encouraged, and trust in His good and perfect gifts, and last year I counted myself truly blessed to have been gifted by Him. She Speaks felt like my once in a lifetime opportunity, and has since been a tremendous source of inspiration and strength for me in my life.

So now we have come to the time of year when registration for She Speaks 2011 has begun. And I really want to go. My life is just as busy and my kids are just as demanding, but my heart is yet again yearning to attend. I want to be further equipped, validated, encouraged, and directed by God. I want to dip my toe deeper into my big nutty dreams, and see if I find the Lord's will there.

However, as a farmwife-stay-at-home-Mom-to-6-kids, I take the expense and time of such an endeavor very seriously. Truth be told, this year, things are, shall we say, stretched a tad thin. Money is tighter. The children are just as busy as ever, so with finances as the greatest determining factor, I decided a few weeks back that I could not--should not--pursue attending She Speaks 2011.

As with many areas of life, I must choose to surrender my own desires...stop forging ahead with my ideas of what I think is good...allow God to work...and even surrender my desire to be equipped to serve Him, to Him. I must work in cooperation with the Lord. So, I made the statement recently that if the Lord willed for me to attend She Speaks 2011, I would praise Him and happily go, and if he did not will it, then I would praise Him and happily stay home.

But a scholarship would go a long way.

It was in the middle of this peaceful and surrendered place that I read this post on Lysa TerKeurst's blog. It was in the middle of this peaceful and surrendered place that my heart leapt out of its quiet spot in the middle of my chest, and started to wonder "what if??" It was in the middle of this peaceful and surrendered place that the farmwife-stay-at-home-mom-to-6-kids decided to enter herself in the She Speaks Scholarship Contest 2011, and is now leaving the rest to God.

Over this coming weekend, the awesome gals at Proverbs 31 Ministries will embrace the task of reading many wonderful blog posts, from many wonderful woman, in order to discern whom the Lord is asking them to give the two conference scholarships. I am covering those P31 women in prayer, and have asked the Lord that He would lead them to bless the bloggers who are supposed to be blessed with the scholarship. And now my name is in the hat! I admit it, I'd love to win. But more than that, I pray that God will be God, and in His way will bless whom He chooses to bless. Please choose me if--and only if I--you truly believe I am meant to win.

Thanks for reading my blog. To God be the glory!

c-c-c-c-c-COLD water!

2011-03-08T05:39:00.001-06:00

In junior high, one of the blessings of the Denver youth group I so dearly loved was a week-long summer camp with that entire youth group and another 100 or so kids. The camp was called "Hike the Stars" and was held high up in the beautiful rocky mountains. Each day of that week, our groups were given the opportunity to participate in a challenge, and of all of them, the one that most stands out in my mind was the morning I went "polar bearing".

I suspect many people may know what that is, but just in case, picture this scene...it is 7am in the Rockies. (Morning temps in the Rockies in June are generally cool [50-ish degrees] and the air is crisp.) You are a scrawny 8th grader who has yet to really by found by the blessings of puberty. You have been pulled from sleep much earlier than you would have chosen, have dressed in layers, and after a bus ride, are now standing on the ledge above a pristine high-elevation mountain lake. A lake fed by spring snow melt. A very, very cold lake. And you are waiting for your turn to jump in.

Such was the scene in June of 1986. I still to this day cannot believe that I actually had the nerve to do it, such the timid kid that I was, but when it came my turn, I did indeed peel off all my comfy and protective layers until I was wearing nothing but a swimsuit over that awkward and childish frame, and on the count of three (or perhaps 11), I jumped in.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!

Instantly, pins and needles pierced my skin, my breath was stripped right from my lungs, sheer panic gripped my mind, and in a fight-or-flight response unparalleled by any other in my life, I fled as fast as I could for the bank. I could not breathe it was so cold. I could barely control my own muscles. There was no amount of tolerance in a single nerve cell of my flesh that could have kept me in that frigid water, and all I could do was flee to safety. To my towel. To my comforting and protective layers in the warming sunshine. Away from that cold water.

Have you ever been afraid enough of something to flee from it? A big spider? A mouse? A dangerous place? An angry person? Anything? Has anything made you so afraid, or repulsed you so very much, that your only response was to flee for safety?

The Random House College Dictionary defines flee as 1. to run away, as from dangers, pursuers, etc.; take flight. 2. to move swiftly; fly; speed. 3. to run away from. That is scary stuff. Make no joke about it, fleeing is serious business, and in our human experience it is typically reserved for moments when fear has gripped our heart, mind, and body. Fleeing can often feel like the difference between life and death. Now consider this...

Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a man commits are outside his body, but he who sins sexually sins against his own body. 1st Corinthians 6:18

Therefore, my dear friends, flee from idolatry. 1st Corinthians 10:14

For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs. But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. 1st Timothy 6:10-11

Flee the evil desires of youth, and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart. 2nd Timothy 2:22

When I read these passages, I am reminded of the heart-gripping fear, and my automatic response to flee, that I felt in the icy lake in those beautiful mountains. The setting gave me nothing to fear, in fact it was gorgeous. The people around me gave me nothing to fear, in fact they were my friends and I trusted them. The pleasure of swimming gave nothing to fear, in fact it was a summertime leisure activity I adored. But in contrast to the setting, the company, and the activity, was the masked danger of that frigid water. That water possessed the power to take my life, should I have stayed in it long enough and allowed it to reduce my body's temperature to the point of no return. Although it looked pristine, that lake was pure danger to my very survival. It may have been an exhilarating moment for me to cast caution aside and in front of all of my friends jump in with both feet, but in reality I did not belong there and could not control the automatic flight right back to the safety of the shore.

Oh, how I wish I possessed that same flight response from all the sin in my life. How I wish I could have the very breath from my lungs stripped away every time I entered into a sinful situation or sinful thought. How I wish I my muscles would go on autopilot when I jumped into sin, so that in an instant I'd find myself safe on the shore again. How I wish the temptations to go along with the crowd, be somebody in front of my friends, or grab hold of dangerous truths could be uglier than the deceptively pretty environment in which we all live.

The truth of the matter is that the wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23), and therefore we are to flee from sin. We are to turn away, run away, push away from the situations that will cause us to sin. We are to remain on the ledge and peer into the darkness, and then choose to turn our backs without jumping in. Unfortunately, there are too many days in my life when I have not--nor do not--flee from my sin. The sad truth, some sin feels good, becomes a crutch, is a comfort zone, provides an excuse, and, we think, can be written off on Christ's tax return. But the truth is that we are to flee from our sexual sin, our lust, our idolatry, our greed, our envy, our deceptions, our jealousies...all of our sin...as if our very life depended on it.

(It actually does.)

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. James 4:7

Today I pray that we can get out of the lake, wrap up in God's love, and bask in the saving and warming power of Son! And let's have a blast doing it.

Laser beam peace

2011-03-03T05:08:00.003-06:00

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!" John 20:19

Imagine the worst crisis of your life. Everything you hold dear is destroyed, all that was familiar is now painfully strange, the one thing to which you have devoted the most recent years of your life is gone, and your peace is laying in a pile of rubble on the floor. Your heart is gripped by fear, and, having no sense of direction or guidance, you lock yourself into your room to hide in what has now become your only safe place.

Have you ever felt that way, either metaphorically or literally?

Such was the scene in John 20:19, just over 48 hours after Christ's horrific death on the cross. In a room in Jerusalem with a locking door, we find 11 disciples hiding behind that lock for fear of the Jews. Jesus was dead, the Sabbath was over, an empty tomb had been discovered just that morning, and nothing made sense anymore. Before their very eyes, the person to whom they had devoted the past three years of their lives had been turned into a mere object...the object of hate, scorn, wrath, and rejection. They had been powerless to stop it, and despite the love of their beloved Teacher, they were now alone and afraid.

It was in the middle of this scene that Christ appears in the room with them. He didn't warn them He was coming, He did not knock on the door, He just appeared and started speaking. And the very first words He spoke were "Peace be with you!". The gospel of John then goes on to describe how Jesus showed them his scars, how everyone was overjoyed, and how He began to teach them once again. But where I want to stop now is on those first four simple words...

Peace be with you.

On the surface, one may read this account and think, "Well, that was just His cordial greeting. What happens next is the most important part of the story". And yes, that may true. The portrayal of our very doubtful human nature, the joy of realizing that the resurrected Lord is an absolutely real truth, the instruction of the Master-to not just His disciples but all mankind-is the basis for living our Christian faith today...all of those elements are critical aspects of this passage. But I also know that Christ never said anything unimportant, and no words of His, even a simple greeting, can be passed over too quickly.

Peace be with you.

As far as we can understand, infer, or even fathom, peace was probably the farthest thing from those disciples' minds in that moment. Peace? Seriously? Right now?? Have you seen what we just went through out there? Have you already forgotten the torture, rejection, shame, scorn, and wrath we just saw? Don't you realize you have left us alone in an angry, vengeful world? Peace?? Be serious!

Peace be with you. The bedrock of soul-lifting, these are the first words spokes to the beloved disciples after the worst crisis of their lives, and they carry far greater weight than we think. More than a cordial greeting, those four words of Christ's are a command. Remember, this is the Man whose saliva reversed blindness. This the the Man who commanded a dead body to come forth after days in the tomb. And this man Jesus is the Man who calmed a raging sea with just His voice. This Man is the Man...and now He is commanding peace.

Picture once again this scene in John 20:19...the locked door, the fear, the hurt...and now picture Jesus' peace literally literally flyjng like a laser beam right into the disciples' hearts. His peace is real, it is perfect, it is healing, and just like the disciples, it is ours. I pray that this day, no matter what you are going through, you would allow Christ to appear in the middle of your locked and scared places, and command his laser beam peace right into your heart.

Peace be with you.

Visions

2011-02-28T12:28:00.003-06:00

Visions...ever had one? Me either. At least not the angel floating in my room, or miraculously foretold healing of a loved one kind of visions. Not visions I can see with my eyes. The sort of visions I have are the kind I think most of us have...the daydreams, hopes, goals, aspirations, ideas, passions, wishes, etc., that are held for something.

I've been thinking about visions lately, ever since reading this quote on Lysa TerKeurst's blog last week. She recited a quote from her pastor, and I am reciting it again; in fact, I have been reciting it over and over and over in my mind and heart since reading it. It is one of those quotes that I wish were scripture, so I could go underline it in my Bible and commit it to memory, and claim it as a promise for myself. But, since it is not scripture, I am left to ponder it with the Lord and ask Him to show me the truth within it. I do hope that quoting it again here is not plagiarism. I am banking on it being a "borrowing of good wisdom".

If the size of the vision for your life isn't intimidating to you, chances are it's insulting to God.

Hello, my name is Shelly Story, and I am a visionary. I admit it, I have visions, hopes, and dreams for just about everything. As a child, I spent more time on the playground daydreaming than I did playing. As a youth, I spent more time reading than doing anything else. As a highschooler, I spent more time wishing things were different--wishing that I was different--than I did anything else. As a college student, I spent more time trying to create that new self, a new reality of me, than I did embracing who I truly was. And now as a full-grown adult...a wife, mother, and daughter of the King...I have left behind the daydreaming, reading, wishing, and striving selves, and settled on a unique and nutty compilation of all of them all.

I exhaust myself sometimes.

But the truth of the matter is this: as a visionary (that's a euphemism for daydreamer), I often struggle to be still, to be settled. That is not to say that I am unhappy, because I most certainly am not; it is more to say that I am forever tormented by the thought of more. Do more. Be more courageous. Lead more. Evangelize more. Sleep less and accomplish more. Allow God more access to your heart. Think more. Love more. Pray more. Serve more.

Make more impact for the Kingdom.

And while I work my tail off, sometimes I am exhilarated by the length of the "To Do" list. I soar on the wings of accomplishment, praying feverishly while I tick off one item after another, accomplishing everything from dishes to laundry to organizing a Bible study to blogging to grocery shopping to paying the bills to leading a retreat, and on and on and on. And then there are times while I work my tail off, that I am exhausted by the sheer magnitude of it all, and want the world to go away so I can just do nothing. To crawl into bed in the middle of the day and let someone else do it all.

Most of the time, in all honesty, I am somewhere in the middle, striving continually to find balance and pleasure in all the tasks, trusting that God is leading me and that I am following. That is where I have been lately. Living as a bouncy ball, darting back and forth between being fully empowered for service to any and all, and being completely deflated by the effort, wishing full-blown apathy upon myself.

The only force getting me by is Christ. He knows I am not a sit still kind of gal. He knows that no matter harried I feel sometimes, deep down inside I desire nothing else than serving Him. He knows exactly how much I can handle, exactly how far I can be pushed, exactly where my true breaking point is, and exactly what sort of impact I can have on His Kingdom.

So, back to that quote. Yes, I am intimidated by the size of the vision I have for my life, and the size of the life God gave me. I am intimidated by raising 6 children well. I am intimidated by Asperger's and ADD and ADHD and hormones and puberty and tantrums and whining. I am intimidated by blogging and the fear of saying some thing stupid. I am intimidated by keeping the house clean when the snow melts and the kids start tracking in mud. I am intimidated by that desire in me to always say "yes" to one more thing. And I am intimidated by the dream I have that as my kids grow, I will be used even more by God, and that maybe He'd even allow me to do more writing or start speaking.

I said it. I want to do more. No matter how hard I try to shake it, no matter how crazy it all sounds around a life on a farm with 6 kids, no matter what people think of me, no matter how hard I've been praying, I still want to do more. And I'm scared.

I just don't want to get it wrong, to race ahead of God, to try to put my ideas into His will, or to fail. So nearly every day I pray that God will lead me toward only that which He wants me to do, and if today the only place He leads me is back to the sink to wash more dishes, then I'll do the dishes.

Just once I'd like Him to lead me to that nap in the sunshine.

Stunned

2011-02-21T13:50:00.003-06:00

If you have read this blog much at all since its inception in the spring of 2010, you have probably noticed that I don't always have enough time for it. Sometimes, when life gets especially busy or full (or perhaps when life is just normal), I allow my joy of writing to sit on the back burner. It isn't that I want to ignore the thoughts in my head, it's just that many a day I cannot possibly find the crack of time in which to organize those thoughts and put them on paper, er, I mean, keyboard.

In a perfect world, my kids would be quieter. They would keep the house a tad more tidy. They would get straight A's, help each other, and study the Bible when they had nothing left to do. As a result, I would have time to do more of the Bible study that I crave, I'd wander gracefully through a clean house, and I'd blog every day. Aaaaah, the perfect world.

NOT. (I know full well that there is no such thing as a perfect world here on this earth. It's just a fun little delusion of mine to pass the time while I pick up yet another mess.)

Anyway, my point is that when life is life--a completely zany string of events at the end of which I barely have the energy to brush my teeth, let alone compose a blog post, and since the blog post about which I may have been thinking about at noon is long gone anyway--it is all too easy for me to just ignore the blog. To ignore the thrill I have at expressing myself through the written word. To ignore the desire I have to inspire someone else. To wonder if I should be blogging at all.

Isn't that how the enemy works, though? We find something in this life that we really love, something that we believe can bring glory to God and possibly even joy to someone else, so we go after it. And we are exhilarated until we hit one measly road block, which is bound to happen, but then he swoops in. That scaly, slimy, slithering meanie worms his way into our mind and starts spewing lies like venom. who do you think you are, trying something like that? do you really think you have time for that?? you are a nobody. go back to that sick and wash another dish!

Or something like that.

That battle between desire and time, between inspiration and condemnation, between longings of the heart and lusts of the flesh, has been my battle for nearly a year now. I have soared on the eagle's wings of inspiration, only to crash land in a pile of stinky laundry. I have prayed and wrestled, and lately, I've even fasted, hoping for the clear direction that I believe should be following me around as a blogger. And every time I have no more time, I doubt and wonder.

So it was that one day last week, in the midst of my self-doubting state, that I was looking at all the behind-the-scenes settings for the technical aspects of the blog site, and I saw a tab called "stats". How it is that in nearly a year I had never clicked on it is beyond me, but nevertheless, I had not, and so I did. And I was stunned.

Did you know that my blog has had over 2,200 hits in less than a year? That's pretty cool! And it excited me quite a little bit until I looked at the map that also sits on the stats page. It was at this moment that I went from excited to stunned. My humble little blog, written from my humble little house, in the middle of my humble little life, has been read by people all over the world!! Here is a list of some of the countries that have checked in to read about a Nut:

United States
Russia
Netherlands
China
Canada
Taiwan
Germany
United Arab Emirates
Spain
Latvia
Kenya
United Kingdom
Ireland
Jamaica

And so it is that I am completely stunned. God is allowing an amazing thing to happen to an ordinary person, and I still cannot believe it. I keep clicking on that feature and whispering "Really, Lord? Really?! You have allowed me to speak beyond my borders??"

I will not pretend for one second to know what the good Lord has in mind for me or this blog or my husband or my children or today or tomorrow or next week, but I do know that for now, I am inspired. I want to write, and I want to trust God to help me raise these children well and get the house cleaned.

He stuns me. I think I'll go tap dance on a snake.

The ugly meter

2011-02-18T11:54:00.000-06:00

Pinocchio had one. An oh-so-unfortunate lie-meter planted directly on his face. Poor kid. Can you imagine taking that to school in the 1st grade? Or for me, having the tree on my face that would have inevitably resulted on carpet-cleaning day? That would not have been pretty. {{shudder}} Today I am wondering if Pinocchio was blessed or cursed by his nose. (And there really is a good reason that I have Pinocchio on my brain. Bear with me.) Let's ponder...

One could say it was a cruel reality for poor Pinoc to have his greatest weakness so publicly displayed for all the world to see. Wasn't that just setting him up for ridicule, having a nose that grew with every untruth he uttered? Couldn't it have been something more subtle like an ingrown toenail or a toothache?

Or, on the other hand, one could say he was fortunate. Tell a lie, see a direct and immediate result. Pinocchio's nose was the instant feedback he needed at just the right time, so that he could stop his perpetual lie-telling. What a great way to learn a new behavior! (I know there are many a day I wish that my own children were graced with a nose the likes of Pinocchio's. It would make my job so much easier!)

The reason I am thinking about Pinocchio today is that just the other day I was praising God that I don't have an "ugly meter" on my face. (No, that is not my way of saying that I think my face is beautiful.) I was driving my muddy van over muddy roads, late as usual for our destination, with a van load of 6 hyper children, and I was glaring at the road as I fumed. I was ticked. I was stressed. My heart rate was at least 227 beats a minute and my jaw was clenched. I was not in a good state.

Why, do you ask?

Because life was being life and my kids were being kids. My husband was out of town. One of the 13-year-olds did not get his breakfast the first time I told him to. Or the 7th. There were crumbs on the floor--again. The sink had dirty breakfast dishes in it and no one had volunteered to do them. The sun was not shining brightly enough to warm the air so I could take a walk, but even if it had I would felt trapped indoors by my hyper brood. My hair did not straighten as well as I like it to. And the icing on the cake was my 3-year-old whining about the poorly placed toe seam on her too-small tights.

It was then that I lost it.

In grand fashion, I whipped the offending tights off of her legs while she wailed, and unforgivingly stuffed her chubby little body into a fresh pair, while she continued to wail. That's what you get for growing!, my actions screamed through my self-justified frenzy. Now let's go to church!

Stellar, Shelly, just stellar. If I was in the running for Mommy of the Year, I am certain my name is now OFF of the list. {{sigh}}

So, as I was driving to town in my awful state, to put on my happy face and tell everyone that life is "busy but good", I felt a familiar nudging of my heart. And suddenly I was thinking about Pinocchio. I was wondering what I would have looked like in that very moment, if I was graced such as Pinocchio. If my face somehow had displayed my ugliness towards my daughter and her siblings. It.would.not.be.pretty.

It was in that instant that I praised the Lord I don't bear an ugly-meter on my face. I admit to you that most of my sins are secret, hidden, masked sins no one knows about until I admit them out loud, and since I am not growing trees or warts or boils on my face every time I sin, I can walk around with a pretty good front on. Now, that is not to say I am perfect and I never sin publicly. I surely do. But, by God and His grace only, I have been transformed by Him into someone who does most of her sinning in her heart. (Not sayin' that is a good thing, either.) I am definitely a work in progress. And I am more grateful that ever that I have a Savior who, for no other reason than His immense power and love, chose to die for me. I deserve nothing else in life other than the salvation He has already given me. Why do I ask for more?

I praised God Sunday that He made me very aware of how ugly I can be sometimes, and I praised Him for choosing to reserve the ugly meters for cartoon characters. Now, if only I could quit sinning altogether, we'd be all set.

Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight. 1st Peter 3:4&5

All is well

2011-02-17T10:44:00.000-06:00

Last October, Dan and I were privileged enough to hop on a plane and serve on a Pilgrimage weekend. If you have never heard me talk about Pilgrimage, you must not stand near me very often. I talk about it a lot. Really a lot. (I'll bet a few of you can vouch for me on that one :) But I love it so dearly and it is one of those things in our lives that, for me anyway, gets me as close to Heaven as I can get on this earth. It's not a temporary spiritual high, a mountain top experience off of which I will inevitably tumble, or the place I find God every six months so that I have to then go back every six months. It is, instead, the place where my heart is drawn closer to Christ and never released...it is the place where I am in community with the Body and this world is shut out...and it is the place that for three days I get to be sold-out to Christ in everything I do without looking like a looney. I may be a Nut, but I don't want to be a looney.

Anyway, at that weekend in October, I learned a praise song that has yet to leave my heart. It is perfect for me and my life and my trials and my hopes. My hope is in Christ, yet I live in this broken world, and I am not always as strong as I could be. I waver in wondering if I'm doing it right. I grow tired of waiting for answers to prayers. Etc, yadda yadda.

You get my drift.

So, for your reading pleasure, I would like to share the words of this song with you, words that chorus through my head and my heart and bring me comfort. Enjoy.

All is Well
He lowers us to raise us, that we may sing His praises,
Whatever is His way...all is well.
And though the seasons change, still one thing remains,
whatever is His way...all is well.
All my changes come from Him, He who never changes.
I'm held firm in the grasp of the Rock of the ages.
All is well with my soul
He is God in control
I know not all His plans
But I know I'm in His hands

Dear friend, I pray that you may enjoy good health and that all may go well with you, even as your soul is getting along well. 3rd John 1:2

I feel a blog post coming on...

2011-02-09T13:44:00.000-06:00

It's there. Lurking. Growing. This thing inside of me that will one day break free and live on its own.

No, I am not pregnant. It's a blog post!

Hello, my name is Shelly and I was once a blogger. I loved being a blogger. Blogging, for me, was such an outlet to the constant barrage of thoughts swimming in my head, thoughts that much of the time I truly desired to share with others. (I find that strange to say out loud, and yet, it is true.) I am one of those weird gals who actually enjoys writing and teaching and speaking and leading, although most of the time I barely have time to go potty by myself, much less write or teach or speak or lead. And so, amid the husband, kids, the dog, the schedules, the friends, the families, the church, Pilgrimage, etc, and yadda yadda yadda...this blog that I birthed in March of 2010 has, ahem, struggled to stay alive. In fact, it has sat completely dormant since October of 2010 and I have lived life without it. But I must admit that I miss it.

I miss letting my creative mind run free for the right words said in the right way, to express even a fraction of the excitement I feel over the Lord and what He is doing. I miss hearing that I said something well enough to touch another person. I miss laughing at myself for being That Dork. I miss knowing that even from my tiny, cluttered office in my tiny, crowded house in my tiny neck of the woods in my zany momof6kids world, I can still impact Christ's Kingdom here on earth.

I do so love this blog.

So, here I sit on the first afternoon I have had totally and completely to myself in months, being soothed by the clickity clack of my keyboard, wondering if anyone is still out there willing to read His Nut Speaking? Will any followers return? Is this blog merely a dime a dozen in the big world of blogging, tweeting, and surfing that we do on the internet, or can it, in fact, have an impact?? I console myself with the truth that God only knows, but that I must try. To the best of my ability, without forsaking my hubby, kids, schedules, family, friends, or church, I shall try yet again to be a blogger.

Thank God His power is made perfect in my weakness.

The Fortune Cookie Game

2010-10-01T08:59:00.000-05:00

Have you ever eaten a fortune cookie? Have you ever eagerly anticipated the laugh you were going to get when you opened it up and read the ridiculous “fortune” that lies inside? I happen to love fortune cookies, not so much for the sentiment, but for the sugary goodness that wraps itself around that tiny slip of paper. I love devouring ½ of it quickly, before reading the fortune, because if you read the fortune first, it won’t come true. OK, so that is just superstition, but it makes for a fun end to a delicious meal if you pretend to put faith in the fortune cookie. However, the absolute best part of reading the fortune, even better than making fun of how ridiculous it is, is to add two simple words to the end of the fortune. The words??

In bed.

Allow me to illustrate. Your cookie says, “You will find honor and respect”…in bed! “All of your cares will be washed away”…in bed. “Your decisions today will earn applause”…in bed. Depending on the cookie, those two words, in bed, can have a big impact!

Now let’s take this irreverent concept to another level. Let’s look at the fortunes that really do come true. The fortunes that add meaning to our lives. The fortunes that we actually can put our faith in. Let’s look at the Bible.

Most of you that read this blog, I think, believe in God, trust in His Son to be your personal Savior, and, although perhaps without the regularity we may all desire, you may even read your Bible at least a little bit. (If you don't know Jesus, I am glad you are reading, and please, let me help.) I'm going to make an assumption that most--if not all--of us consider ourselves a “work in progress” and at times, certain passages of the Bible are our lifelines. I praise God that He is not finished with me yet, that I still have the privilege of growing more mature in Him...and in my times of trial, mistake, failure, disappointment, defeat, discouragement, or questioning, I cling to the hope of scripture...
Phil 1:18a&19 Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, for I know that through our prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance.
Phil 4:19 And my God will meet all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus.
1st Peter 3:14 But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed.
Proverbs 11:18 The wicked man earns deceptive wages, but he who sows righteousness reaps a sure reward.
Matthew 7:11 If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in Heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!

It’s kind of like opening a fortune cookie, you know, when we open our Bibles and land on a lifeline nugget like one of those. God will meet all your needs. Sow righteousness to reap a sure reward. Suffering is a blessing. And on, and on, and on.

But what about the times that reading something that reassuring actually sounds as absurd as the fortune in the middle of a cookie? What about the days that suffering is notsoverymuch a blessing? What about the days that the wicked man’s wages are so plentiful they nearly bury him alive, while your reward is, shall we say, meager at best? What about the times you ask and do not receive? What do we do when the promises of scripture do not line up with what we are going through. When the promises seem like they are for everyone else but us. Do we laugh at His Word, chalk it up to the nonsense worth a fortune cookie, and walk away??

As the Heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts, declares the Lord in Isaiah 55 verse 9. You see, nowhere in the Bible does God ever promise that it will all make sense to us. Nowhere does He say, this is the magic trick. Do this. Quite the contrary, He purposely, by His great design, leaves gaps that only faith can fill in. It's what do we do with that, when challenged, that is up to us. And I have found, in the questioning moments of my life, that if I just play the fortune cookie game, it all makes sense. Of course, I don’t’ say ‘in bed’. I say “in Heaven”. Two little words, in Heaven.

But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. In Heaven.

The wicked man earns deceptive wages, but he who sows righteousness reaps a sure reward. In Heaven.

Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, for I know that through our prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance. In Heaven.

Just adding those two words reminds me that no matter what is happening, God will redeem it. That no matter how little sense my life makes to me sometimes, God is working. That even when the promises in scripture do not match up to my reality of my requests, I can choose faith in my Savior or I can choose defeat. He may not make everything beautiful today, but He will—eventually—make all things new. In Heaven.

1st Thessalonians 5:24…The One who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.

I hate moose keetos!

2010-08-19T23:38:00.000-05:00

One day last week, out of the clear blue, in the middle of the kitchen as I prepared a meal, my three-year-old daughter says to me, "Mom, I hate moose keetos!"
I'm sorry, what was that?
"I hate moose quitos!"
Honey, I have no idea what you are talking about. We are having hamburgers for supper. What is a moose keeto?
Looking incredibly sheepish at this point, and a little afraid of the fact that for the third time she was about to use the word "hate", a word generally frowned upon in this house, especially out of the mouths of babes, she says to me, "I hate moose keetos. They bite you."
Aaaaahhh! Now I get it! Mosquitoes! She hates mosquitoes!

As she walked away I pondered the humor of such an outburst from the mouth of a little girl. Truthfully, we really do not allow our children to throw around the word hate, and her comment, and the accompanying look of fear on her face, told me she was playing the ohsovery fun game of 'polly the parrot'. She was repeating the adults in her life. After a weekend of camping in a wind-still, bottom-ground, wooded campsite during the wettest Nebraska summer anyone can remember, I am just sure she heard more than one of her dearly loved adult relatives proclaim that sentiment with gusto.

And why wouldn't we?? The mosquito is truly one of God's most annoying and aggravating creations (meaning You no disrespect, Lord), and is best known for causing one to ponder just what may be the reason for its existence at all. Yes, they are sure good at blood-sucking, but more often than that, I think we just wonder what value do they have? What good and true purpose could they possibly have? Why, Lord, why??

And the only possible thought I have, the only logical explanation I can come up with, is that God just wants to remind us that we are not truly masters of it all. As great as human accomplishment, technology, and innovation are, we are still subject to the laws of creation. As arrogant as mankind can get, the mosquito is here to keep us humble. Think about it...we build houses on hillsides and are shocked when they slide down with the mud, we build cities below sea level and watch the levy break to destroy it all, we dig for oil in the ocean and spill a bunch of it all over the sea creatures, we build houses on the sand and the rains come a tumblin' down. Pride and arrogance. We nuke our food, instant message our friends a 1/2 a world away, inject poison into our lips for the sake of beauty, air condition our homes, GPS our cars, and cover ourselves in chemicals to avoid bug bites. But you know what? We get bitten anyway. Humility. We cannot control the mosquito any more than we can control the weather , the aging process, or our futures. Only God has total control, and I believe He made mosquitoes so we would not forget to trust Him not just with the unanswered questions, but with our lives.

Pass the moose keetos, please.

The paper license

2010-08-16T23:24:00.000-05:00

In the state of Nebraska, when you get a new driver's license, they issue you a paper copy of your permanent license, which then comes in the mail ten or so days later. This temporary piece of paper looks just like your license will, only slightly smaller and is, as I said, made out of paper. I had my birthday in July, and so I was very recently the proud bearer of one of these artful masterpieces of the State of Nebraska. Lucky me.

It was with this lovely paper license that I embarked on my journey to the great state of North Carolina a few weeks ago. At the Omaha airport, I breezed through security like a champ, living as I do in a state that recognizes the integrity of the paper license. In Charlotte's much larger airport, however, the paper license was notsoverymuch my ticket to freedom, and I was halted at airport security faster than I could say "paper license".

"Is this your license?" she says to me with raised eyebrows, as if I had colored it myself at home with the kids' crayons.

"Yes, ma'am, it is. You see, in Nebraska, when you renew....{blah blah blah}....and so my permanent one has not yet come in the mail" was my reply.

"I'm going to have to flag this." Of course you are. She radios for backup.

After a few minutes, a dude with another badge comes over and asks for details of what is going on. "Well, you see, sir, in Nebraska, when you renew.....................and so my permanent one has not yet come in the mail."

"I see. Well, do you have any other forms of ID?" he asks.

"You bet I do!" and so I whip out my debit card.

"Anything else?"

"Um, an insurance card with my husband's name on it. And another insurance card with my kids' names on it. And a portrait club card that I signed. And a 'Take $10' card from Maurice's with no name on it. Will any of that work?"

"How about a credit card?" he asks, looking slightly annoyed, but still being nice to the dork from the State of Paper Licenses.

"No, we gave up using credit and my card is at home on the shelf." (Yes, I am that dork, but Dave Ramsey would be proud that even when traveling out of state, I left it at home!)

"I see. Well, then, we're going to have to do a more thorough inspection of you." Of course you are. He radios for more backup.

And so began my wait. I was told to sit in the "red chair" right in the middle of all the security lines at this ohsovery busy airport, while the officer called for a female officer to come help. Within moments, an extremely skinny and heavily pierced Frenchman was flagged as well, and was told to stand by me. He spoke to me briefly in his thick French accent, but was soon invited to pass through security to the next checkpoint. While I sat there alone and yet on full display, I had the chance to watch people's reactions to the screening process. Some looked arrogantly bored. Others looked visibly annoyed. Some were rushing, practically dancing in place, trying futilely to will the lines to move faster. Still others looked confused and were not sure where to step once they had placed their belongings on the conveyors, until a lady in a red chair (me) pointed to where to go. After a few minutes, another woman was flagged at this checkpoint, apparently for wearing a metal bra, and was told to stand by me. She stood near me, but not right next to me, as if feeling uncomfortable being on display next to the red chair. (OK, so her bra itself was probably not metal, but she did tell me that this happens every time due to her Victoria's Secret underwire bra. Must be a pretty hefty underwire. A person endowed like me shall never know such woes.)

Finally, after roughly ten minutes of waiting in the red chair, I was given the nod and was taken through the metal detector to the other side, where I was escorted to yet another area. I was greeted by a man and woman both wearing blue latex gloves, and while he meticulously but gently looked through every single inch of my carry-on bag and purse, a women as equally meticulous and gentle patted down nearly every inch of my body. I had no choice in this matter, not that I really minded, but I was indeed on full display in a crowded airport standing spread eagle while a generously built southern woman put her blue gloves all over my body. Much like the loss of dignity of childbirth, this was a new experience for me. I will say to you that because I am not a modest person whatsoever and because I had absolutely nothing to hide, this process did not alarm or embarrass me at all. They were just doing their jobs and I say, doing them well. But I could not help but imagine the emotional response of the very private, self-conscious, modest person who has to go through that process. Freaky. Anyway, after a thorough rearranging of my bags and a thorough feel of my body, I was cleared for take-off, handed back my boarding pass and paper license, and wished a safe flight home.

I cleared the checkpoint.

Now, for the eternal implications of my experience...while I could expound on all the analogies and parallels lying in this story, the real point is this: we are all on a journey to a final destination. We are all, at any given moment, somewhere in the process of reaching the end of our earthly life. Some of us are waiting with eager anticipation, some already have their bags packed and are merely waiting on confirmation that their ticket has come through, and many, I suspect, are trying hard to avoid even thinking about it at all. But, no matter how we are feeling about the finality of our lives, it is going to happen. It is out there. And what I'd like to know is, do you have your identification ready? How many forms of ID are you holding? Whose name is on your boarding pass?

Are you going to Heaven??

Without the trustworthy permanency of the sacrifice of Christ on the cross, without a real faith in what matters, without a personal relationship with Jesus, we are all merely holding paper licenses. Oh sure, down here, where mankind can put his stamp of approval on our lives, any piece of paper will do. Paper birth certificate, paper diploma, paper title to a car, paper mortgage, paper marriage license, paper awards, paper money...down here on earth, all of those papers, well, they matter. In fact, they are a measure of our "worth". But I am telling you tonight, that when we pass out of this life and out of these bodies, all the papers in the the world will not matter one bit. Not one bit. All that will matter is that Jesus Christ recognizes us. We won't have the chance to wait in a red chair, have our papers inspected, have our physical bodies verified, or prove why we are worthy to enter. All that will matter is that Jesus Christ recognizes us.

Does Jesus recognize you? Have you accepted His gift of eternal salvation on the cross? If not, now is your chance. It is never too late. Now is your chance to get your permanent license with His picture on it. Nothing will be able to stop you then. Please contact me if I can help.

Enjoy your flight.

God's bird-eye view

2010-08-12T22:05:00.000-05:00

If you are like me, you have probably heard since you were a child that God is everywhere all the time, including in your heart and the heart of every other person who has accepted Him. We know from scripture that God sees all, knows all, loves all, created all, and that His ways are higher than our ways. He is before, behind, inside and outside, the beginning and the end, and in Him all things hold together. It is so encouraging and comforting to believe that truth and to trust that truth, but the truth is that there are times my infinitesimal brain just cannot truly conceive of the magnitude of that of that truth. Everywhere, all the time? All knowing, all powerful, all loving, all the time??

Whoa.

When I packed my bags for She Speaks two weeks ago and drove my car to the airport, my brain was all over God and what He was doing. I was swimming, basking, dare I say, bathing in a nearly constant state of prayer about the weekend. What is He going to do with me this weekend? What is His plan for me? What might He reveal to me? How amazingly may He show Himself to me? Me, me, ME.

God likes a girl in constant prayer. God prefers a girl who reflects more on Him than on herself. I'm just saying.

Anyway, it was in this near-constant state of prayer that I was gazing out the airplane window on our approach to Cincinnati (what else did I have to do when my neighbor in the next seat had buried her face in a book from the moment she sat down and never took it out) when an amazing thing happened. I looked at a house and thought God knows who is crying in there. I looked at a car and thought, God knows who is singing their heart out to the radio in there. I saw a delivery truck and thought God knows who is worrying about money in there. At another house, God knows who is fighting. At a building, God knows who is texting. At another house, God knows who is embracing, at another, God knows who overslept, at another, God knows...at another, God knows...at another, God knows.

God KNOWS.

As I sat there stunned, in that window sear over Cincinnati, I have never had a clearer understanding of the omnipotence and omnipresence of God, and all I could do was freeze with my mouth gaping, my prayers silenced, and tears in my eyes, basking in the truth that He knows. He knows. He sees it all. I, in my minuscule corner of the world, can see only what is in front of me. Even from a plane I can only see what my human and puny vision can take in. But God, well, He sees it all. Nothing escapes His watchful eye, nothing escapes His unfathominable mind, and nothing escapes His bottomless well of love. He knows.

A truth I've known since childhood was made more real to me that day than it has ever been before. I love it when God takes a moment of human self-absorption and sweeps in with a heaping dose of divine revelation, don't you? If for no other reason, my trip was worth it. And to Him be all the glory.

Reconstructed

2010-08-12T00:10:00.000-05:00

I am nobody. Have you ever thought that?? I am nobody. Her hair is prettier than mine. His car is nicer than mine. She is a better singer/writer/cook/Mom (insert anything) than I am. He is stronger and better with tools than I am. I must be nobody.

I just read a blog post that made me feel that way. A lovely gal with a heart for God writes a blog that humbles me, and try though I may, every time I read her posts I feel less than great about myself. Why is that?? In this instance, I know full well that I am not the author of a completely shabby blog; in fact, I know many of you really like this blog, and while I may not yet have the following that she does, I know am doing what I believe God wants me to do. I know that full well. In my head...I know it. Soooooo, why, oh why, is that prowling lion gaining any access to me? Why, oh why, must he torment me with my full permission?

Arrgh.

This feels like a true confessions night, so here goes. One of my biggest downfalls, for my entire life long, is that I habitually compare myself to others. I have been doing it since I can remember. I measure myself against others, no matter who they may be, and I inevitably end up with a perception of my self-worth that based on that comparison. Every so often, I come out on top. Sometimes it is a wash. Most of the time, however, I lose. It is a habit ingrained in me, and try though I may, I have yet to shake it. It hate it that I do it, but day in and day out, I am a comparer. There, I said it.

Aaaaaaaahhhh.

Have you ever had an area of your life that you know God is forcing you to face? An area that God is not too pleased with, one that He wants you to correct or surrender to Him, one that fails to glorify Him? Have you ever been keenly aware that a pleasure, or a habit, or quality of your personality, or a worry, or heartache, or a hurt, is unexpectedly and repeatedly thrust in front of you eyes? Like God is holding your face in front of a mirror and making sure you look really long at it so that you will notice with Him that which He wants you to notice? Little reminders will come your way through comments from others, songs on the radio, sermons in church, scriptures you stumble upon, conversations with relatives, or plain old-fashioned "conviction in your spirit". Little reminders will blare in front of your mind's eye, reminders that force you to face who you really are and what you are really made of. It can be an annoying phenomenon to experience, to say the least, or a tortuous affair, depending on how hard God is working on your, ahem, shortcoming.

Years and years ago, the first time I recall experiencing this sort of "reconstruction", it was with regard to my sexual sin...and we got that one out of the way, PRAISE HIM. The next one I recall was alcohol consumption....and I have not been drunk in 7 1/2 years, nor shall I be again. Reconstructed. After He had me straight and self-controlled, God took issue with my white lies, also known as stretching the truth. I was never good at calculated, big, sordid lies, just the "little" ones that made me look better or got me out of an embarrassment. However, God does not like those any more than the "big" ones, and He made sure I knew it. Reconstructed. After lying it was self-righteousness. Apparently, the clean, straight, honest me thought that she had God all figured out, and that no one else did. HAH! God does not like self-righteousness. Reconstructed.

And now we are to present day, the summer of 2010. I am now confidently convinced that I our Lord is answering my earnest prayers for wisdom, by giving me some mega-dosing of humility, while at the same time forcing me to examine my past for the reasons I am a habitual comparer. He wants me to stop comparing myself to others and and undergo a humbling process, at the same time. In His power and might, God knows that I am, at every given moment of every day of my life, a wild blend of arrogance and complete insecurity. And He is now forcing me to face them both, at the same time. Their roots, their strongholds, their presence in my daily life...under scrutiny and in front of my face. In my mirror. At the same time. He got started with the humility piece some time ago, brought it to a full boil this summer, and has now thrown in the comparing piece. It is a strange and painful combination.

Ouch.

However, He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it, and I know that nothing I walk through with Him will go unwasted. As painful as the humblings are, as torn apart as I may feel when I have to face past hurts, and as broken as I may feel while my arrogance is stripped and my insecurities are patched, God will never leave me nor forsake me, and nothing will be able to separate me from His love. On the backside of this process, I will emerge from the refiner's fire reconstructed yet again, bearing just a little more of His reflection on my face, and made just a little more useful for His kingdom. The one who has promised is faithful, and He will do it!

To Him be all the glory.

When I sat down to blog tonight, I fully intended on talking about "God's bird-eye view". I had it all thought out. And now here we are instead, at the end of "true confessions with Shelly". He is a tricky one, that Lord of ours. I pray someone out there was reaffirmed by my honesty, because I sure had not intended on sharing it, but I have to believe that God wanted me to. May He bless you all.

Perhaps I'm not that nutty after all!

2010-08-08T19:21:00.000-05:00

Hello! Long time, no type! I have missed you, my dear blog, but--and please take no offense to this--I have found that my conscious decision to make the most of the last days of summer has been more than just a tad bit liberating. You see, I typically have "bloggy" thoughts nearly all day long...thoughts I want to share, thoughts that seem like I should be writing them down, thoughts of how to make the mundane of life interesting enough to put in a blog post...you name it, if it is a thought, it frequently draws me to blog-thinking. But, having just come home from the most fabulous of weekends at She Speaks 2010 in North Carolina, courtesy of the amazing women at Proverbs 31 Ministries, I have honestly felt pulled away from the blog. That's new and different! (And rather freeing, I may add!) It's as if despite the fact that God delivered four blog post ideas to me during the days of the conference, once I got home, He released me from the weight of obligation to immediately post them.

Thank you, Lord, my brain needed the rest.

And so, this past week, since having returned exactly 7 days and 1 hour ago from a truly incredible weekend, I have let the rest of life consume me. I have worked on the household budget, paid the bills, and balanced the checkbook. I have prayed my sister through a fresh heartache of saying goodbye to her husband as he deploys for his second tour in Afghanistan. I have played on facebook, and added new and dear sisters-in-Christ to my facebook friends. I have been humbled by the all-too-blunt comments of a loved one, and have had the joy of turning to God yet again for His assurance and comfort. (I am honestly learning to trust and appreciate a good humbling, no matter how painful in the moment. I mean that.) I have been assisted in picking over 1000 ears of corn (yes, I meant to type 1,000), and the collective of the Story women and men have packed over 110 quarts of corn into the freezers for winter. (But we are only 60% done, according to the Head Nut.) I have loved on my children who start school in just 10 days. I have mopped my kitchen for the first time in over a month. (I had to, after all that corn.) I have helped the kiddos get their fair projects ready. I have taken five children back-to-school shopping. All five. At once. I have enjoyed a fantabulous "taco night" with two of the finest Girlfriends (and our collective brood) that anyone could ask for. I have been poolside with the kiddos four days in a row. And I have praised God for my life.

The way I see it, I have once chance to finish this summer well. I have one chance to throw off the sel -imposed stress and pressure of having so many projects, and make sure my children know that they are my number one. I have one chance to make sure the corn gets picked at the peak of ripeness...but even that is much less important than making sure my baby girl is ready for kindergarten, and her big brothers are ready for the adjustment of going back to school. And I have once chance to praise my God right now, in this moment, for what He is doing right now in this moment. I have one chance to run with perseverance the race set out before me.

So, while it is frequently my heart's desire to type and talk and study and lead, God has reminded me that before any of those desires were burned daily into my brain, He made me a Mom. He planted me in my life, in this family of corn-loving misfits, and if I am to do anything else well, I must be doing that well.

However, before I go, can I share with you one of the most beautiful things I learned at She Speaks?? I learned that I am not that nutty after all! I am not that different! I am may be a Nut, but I am not completely nuts! Woo-hoo! Who knew?? You see, I spent an incredible three-day weekend with over 600 other women, all whom either already have, or who currently desire to, add one more thing to their life. Women with husbands and children and dirty floors and busy lives, who also desire to type and talk and teach and lead, just like me. Women with blogs and four kids. Women with book proposals and seven kids. Women with brand new novels and six kids. Women with speaking ministries and five kids. Women with broken pasts and bright futures. Women who, despite a full plate at home, cannot ignore the burning passions they believe are placed in them by God to do more, teach more, speak more, and add more to their lives. It was one of the most liberating and invigorating feelings I have had in a long time, to realize that I am not that different.

I learned up close and personal that if God is going to use me, all the evidence to the contrary all around me is really no excuse. If God has truly placed a desire or passion or talent in me to do something for His kingdom, He will make sure it gets done. Sure, I still have to wait for His time and His way, but He will make certain that His will--whatever that may be--is accomplished in and through me, despite whatever earthly "obstacles" may lie in my path. I love the expression, "God does not call the equipped, He equips the called". If He wants to use me, He will equip me. No matter how many kids I have, no matter how empty the bank accounts get, no matter how little help I have at home sometimes, no matter how busy the enemy strives to make me, God has placed desires and passions and (dare I say it?) talents in me, and He will use them. In His time, in His way, and for His glory. I am stunned. And perhaps I am really not that nutty after all.

The purse

2010-07-30T20:23:00.000-05:00

This post is publishing while I am out of town. (I love technology!) It is one of the talks I am presenting at She Speaks over the weekend. I needed to write a three-minute testimony talk. This is what I came up with...

Once upon a time, a beautiful girl who lived on a budget and usually spent money on her children first, went shopping for a new purse, because the dingy, ravelin-infested excuse for handbag that hung from her shoulder simply would not suffice any more. Four years was long enough. "Practical, sensible, and durable" were her requirements, although the desires of her heart were "cute, pretty, and fun". Wondering if those qualities could possibly meet and mingle within her price range, she found the purse department at the local JC Penney department store and was elated to see the beloved Red Dot Clearance tags in full display. With dogged determination, the beautiful girl began to scour the racks for her perfect purse. And find it she did. It was the most wonderful blend of pretty and practical!

Her excitement was soon railroaded by reality, however, as she realized that her pretty and practical purse was not boasting red a dot, and was nearly full price. So, being the good girl that she is, she found another one. Boring and practical, yet adorned with a red dot, it seemed to be the purse of her fate, much to her disappointment.

Feeling discouraged but not dissuaded, the girl clutched the two contrasting purses and decided to pray. Right there, in the middle of JC Penney’s, she asked the Lord which purse should be hers. Within moments, two of her shopping mates passed by and instantly began to praise the pretty purse hanging from the girl’s shoulder, while turning up their noses and the boring bad dangling from her other hand. “It’s so you!” they squealed. Feeling bolstered and yet keenly aware of the guilt rising in her spirit for challenging the budget, the girl took a deep breath, decided on the pretty purse, and headed to the checkout counter.

“Can I interest you in a JC Penney credit card?” No, thank you.
“You can take 10% off that way…” Ooh , the temptation was almost too much to bear. No, thank you, we gave up using credit.
“Well, you could just get the discount now and pay it all off in a month…” No, sir, I have to stick to our rules. No credit.
“OK, well do you at least have a coupon?” {sigh} No, I am just shopping the sales.
“I see.” The cashier finally knew he was fighting a losing battle with the girl. However, with lightning-fast reflexes, a card was waved in front of the scanner and the register spewed out a total.
“There. I just gave you $15 off. Have a nice day.”

With her mouth gaping in disbelief, the girl walked away clutching her brand new, heart’s desire, pretty and practical purse. The best of both worlds had become her reality, for the price of a red dot bag. Praise the Lord.

Dear friends, you may have guessed, that girl is me and I absolutely love my new purse. I am typing here today to declare to you that our God loves us enough to give us the desires of our hearts. Nothing is going unnoticed by Him, and when we truly commit our ways, our choices, and our decisions to Him, He will honor that. Big time. Not that He has always given me exactly what I want, praise Him, He has not, but the truth remains that we worship the God of the details. We worship a God so big, so loving, so capable, and so true, that even purses and budgets are under His control.

How much more can I trust Him with in my life, if He responded so greatly over just a purse?

Psalm 103: 1-5…Praise the Lord, O my soul, all my inmost being, praise His holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

And I thought it was just my purse making me feel younger!

One for the ladies

2010-07-27T23:18:00.000-05:00

It's nearly here!! The conference I have been daydreaming about and wondering if I should to to for over a year, is finally nearly here. I leave in two days. Crazy. And the last two weeks have been all about, you guessed it, getting ready. Writing talks, shopping for clothes, deciding on which luggage to use, praying (yea, I know that should have been listed first), making lists, planning for the childcare and provisions in my absence, etc and yadda yadda, has been my overriding focus for days and days. But by far the aspect of preparation that has taken the most of my thought life lately is the aspect of appearance. We, as conference attendees, have been lovingly guided in the area of appearance, dress, shoes, and the like. I doubt that I am alone in "wigging out" over it just a little bit. As part of my experience at She Speaks, I was instructed to compose a five-minute "teaching talk". This is a modified version of that talk. If you are going to be in my evaluation group at the conference, stop reading now. You'll be hearing this live and in person on Saturday night! Everyone else, read on...

For example, getting back to my appearance, I’ve got a box of hair color that is going unused before this conference. Don’t get me wrong, I love to color my hair, but I decided that perhaps the completely natural hair color was a better compliment to my summer tan. I will, however, before packing my bag and getting on the plane, make certain that my eyebrows are under control, that I have picked just the right bra, that the razor has a sharp blade, that my makeup is new enough to wear well in fluorescent light, and that I have not forgotten my straightening iron and hairspray. Just to name a few beauty rituals to which I adhere. I’m no beauty queen, but I do like to look as good as I can.

And yet, somehow, when I look in the mirror, I often do not like the reflection looking back at me. I see the imprints of time on my face, I see stray eyebrow hairs that simply have no place, I see crooked teeth, and I see acne. And don’t even get me started on the post- 6 babies and 4 c-sections body issues I have going on below my neckline. That’s a whole ‘nother story all together. The point is, when I look in the mirror, I see everything I believe is wrong with my appearance, and I wonder if God was in His right mind when he created Shelly Story.

And I don’t think I am alone. I don’t believe that I am the only woman who still remembers getting passed over for the cute cheerleader at the junior high dance. I don’t think I am the only woman who secretly compares herself to the cover models of every magazine in the checkout lane, then walks away feeling like she looks like a dog, and immediately dives into the ice cream. I don’t believe I am the only woman influenced by her perception of earthly beauty, who wants to look as good as she believes everyone else does, but who never will.

It’s all wrong, but we still do it. We are modern, 21st century American women, living in a society that puts a stamp of worth on our physical appearance, and we compare, cream, wax, tweeze, suck it in, pull on our faces in the mirror, and doubt our beauty. And in doubting our beauty, we doubt our worth.

We’ve all heard the quote “God don’t make no junk!” but I like to say it a little differently to my children. I nearly daily remind them that God made you the way He wants you. And I am saying it to you right now. He made you the way He wants you. There are no accidents in God’s creation. There are no imperfections in His design. Oh, sure, He may have given us all our fair share of human imperfections, but I believe that is only because without them, we would not need Him. We cannot follow and reflect God’s son if we are not humble enough to need Him. Our imperfections are perfect gifts, and are part of a perfect design.

Psalm 139 verses 13-16 are verses we have all heard before, but I’d ask you to read with fresh eyes the message of self-worth contained within…For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mothers’ womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

My dear sisters, God knows you. He watched your creation. He tended to your design. He chose your eye color, your height, your complexion, your bra size, and your waistline. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. And so am I. Jesus Himself tells us in Luke 12 verse 7 that, Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

No matter what we look like, no matter how we dress, no matter how we think we size up against the gal next to us, our worth is precious to God. We are His design, created in His image and under His watchful eye, and nothing can take that away from us. Trust Him with that truth today. Look into the mirror and examine afresh the handiwork of God. Recognize yourself as His creation, uniquely made, perfectly imperfect, and loved by Him. God made you the way He wants you. To Him be all the glory.

Dear Father, we know that we are indeed fearfully and wonderfully made, and we know that there are no imperfections in your design. Thank you for loving us so much to attend to our creation. Help us to see our worth in Your sight, not the sight of our times. May we rest in your truths today. Amen

Going public and asking for prayers

2010-07-22T21:52:00.000-05:00

NO I AM NOT PREGNANT.

Every time I say something like "going public" or "asking for prayers", or even both in the same sentence, inevitably someone comes back at me with a "you're not pregnant are you?!" No, I am not. Not since June 15, 2007 have I been pregnant, and God willing, never again will I be pregnant. I love what I have and I am trulytrulytruly blessed far beyond worth when it comes to the reproductive side of life, but I don't think I could handle any more blessing. (No, Lord, that is not an invitation to prove me wrong. I know I never ever dreamed that I could handle all that I do currently handle, but I don't need another lesson here. {smiling})

Anyway, now that we have that straight, I would like to share with you all what I will be doing one week from now, and ask you to pray for me. I will be attending She Speaks, a conference for women who are or who desire to be equipped for speaking, writing, or women's ministry! It is put on by Proverbs 31 Ministries in North Carolina. I am super pumped.

My desire to attend something like this began over seven years ago, although I did not actually know this conference even existed until 18 months ago. In November of 2002, I attended a weekend seminar on the Holy Spirit and had a physical experience with Him. Praise God I was willing to go to that seminar, that He met me where I was, and that while I was there at that seminar He graciously catapulted me light years ahead in my weak and self-effort-driven faith walk. Praise Him praise Him praise Him. I have not and never will be the same again!

Anyway, about 4 months after my physical encounter with the Holy Spirit, Dan and I attended Family Life's "Weekend to Remember" marriage seminar, and while I was there, I kid you not, I envisioned myself up on stage speaking. Yes, in front of hundreds--if not thousands--of people, I could picture myself speaking! Weird. (To really hear that the way I meant it, you would see "weird" typed "weeeeeeeeeeeird")

Little things like started happening from them on out. I'd be in church, and catch myself composing a sermon. (A lot of sermons.) I joined Bible studies and had things to say. (Good things, not just dead-air fillers; things that were good enough that wise people I respected would say to me, "you should write that down".) I started reading a particular blog with regularity, and found myself blogging in my head while I did dishes. (So I started a blog, but did not trust myself enough, and let it stay dormant for almost 2 years.)

Over and over and over again, for the past 7+ years, I have envisioned myself speaking or writing in some capacity, no matter the venue. Again, I say, weeeeeeeeeeeird.

What changed all of it for me from "weird" to "OK I'll try it" occurred in September 2008 at Great Plains Presbyterian Pilgrimage. Dan and I had attended as guests on the Pilgrimage weekend in March of that year, and this was my first time to serve as Team for the Pilgrimage weekend. And on this, my very first time on the Team, the leader asked me to give one of the talks. Unbeknownst to her, this was the moment I had been waiting for! I embraced the call, I prayed, I sweated and poured over composing a talk, I practiced, prayed, and practiced some more, and then the time came for me to give it.......and the Lord knocked it out of the park. I mean that to say that any ounce of nervousness I might have felt, any lack of confidence in myself, any fear that my talk sucked, any negative anything, was replaced by excitement, empowerment, fun, and the sense in my spirit that this had to be just the beginning. I had the time of my life standing in the podium and I was sad when it was over! God. is. good.

But wait--there's more! Also, on that same weekend, a dear friend, a man whom my husband and I both greatly respect, a man so full of wisdom one cannot help but admire him, came to me and said that the Lord had been speaking to him about me, and that I "would be in ministry to women". Me. The topic of conversation between the Lord and my friend. Me, the 6-kid Mom. Me. Useful to God for other women. Me.

Fast forward nearly two years, and that one talk became a spring-board for taking the Lay Speaking classes offered through my denomination, and I am now doing pulpit supply in our local area. I have preached in 5 different parishes, at the invitation of their pastors, a total of seven times, and will do so again this Sunday. (I should probably be writing that sermon!) In addition to the pulpit setting, I have spoken at an additional three Pilgrimage weekends, and have been the MC for a women's one day retreat hosted by Wausa Women's Ministry. Lastly, I have resurrected the blog and have found extreme pleasure in posting to it, despite some very late hours typing into the night.

Through all of this, 18 months ago, I heard of She Speaks. I began to drool. I began to pray. I left it to God, and the details (aka, money) did not magically appear, so last year I did not go. I was totally OK with that. Then last January, I again saw that She Speaks was gearing up for their 2010 conference. I began to drool. I began to pray. I left it to God, and the details (aka, money) magically appeared. Miraculously appeared. (Did I mention lately that God is good?? Well, He is. Don't you ever forget that.) Holding the money in my hand, I prayed some more, I asked Dan for his blessing and my oldest friend for her opinion. The rest is history.

I AM GOING TO THE SHE SPEAKS CONFERENCE!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can honestly say that I have no idea where--if anywhere at all--I hope this will take me. I am not sure why I am feeling compelled to go. I am not sure why God gave us money just when I needed it to register for the conference and again just when I needed to get a plane ticket. I am not sure why my husband is so excited to see his wife (the mother of his six high-energy children) get on a plane and follow a dream. I am not sure what that dream is. All I can be sure of is that I have to go and see. I have to force myself to think outside the box a little bit (ok, a LOT) and see if God is trying to use me for something else besides just motherhood and local church duties. Those are so very wonderful, and if God merely wants to better equip me for those tasks, then I will praise Him for it. But, I have to go and see why my brain never rests, why I dream of traveling and speaking, and my childhood fantasy of writing has been resurrected.

My request, if you have read to the end of this very long post, is that you would say a prayer for me. The last thing I want to do is chase after wind against God's plan for me. Please pray that I feel Him strongly while I am there, and that He will give me a conviction in my spirit that this is either totally right or totally wrong. Thank you sooo much.

I leave Thursday the 29th and return Sunday the 1st. Posting may get a little scarce for the next week or two. I still have to finish my two talks for the conference and write that sermon. But it has been fun being here tonight!!

Shelly Story 102: Motherhood Begins

2010-07-20T00:01:00.000-05:00

Back in May I posted Shelly Story 101 with the promise that one day soon you would get the current events. Here is some of it. If you want to get the whole perspective, go back and read the first post again. Or not. Whatever you want is cool. I am not sure how on earth to tell all the stories of my married years, the years that have most made me who I am in the Lord, and do them justice, but since God is God, and He usually gets His way with me, I am trusting that whatever He wants told shall be told.

To give the recap, I was born in Ohio, moved to Denver at age four, lived through a divorce, was blessed with a new Mom and instant sibs, grew into a quirky adolescent who loved youth group more than anything in her life, moved to Omaha, survived the rest of high school without that youth group, went to college at U of N, made a lot of mistakes, made a best friend for life, met the love of my life, graduated, got married, and moved to a farm. Phew! 23 years, done.

After getting married, I choked on a huge, heaping helping of culture shock, but my loving hubby never left my side. (Our magnificent Lord never did either, but I was not really paying Him much attention yet at that time.) I've never regretted marrying Dan, but let's just say, adjusting to the rural life was not the easiest thing I have ever done. I missed fast food, the smell of asphalt, the sounds of traffic, familiar radio stations, familiar faces, nice restaurants...pretty much all that I had ever known had "urban" stamped upon it, and my new digs were so very much the total opposite. I was not used to cooking every single meal, the smell of dirt and cow poop, the sound of cattle and hogs and bugs, new radio stations, the curious (but kind, nevetheless) gazes of everyone wondering who the new girl in town was, small-town cafes...and having no one but a farmer with a pliers holster on his belt for companionship. It was all very strange for me at first.

I found a job at a daycare 25 miles away and put my Early Childhood Ed degree to some use, although, admittedly, not as much use as I could have with a Bachelor's degree. But, it was something to do, it afforded me adult companionship, and I made some money. Some. A tiny bit. And I got to hug babies all day. Next, although I had not regularly attended church since high school, and Dan even less, we found a nice church home in town and committed to attending every week, cause, you know, that is what married folks do. It was ultra-comforting to return to the familiar routine of Sunday worship, and I quickly found the desire to get involved. I joined the choir and started helping with VBS. I then branched into civic volunteerism as well, and joined Community Club (kinda like a Chamber) and enrolled in an EMT class to be a volunteer EMT on our volunteer Fire Department. Job, church, volunteerism. Within six months of graduating college and becoming a farmer's wife, I was all growed up!

Somewhere in there, I started to realize how very much I missed a personal relationship with Christ, and yearned to know Him better. Too bad I was still so comfortable with being comfortable. I needed some wake-up calls.

Fast forward a couple of years, and we had started on the emotional roller coaster of infertility, in the attempts to overpower my defective ovaries and have a baby. (This would be a VERY long post if I give you every detail, so I won't. I'll try to nutshell it for you, and maybe I'll post on it again another time.) I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and needed injections in the thigh to ovulate. Since infertility is not an exact science, my ovaries went from barren to bursting quite quickly, and we conceived triplets on our second attempt. I'll never, ever forget the moment in the ultrasound room when that news came down. Ho.leeee.cats.

I had the privilege of carrying those three baby boys for 25 weeks, but then it was over. They came into the world rather suddenly, all weighing under two pounds, and today our two survivors are 12 years old. Joshua, our precious "Baby B", is the lucky Angel of our family, and we really look forward to meeting him someday. Tyler and Ben spent three and four months, respectively, in the NICU before being healthy enough to come home, and when when they finally did so, it was not without a little equipment. Both boys had apnea monitors, and Ben also had oxygen and a feeding tube. Praise the Lord, He spared both their intellects and physical function, but the next few years were not without a constant barrage of doctor's appointments, medical procedures, helmet therapies, surgeries, worries, anxieties, questions, stress, grief, rude stares, late nights, tube feedings, in-home therapies, and exhaustion.

It was all so totally worth it.

Through the triplets, the funeral, the NICU, the grief, the self-blame, the uncertainty, and the stress, I learned faster than I ever would have any other way to leave it all for God to carry. For example, I'll never forget being asked, as I lay flat on my back in the hospital on bed pan duty with a ruptured membrane, to decide if we should deliver only Baby A, whose membrane had ruptured, or do a C-section and take all three babies. In the human experience, one does not often have to make a literal life-and-death decision like that. Potentially sacrifice one child to buy the other two more womb time, or rip them all out of their comfy womb to fight the real world?? Choose one. Without our faith, no matter how weak by comparison to today it may have been, I have literally no idea how we could have decided that and ever lived with our decision. I mean, really, do you potentially martyr one baby or put all three in harm's way? I am not God. I could not play God. It took no more than a short time for Dan and I to decide, together, that those boys were conceived on the same day, and they should be born on the same day. It was totally and absolutely God's decision who would live or die, not ours. (If anyone reading this has ever experienced something similar and decided on an interval delivery, pleasepleaseplease know that I am not casting stones at you. I knew--and God knew--that I, Shelly Story, needed to leave it to Him so I could live with myself. That was the right decision for us, not anyone else.) As it turned out, we did lose one baby as a result of our decision, but we did not lose Baby A. And as badly as it all hurt, we know that we left the decision to God, He called home whom He meant to call home, and no one else, and I will always take comfort in that.

My friends, no matter how distant we get from God, no matter how far we run, no matter how many poor choices we make, no matter what we do...God does not lose anyone who belongs to Him and He never forgets His promises. I committed my life to Him in Jr. High...then I wandered in a desert of sin and a drought of worship for years...but as soon as the instant I realized something was missing, He began to work on me and in my life. He allowed trial and heartache, just to prove that He was truly in control. He comforted me and rallied an entire church family around us during the hardest thing I had ever faced. He stripped me to nothingness so that I would cling to Him. I had failed him 1000 times over, for most of a decade, and yet He stood tall as my Rock just when I needed Him most.

Our Lord is stunning. Don't you ever forget that.

I have so much more to say to effectively recap 15 years of marriage, but I am realizing as I compose this tonight that to condense it all into one post would be to completely diminish what and how God has worked in our lives. To breeze through car accidents, funerals, miscarriage, defeats, victories, births, hopes, dreams, and joys would be so "surface". And God does not work on the surface. He is a deep well of sustenance who has proven that apart from Him we are nothing. So, my dear readers, I shall stop here. In the timeline of my life, I have become a Mom the hard way, and 12 years later, I can honestly say, "to Him be the glory".

The Head Nut

2010-07-17T19:19:00.000-05:00

Allow me to introduce you to the man of my life. The love of my life. The guy who melts me, sustains me, encourages me, uplifts me, supports me, and make me laugh more than any other soul on this earth. Dan Story. {sigh} I love that name.

If you will archive back to this post, you'll get a glimpse of how we fell in love. It's a typical story of someone seeing the very best in another person, a story of looking beyond physical shortcomings and character flaws to the untapped source of unconditional love that lies inside. It's a story of two misfits who are a perfect fit. I praise God for that story, for my Story.

Dan is a farmer/rancher by day and a machinist by night. He works harder, or shall I say, sleeps less, than any person I know. I worry about that nearly daily, but have trained myself to leave it up to God. He is extremely committed to keeping me at home to mother our six children, and so I do, while he does more than a lion's share of work to make that possible. No words can express my gratitude for that quality in him.

Standing 6'4", with the physical strength to make my knees weak, Dan is incredibly witty, funny, and intelligent, yet he remains humble. His integrity and honor run deep. He does not need the approval of other people to feel important, and has never concerned himself much with what other people think of him. He is independent and a non-conformist to the core, yet he has a heart for God and desires to be used by God for God's people. It is a wonderful, quirky blend that I often envy.

Dan is the perfect father for our six children, and although he is not always perfect, I do believe with all of my heart that he is perfect for us. He loves very deeply and very loyally. And, as any Daddy of two little girls, he has somehow managed to get that hulking frame of his around their little fingers. Having once upon a time been able to make my sister laugh so hard she would cry, I used to think I was pretty funny. Next to Dan, I am notsomuch the funniest person around this house. He cracks me up daily, and knows it, so that "muscle" of his gets a lot of exercise. (Speaking of muscles, after 17 years his forearms and biceps still float my boat!) I could go on and on about all the wonderful aspects of Dan that cause me to love him more and more each passing year, but he's going to kill me already for what I have said. Instead, I'll give you a brief glimpse of what I am talking about...

There is nothing like a "Daddy nap" on a Sunday afternoon.

Usually sporting a dirty tee shirt, dirty Levi's, a grease rag in his back pocket, pliers on his belt, and well-worn cowboy boots, when THIS Dan shows up I can hardly contain myself. Hubba hubba.

So, you know by now that I call this blog His Nut Speaking. What you don't know is that I actually started it 18 months ago or so, but then lacked total direction and only posted to it 3 times before letting it sit dormant. What I had done, however, was to give this blog a different name in the beginning. I used to call it "Head Nut Speaking", because as you will see from my profile, we live at Story's Nut House. (Growing up, that was my Dad's favorite way to answer the phone, proclaiming himself as the Head of our Nut House. I always loved that about him, and sorta adopted the habit, I guess you would say.) Because of my background in early childhood ed, the lion's share of child rearing has always fallen to me, including discipline, and because Dan had something other than proper discipline modeled for him while growing up, we've both been OK with that. For many many years, "ask Mommy" was a common phrase in this house. Another reason that "Head Nut" was a natural fit for me. However, as is the case when we go deeper and deeper into relationship with Christ, I have since been convicted about calling myself the "Head", even merely in jest.

I am not the Head Nut.

I recently read a book called Created To Be His Help Meet by Debi Pearl, and I am not afraid to admit I have a deep love-hate relationship with the book and its author. I love what she has to say. I hate how she said it. I love the Biblical truths contained inside its pages. I hate being convicted. I love the challenge to this post-feminist-era gal to conform to a Biblical standard as to my role as wife. I hate that I often fail so miserably. I love it that God designed for all men to lead. I hate it that society today has stripped them of that honor and ability. I love letting Dan lead. I hate myself for getting in the way sometimes.

I am going to whole-heartedly recommend this book to anyone who wants to check herself against Biblical truth, and see just how well she is doing. However, it is not for the faint of heart, or the woman who is unteachable. I am also going to caution you to focus on the message behind the author, and do not focus on how she is saying it. Allow the Holy Spirit to convict you, not Debi Pearl. Don't stop reading just because of her. Keep reading because of God and His design.

Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which He is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. Ephesians 5:22-24

Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. Colossians 3:18

Now, I want you to realize that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God. 1 Corinthians 11:3

It is a tough call for us gals these days, even counter-cultural, to get out of the way and let our men truly be MEN. I proclaim this truth not because I am doing so well at it, but because God is not finished with me yet, and He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it. I started posting tonight to merely brag up my hubby and flash some pics of him. But, as is the case with every post, I prayed first. And this is where we ended up. Hmmmmm. I think I may have been falling short lately, and needed the reminder. Praise the Lord.

I should have but I didn't...

2010-07-13T00:10:00.001-05:00

I should have turned off the TV this morning and made all the kids help me unpack from camping. Instead, I let them lay around in their jammies eating dry cereal from the boxes, watching TV until 11:30am. Camping recovery is hard, you know.

I should have called my little sister on her birthday, but I didn't. Instead, I texted with another sister who was having a stress moment. I have something new on my prayer list now.

I should have fixed lunch for my kids. Instead, I continued teaching the 12-year-olds to make grilled cheese sandwiches. They had to use the turner and flip the sandwiches themselves this time.

I should have cooked a fabulous supper, but I didn't. Instead, we took the kids out to the Italian bufet. Mmmmmmm.

I should have ignored the last cinnamon roll off my son's abandoned plate at the buffet, but I didn't. Instead, I found it highly delicious.

I should have folded laundry tonight, but I didn't. Instead, I talked about bucket calves with the neighbor who stopped by.

I should have walked away from Facebook sooner, but I didn't. Instead, my kids had a minor brawl and a tooth was knocked out. A baby tooth, praise the Lord, and a loose one at that, but I still had to put on my Mommy mad and send kids to bed.

I should have typed a new blog post all about campfire smoke, but I didn't. Instead, my blog got a makeover.

I should have but I didn't. Shoulda coulda woulda. What a boring day this would have been if I had.

For we know in all things the Lord works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28

Heading out for a camp out!

2010-07-07T23:26:00.000-05:00

Full of excitement and packed to the gills,
tomorrow's the day we shall head for the hills.
In a ramshackle Bucket and the brown toaster van
we'll drive over to Ponca just as fast as we can.
The kids will be howling, the sweat will be dripping,
the dogs will be grilling, the skeets will be sipping.
We'll douse in the bug spray and spread out the tent,
and say, "Now this is how summer is meant to be spent!"

And as fireflies dance and flames fill the sky,
I am sure all at once I shall let out a sigh.
No vacuum, no laundry, no mopping or drying,
no computer, no email, no whining or crying.
(OK, that's a lie, we all know they will cry,
but with the trees as our canopy, I'm sure I will try
to keep my heart calm and, likewise, keep theirs,
as I gently remind them that everyone shares.)

With my Bible in my lap and the Spirit in the flames
I'll quietly watch while the kids play their games.
Not a care in the world except the next meal,
it's God's loving presence I am planning to feel.
He'll be found in the trees, in the breeze, in the dirt,
in the laughs, in the smore's, and the smoke on Dan's shirt.
He is ahead and behind, before and the end,
He is always and constant, and my very best friend.

What an honor to camp amidst God's creation
and to relish the wonderful gift of salvation.
I can think of no better way to pass summertime
than to give glory to God, Creator Divine!
No one is left out, the fun is for all,
family camping is designed for the big and the small!
So look not for posts until Sunday has past,
I am going camping, and it's gonna be a BLAST!

Who is this, really?

2010-07-05T22:50:00.000-05:00

I grew up in the 7o's and 80's, when musical technology and availability were notsoverymuch as advanced as they are today. We owned your typical aging record collection, some 8-tracks, a blossoming collection of cassette tapes, and (you guessed it) a tape deck recorder. To pass the time in the summers when we were somewhere around 7th or 8th grade, my sister and I would sit right next to the stereo speakers, trying for hours to catch the perfect song with that tape deck recorder. I can vividly remember holding my breath waiting for the first notes of a song, hoping and praying that the next song would be the right song, and that with our lightning-fast reflexes, we'd somehow, someway, get the button pushed without missing more than the first two notes. It was a thing of beauty: two blossoming teens in the fetal position with their faces pressed to a tape recorder next to a three-foot tall cloth-covered stereo speaker.

Today we'd just download it. (Sometimes I miss the old days when you had to actually work for your music.)

On days when the right song just did not come along, and the minutes turned into long frustrated hours, we would surrender the tape recorder and listen to albums instead. One of our favorites, believe it or not, was Bill Cosby. I used to (OK, I still do) love a good laugh with one of America's all-time great funny men, although these days I have to just listen to him on You Tube. Anyway, Bill has a routine about Noah on the album "Bill Cosby is a very funny fellow Right!", that once upon a time I had nearly memorized. In this routine, Bill gives an extremely humorous account of how old Noah may have reacted when he was first called by the Lord to do something as major as build an ark. As Noah is working away in his shop, the Lord pops into the silence and starts talking. Noah answers, albeit somewhat baffled. The dialogue goes back and forth in the humorous style of Bill Cosby's storytelling, until finally, in utter confusion, Noah calls out "Who is this, really?!"

Who is this, really?

Are you like me? Do you have a lot of voices in your head, giving you a bevy of thoughts all day long? Do some thoughts make perfect sense? Do some encourage you and bolster your confidence? Are some merely amusing? And are still others the negative kind of thoughts that weigh you down as soon as they race through your brain?

Who is this, really?

Are you wondering if God is talking to you? To whom are you listening? To whose voice in your head are you tuning your ears? What are you choosing to believe?

I have rarely had the Lord burst into my head or my silence or my presence with His booming and clear voice. I admit that there are many a day that I beg God to speak in a way that I would understand exactly what He is saying, and although I envy those with the gift for hearing Him so clearly, I am usually not one of them. I have other gifts, and I am grateful for them. But many times, I wish--I just wish--I could filter out exactly which voice is God's voice, and which voice is just noise to be ignored. He has never led me astray, He has never failed to guide me when I am really asking and willingly following, but He is also not using Instant Messenger or Skype to make sure I hear him loud and clear. He wants to make sure I am really, really trying. That I am earnestly seeking Him. That I am turning on the filter of my heart and asking, "Who is this, really?"

Even so, no matter how feeble my ears or how out of tune my own listening skills, God has promised his voice to me! I will hear his voice!

Isaiah 31:19-21...O people of Zion, who live in Jerusalem, you will weep no more. How gracious He will be when you cry for help! As soon as He hears, He will answer you. Although the Lord gives the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it."

John 10:2-5..."The man who enters by the gate is the shepherd of his sheep. The watchman opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognized a stranger's voice."

Oh, that is so comforting. No matter what lies the enemy is feeding me, no matter what society would have me believe, no matter what I try to convince myself, the Lord will talk to me. He is talking to me. I don't have to have a super power or a super gift, I don't need to hold my breath in the fetal position at the base of a three-foot tall cloth-covered speaker ...all I need is to be His little sheep, and I will recognize His voice.

Who is this, really?? It is the Lord. To Him be the praise and the glory!

Carpet Cleaning for Dummies

2010-06-29T00:12:00.000-05:00

The grunts and groans could be heard throughout the house as she wrestled the heavy vacuum down the stairs to her basement bedroom with the bright pink walls. After having just spent the better part of an hour picking up her room, all the while grumbling under her breath for having to clean her room on a Saturday, even though this Saturday was no different than every other single Saturday she had spent for the past few years of her life, she was now indeed ready to vacuum. She knew her mom would not stand for cutting corners. The room simply must be vacuumed, and there was no way to avoid it. As much as she had originally dreaded it, now that she had indeed lugged that awkward machine down the steps, it was time for the easy part. She plugged it in, she grabbed her tool, and she began to brush. Working furiously on her hands and knees while the vacuum whirred beside her in it's soldier-like pose, she used her hair brush to carefully and systematically brush that pink shag. Feeling that enough time had passed, and enough pink shag had been brushed to give the illusion of a freshly vacuumed floor, she turned off the vacuum, wound the cord, and cleaned the carpet fibers out of her hairbrush. In similar fashion to the previous wrestling match, she managed to get the machine back up the stairs and into its closet. Upon hearing the closet door shut, her mom called out, "Did you get your room finished?" Quick with her reply, the girl proudly answered, "Yep! I even vacuumed it!" And off she went about her day, knowing full well that brushed shag looks just like vacuumed shag.

Yes, I am she. Yes, that is a true story. Yes, I did that multiple times as a 12-ish-year-old child. (Sorry, Mom. I lied to you. I was only brushing my carpet.) Yes, I am a dork. I know.

I was reminded of that old, long-buried (thankfully temporary) bad habit of mine today, when talking to my mother-in-law about a radio sermon she had heard on the subject of parenting. I'm not even sure now why I brought it up and actually admitted to it while we were on the phone, but needless to say, she had a pretty good chuckle over it. And really, who wouldn't?? Seriously, even at age 12-ish, did I really think that was less work than just vacuuming? Did I really think that was a good idea? Could I have possibly been that lazy, arrogant, conniving, and stupid? Really??

Then it hit me...isn't that what we are all doing much of the time in this earthly lifetime? Aren't we pretty much just looking for the easy way out while doing more work than we need to?

Take women, for example...we color our hair, tweeze our eyebrows, get facials, paint our toenails, shop for the perfect necklace to match our new shirt, put on makeup, take diet pills, ask for the salad instead of cheesecake, curl our hair, straighten our hair...when the Lord really says to us, Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight. 1st Peter 3:3&4 Aren't the beauty treatments more work than just being quiet and gentle? Why must we do all that extra work?

Or take men, for example...they polish their cars, drive fast, drive loud, buy a new boat, trim their lawns, suck in their guts, puff up their chests, pass out cigars, practice their swings, check their stocks...when the Lord really says to them, Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody. 1st Thessalonians 4:11&12 Isn't keeping up with the Joneses more work that just leading a quiet life and working with your hands? Why must they do all that extra work?

Or take most of us, at some given point in life, for example...we doubt the Lord, we worry, we whine, we strive, we run from His will, we complain, we beg for our own way, we try to lead, we object, we ignore His voice, we grow impatient...when the Lord is really saying to us,
Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; Psalm 37:5-7a
Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. John 14:1
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13

Wouldn't it just be easier to trust Him in the first place? To stop lying, to stop competing, to stop cutting corners, to stop crouching down next to a whirring vacuum with a hair brush in our hands, and just do the simple task in front of us? God has called us to live victoriously, to live joyfully, to live simply, to live humbly. He has called us to honesty and realness. He has called us to do the hard job of following His commands and His will, without making it harder on ourselves by falling into the traps of laziness, arrogance, conniving, and stupidity. And the beautiful thing is that if we would simply simplify and trust Him, He promises peace, power, unfading beauty, and the respect of outsiders! (Just to name a few.)

I am no longer on the floors with a hairbrush in my hands. But all too often, I am still arrogantly cutting corners. I need to grab the vacuum and just do the job. Will you join me?

Confessions of a Drama Queen

2010-06-25T13:44:00.000-05:00

"FINE!! Then I am never coming out of the garage again!!" The emotional torrent rained from my daugter's mouth as she stood in gritted defiance at the doorway, watching me take her sister's favorite toy back into the house. "Then I'll never have any fun again!!" she declared as I calmly shut the door in her angry face and walked away. Dare I say she is a Drama Queen? There's just no pleasing her, was my thought as I chuckled at her futile attempt to control her own way, knowing all the while that I did indeed know what was best that day.

As the all-powerful Mom raising an emotionally dramatic daughter, I see the futility of it all. I see the big picture, I see the waste of energy, I see that the reality to which she is responding every time she acts that way is truly for her own good. I am teaching her something important every time I calmly walk away from her attempts to control what is best for her without her possibly understanding enough to even know what is truly best for her. I love her so much despite the tyrades and tears. Her failure to trust my wisdom and guidance do no diminish at all the deep love I feel for her. It makes perfect sense to me, even though it may make no sense to her at the time. And I have never failed to see her come back inside the house, or eat again, or drink again, or have fun again, despite whatever desperate threat she may have made. I have the privilege at smiling at what she thinks is hopeless and terminal. Her red-faced frustration. Her helpless feelings. Her frustration. The futility of it all. It is all so very five-year-old.

Or is it?

I spent from June 2001 through June 2008 either pregnant or breastfeeding. Literally, I was pregnant, gave birth, nursed, weaned, got pregnant, gave birth, nursed, got pregnant, weaned, gave birth, nursed, weaned, got pregnant, gave birth, had my tubes tied, nursed, and then finally weaned baby #6. I have spent a total of 43 months lactating for my babes over my lifetime as a mother, and even longer getting up in the night for a child. Even when the most recent babe had been weaned and was finally sleeping, I would be so pregant again that I could hardly buy a decent night's rest. Let's just say that I, like many Moms before and yet to come, I was tired. Dog tired.

"That's it! I'm never going to feel rested again! I'll never have a decent night's sleep again! I'm going to die exhausted!!" I may have said that once or twice....or a thousand times. I may have stood in gritted defiance spilling an emotional torrent in my bedroom doorway as the current dependant babe had awoken me again. Maybe I did that.

OK, I so totally did that. I am a Drama Queen too.

Now that my youngest is three years old and has been weaned for two years, she sleeps like a champ, and I sleep like a log. I would venture to guess that I am only wakened in the night an average of once month, maybe even less. Sure, my Mommy Radar is tuned so well that if my bedroom door even sweeps across the carpet my eyes pop open, but I have learned to otherwise sleep so soundly and peacefully that I oftentimes will sleep right through a thunderstorm. It is delicious.

And I now fully understand that when I would throw my immature, sleep-deprived fits in the middle of the night, the Lord was just sitting up there smiling down on me, in all His wise glory, calmly seeing the futility of it all. He saw the big picture, He saw the waste of energy, He saw that the reality to which I was responding every time I acted that way, was truly for my own good and the good of my babies. He was teaching me something important every time He calmly and quietly sat by me during my attempts to control what was best for my family, without me possibly understanding enough to even know what is truly best for me. He loves me so much despite the tyrades and tears. My failure to trust His wisdom and guidance do not diminish at all the deep love He feels for me. It all makes perfect sense to Him, even though my trials may make no sense to me at the time. He has the privilege at smiling at what I think is hopeless and terminal. My red-faced frustration. My helpless feelings. My frustration. The futility of it all.

For we know in all things the Lord works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28

I praise God that I am at least smart enough to worship a Father who loves me despite me, and who is always working my life's details out for my good. He is so glorious that way. I pray you know that as well. Have a blesssed day, fully trusting Him, and no tantrums allowed.

Returning to the roadside

2010-06-22T23:25:00.000-05:00

Remember when I said that there was so much more to be learned from our new friend Baritmaeus? Let's return to his roadside...

I live in the wealthiest nation in the world in a time when acceptance of others runs rampant. I have a husband who loves me, six healthy children, an air-conditioned home, an adequate wardrobe that includes 3 pairs of flip-flops, and a decent face to look at (or so I have been told). I am fortunate beyond worth. But sitting in stark contrast to my incredible health, wealth, and family, is the blind man Bartimaeus, whom we just encountered in my last post. Allow me to refresh your memory. Mark 10:46...Then they came to Jericho. As Jesus and his disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus (that is, the Son of Timaeus), was sitting by the roadside begging.

Was Bartimaeus blind from birth? We don't know. Was he a young man, or was he going grey? Again, we don't know. What we do know is that Bartimaeus was born in a time when physical defect was a thing of shame. In his day, being blind was a source of perpetual rejection, a cause to call into question the role of sin in his life, and was a curse that had driven our buddy Bart into a lifetime of begging. He could not work. There were no government programs to help him, unlike our modern times today. Bartimaeus was forced to sit by a roadside, a man of perpetual rags and filth, and beg for any ounce of kindness or mercy that may be offered from the very members of society who daily rejected him. I am sure it was not a pretty picture.

At the very minimum, reading even one verse about Bartimeaus should cause us all to stop and thank the Lord for the abundant blessings in our lives. Do you have health enough to work? Praise the Lord! Are you well fed, even perhaps too well fed, are you warm at night, and do you feel safe in your home? To God be the glory! Do you have family and friends who love you? Then say hallelujah! Even if you can only answer yes to just one of those questions, you are more fortunate than our new friend Bart.

Praise. the. Lord.

Let's go one step further on this journey with Bartimaeus, and see what else we can learn from this encounter between a social reject and our Living Lord. Mark 10:47 & 48...When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, "Son of David, have mercy on me!" Did you catch that?! He began to shout! I imagine Bartimaeus waving wildly in his total blindness, perhaps in a complete frenzy, not even knowing the exact place where Jesus was, but knowing that He was there. Bartimaeus was shouting Jesus' name in passion and desperation. He would have been causing quite a scene.

When was the last time you shouted to the Lord? When were you so desperate for Him that you took no heed of your self-consciousness or of who might hear you, and shouted to the Lord? Was it yesterday? Last month? Once a really long time ago? Have you ever done that? It would be easy to blame our lack of passionate desperation for the Lord on things like modern society, political correctness, and personal inhibition. We're conditioned to keep our desperation to ourselves, to keep our faith quiet, to keep our weaknesses tidy. (I've been doing it recently, for weeks, in fact.) But what we all have to remember is that Christ wants to hear us shout His name. He wants you and I to turn to Him in our weaknesses, our desperations, and our heartaches. He wants us to shout out to Him without fear of rebuke or embarrassment. And I'll prove it. Continuing in Mark 10, verse 49a...Jesus stopped and said, "Call him."

Bartimaeus shouted, Jesus responded. It's that simple.

Continuing with verses 49 & 50...So they called to the blind man, "Cheer up! On your feet! He's calling you." Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.

I love that response!! Bartimaeus threw his cloak and jumped up at the invitation by Christ! He was ready! He probably ran right to Jesus. Now, I asked you already when you last shouted at Christ, but how about this...when was the last time you ran to Christ? Was it yesterday, last month, ever? Have you ever literally jumped up, throwing aside whatever you were holding onto at the time, and ran to your Savior when He called? My friends, Jesus Christ is calling to each of us every day. At the minimum, He is calling us all to know Him better, calling us to repentance, calling us to obedience, calling us to more joy, calling us to love others just a little better than we do on our own, calling calling calling. And for some, He may be calling in a very specific way, like calling you to take on a new challenge at church. Or you may be being called to change jobs. Or to follow Him into ministry. Or to forgive someone who wronged you. Maybe you've heard that little voice in your head and pushed it aside, pretending it was nothing, rationalizing all the reasons why you can't possibly do that. Wrong.

If Jesus is calling you, you must jump up and answer Him. Today. Now. Right now.

I know I am like Bart, in that I have been calling, not always shouting but definitely calling out to Jesus, but in some ways I have not fully jumped up and ran to Him because He is not yet fully answering me. Anyone relate to that?? I think God actually likes to do that to us, you know; to bring delays to our questions. Like He wants to see just how badly we really want it, or how loudly we'll actually shout to get it, while He makes us wait until we are truly ready for it. He is so very wise that way. But taking our lesson from Baritimaeus, we are supposed to shout all the more! Bartimaeus knew Christ was there, even though he did not have eyes to see Him. He knew Christ had the power, even though he could not feel it yet. He had faith. He had the faith that Christ could remove his blindness, and he had the persistence to go after it.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1
Bartimaeus could not see, but he was certain.
Bartimaeus lived a life totally void of hope, but he was sure.

Mark 10: 51 & 52..."What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked him. The blind man said, "Rabbi, I want to see." "Go," said Jesus, "your faith has healed you." Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.

I cannot pretend that God will heal every problem if we ask, or that He will fix our ailments, or make us perfect, just by our shouting. What I can state with confidence, however, is that our faith is our key to true healing. Our faith is Christ's desire for us. Sometimes, our faith is all we have. Even though we cannot predict the will of God and the outcome of our requests, we must take a lesson from Bartimaeus and ask anyway. In fact, we must be willing to shout. We must be willing to wave blindly toward the spot we know Christ is standing, even though we cannot see Him. We must open our ears to Christ's voice, and we must throw our cloaks aside and jump to our feet if He calls. We must follow Him along the road.

To God be the glory.

Shouting at Jesus

2010-06-20T20:11:00.000-05:00

At the end of an extremely long day at a baseball tournament yesterday, I came home to face my cluttered house. Between VBS and baseball games and the pool and six kids being home from school, I am, to say the least, a tad behind on housework. The little boys' bedroom looks like ground zero for WWIII, and the kitchen counter is all-too-often made to match. It was in this array of messy-ness that I found my husband's Bible laying on the counter last night, and decided to stop what I was doing, carry it to our bedroom, flop on our bed, pick up my own Bible, and have a fast 3-minute read. Lacking any specific source of direction, I turned haphazardly to the Gospels and landed in Mark 10, and found myself reading about Blind Bartimaeus. I once preached on this passage and it was a real refreshment to read it again. I love the way Bartimaeus "shouted all the more"...

Then they came to Jericho. As Jesus and his disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus (that is, the Son of Timaeus), was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more [emphasis mine], "Son of David, have mercy on me!" Jesus stopped and said, "Call him." So they called to the blind man, "Cheer up! On your feet! He's calling you." Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus. "What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked him. The blind man said, "Rabbi, I want to see." "Go," said Jesus, "your faith has healed you." Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road. Mark 10:46-52

Smiling at the refreshing of this story in my memory bank, I flipped haphazardly and randomly forward, and landed in Luke 18. I was stunned. Laying there, right in front of me, was the story of the blind beggar (unnamed in Luke) that reads like this...

As Jesus approached Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard the crowd going by, he asked what was happening. They told him, "Jesus of Nazareth is passing by." He called out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Those who led the way rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, "Son of David, have mercy on me!" Jesus stopped and ordered the man to be brought to him. When he came near, Jesus asked him, "What do you want me to do for you?" "Lord, I want to see," he replied. Jesus said to him, "Receive your sight; your faith has healed you." Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus, praising God. When all the people saw it, they also praised God. Luke 18:36-43.

As I sat on my bed in stunned silence, all I could do was start laughing. He is so funny! In my oh-so-very-human experience, there are moments when God feels unreachable, distant, and like He may not be anywhere in my zip code, let alone my bedroom. Of course I know He is always right there, that He never moves, and that the distance is either my own fault or His own purposeful and trustworthy silence. But then there are times when He makes Himself so known to me, it is as if He were sitting right on the bed beside me, flipping the pages of my Good Book with something other than my careless randomness. That was last night for me. So, as I sat on my bed and laughed, I knew, I just knew, that accidents like this do not happen. Jesus Himself was trying to tell me something. I looked at the cross that hangs on my wall, and said, outloud, "What are you trying to teach me, Lord?"

I have been in a tremendous funk lately. Lately being something like a few weeks. Tremendous being, well, tremendous. So great that I allowed a over full week to pass without reading my Bible (perhaps more), I have been yelling at my children far too much, I have been on the brink of tears much of the time, and I have felt the Lord nowhere on my radar map. And I have been hiding all of it, so if anyone reading this is a friend of mine and you are now surprised to read it, sorry. I have been burying my funk, putting on a happy face, and going home to cry. And the whole thing has me totally blindsided, since I am a summer girl and I should be in a wildy summery good mood. Wierd, I know. Anyway, I've been searching my mind and heart for the root cause for my funk, coming up with nothing short of a bevy of reasons. Perhaps it is the adjustment to summer schedules and the near-constant demands on my patience by my children. Perhaps it is that when I have a big project going, my house turns into a mess far greater than my ability to tolerate. Perhaps, for some reason I cannot necessarily explain, I miss (make that ache for) the companionship and comfort of my nightjob husband more than I have in a very, very long time. Perhaps it is all the mud from all the spring rains here in NE Nebraska. Perpahs I am just tired of waiting on things to be "better" or "easier". Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Whatever the cause of my odd-timed depressed state, the end result has been distance from God. I have moved. Changed my zip code. Fairly well believed that the Lord must have forgotten me and my plight. How dumb is that?? Has anyone else ever done that??

So, when He met me in my bedroom last night, and so unexpectedly and undeservedly surprised me with a coincidence of supernatural magnificence, I was stunned. I don't deserve His special attention! I don't deserve a personal message! I've done nothing other than whine, complain, and beg for rescue from Him for weeks, and I deserve nothing other than a time-out for my childish behavior. But, as only our loving and gracious Lord could do, He showed up anyway. Praise Him.

My friends, I think I have said it before, but God is not failing to notice what we are going through. He knows what is getting the best of us. He knows what we are waiting and longing for. He knows what is breaking our hearts and tormenting our emotions. Just like He knew Bartimaeus before one word between them was spoken, He knows our names and knows our pains. The lesson that is ringing in me from the passages He gave me to read last night is this: Shout all the more. Be persistent. Even when others around you, or your worst enemy, or your own mind are rebuking you and telling you to be quiet, keep shouting at Jesus. He will hear you above the crowd. Be willing to throw off your cloak and run to Jesus when He calls your name. Tell Him what you want and in faith, allow Him to do whatever it is He wants to do for you. But never, ever, ever stop shouting.

I feel that there is so much more to say about this coincidence, that there are so many other deeper lessons laying in these passages, but, for now, I am going to stop there, and just say it again...shout all the more. Don't be silent. Shout at Jesus.

He will stun you.

putting me to the test

2010-06-17T22:23:00.000-05:00

I just spent 90 mintues typing what I thought was a fairly good and entertaining enough post on choices and focusing on the positive. I had a story about my irrational Drama Queen daughter. I liked the post.

It failed when I tried to publish.

Is God testing me, asking me to put my money where my mouth is, or is the enemy messing with my joy?? Arrgh.

Focus on the positive. Focus on the positive. Focus on the positive. (say it with me...) I guess a new post will have to wait. Good night! (The time stamp will say something like 9:00 but it is actually 12:21 am.)

Happy campers, the signs of summer, and the high seas!

2010-06-10T22:40:00.000-05:00

So, it has been over a week since my last posting, and I must admit, I am a little stressed about that. I don't know why. Maybe I am living with the fear that my readers (how many or few there are) will abandon the habit of checking the blog if they believe I have given up posting. Or maybe I am uncomfortable with silence. Or maybe I am still adjusting to having six kids home from school for summer vacation, and all the work that goes into patiently tending to them while driving a van to every town in a 60 mile radius for baseball games and planning a VBS for 100 children. All at the same time. Maybe that is it.

Nah, I am just uncomfortable with silence.

Anyway, at the risk of sounding like a whiner, I have, admittedly, been a tad busy these past three weeks, and so, unfortunately, posting on a regular basis has fallen by the wayside. Tonight, however, I am dusting off the blog for a little show and tell to share some photos with you, until I can fully catch my breath after VBS and finally formulate a cohesive thought. So, while my brain recharges, enjoy a slice of my life...

The faces of five happy campers (and one tag-a-long little sister/cousin) as I was dropping off two of my kiddos for their first time at Bible camp. From the left, my daughter Emma age 5, my daughter Kendall age 2 (jealous), my nephew Eli age 5, my nephew Thomas age 7, my son Cole age 6, and my nephew Nathan age 6. Lord help those counselors, they had Cole, Nathan, and Eli all in the same place.

God lovingly reminding us of His promise in my front yard earlier this month. Lord, please help all the flood victims around the nation this past week!

Now for a itty-bitty taste of Wausa's recent "High Seas Expedition" Vacation Bible School of which I happened to be the Director...
See that dork up on stage, er, I mean, on board the ship, dancing and twirling like she is somebody special?? Yea, that would be me. Remember me?? I am that dork. And as she, I am one of the few people in Wausa who is dorky enough to stand up in front of 100 children, a few dozen teens, and a couple dozen adults, to lead all the music for VBS. I may have said it before, but I wear my dorky-ness with pride. (And, no, I am not pregnant. It is a poofy shirt.)

This is my son Jonah age 8, waiting with eager anticipation for the permission to DIVE IN to his pony bead whale key chain craft. Sweet-ness.

All kidding around aside, our VBS this week was stunning, and I was reminded yet again what an absolute privilege it is to lead another person, no matter their age, in their faith walk. And yet, I know for certain that in the months and weeks leading up to VBS this year I did more than my fair share of complaining about the work load that comes with Directing. It was tedious. It was stressful. It was dominating the lion's share of my thoughts and time, all while my hubby, my children, my home, my sons' baseball games, my garden, my yard, my...you name it...all of those were clamoring for attention as well. And so how did I handle it?? Like any die-hard whiner, I whined. As ashamed as I am to admit it, the Lord heard a decent dose of complaints and whines from me, especially on the day I was doing computer prep-work and my daughter decided that was the day to have a potty accident, tromp through the mud, and dump a box of cereal on the kitchen floor. "Seriously, Lord?! You can't bind the enemy for even two hours while I work on your Bible School?!"

Yes, I actually said that to Him. It was a proud moment for me.

The great and glorious news is that, in spite of this World-Class Whiner and Captain of the Dork Squad, our Lord once again proved faithful and worked out every detail with nothing but His splendor and grace. The kids came smiling. No one bled, not even once. The committee and fellow teachers pitched in and helped not only me but each other. The music rocked. The decorations rocked. The teachers rocked. The whole week rocked.

GOD'S WORD IS TRUE!

GOD'S WORD IS COMFORTING!

GOD'S WORD IS SURPRISING!

GOD'S WORD IS LIFE-CHANGING!

GOD'S WORD IS FOR EVERYONE!

And as I sit back, still catching my breath and attempting to catch up on housework, the only solid feeling I can really put my finger on is privileged. I am privileged to be in service to the Lord's children, young or old. I am privileged to be just dorky enough to be willing to stand on a stage every day and lead music, and by the end of the week listen to 100 exuberant children, 3 dozen teens, and more than 2 dozen adults praising the Lord with their hands in the air. Its' a thing of beauty, and I am truly privileged. (And I am ashamed of all the whining. When will I ever learn??)

Thanks to everyone who trusted me with this job yet again, and who helped me along the way. I apologize to anyone who heard me whine.

Ahoy, Matey!!

Mastering the art of accomplishment

2010-06-02T23:27:00.000-05:00

I was not going to blog tonight. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to blog tonight, very much, but the stained carpet in our "art room-back entrance-mud room-catch-all room" was too much to bear, and its utter grossness had created in me such a burst of energy that the carpet cleaner was cowering in the corner for fear of how hard I was going to make it work. As I tied up the other loose ends of my day, a rush of excitement was coursing through me, thinking of how nice I would be to wake up to a cleaner carpet that had already dried, and my mind wandered to the topic of accomplishment. I must admit, I have been struggling lately with the art of accomplishment. "Lately" being the past two weeks. Pretty much just as long as the kids have been home from school. And baseball season has been in full swing. And the countdown to VBS has been ticking. Pretty much ever since my plate went from normal to Big Mac, have I struggled to get a dern thing done. Like dishes, laundry, cooking, dusting, gardening, or sleeping. It just ain't happening. But, tonight was going to be the night! I was going to accomplish a task while the kids slept, and nothing could stop me, not even the blog topic plopped into my head moments before I turned on the cleaner! {sigh} Silly girl. If the Lord wants a blog post, He's gonna get it.

The carpet cleaner died 4 mintues into the job.

And so, with great hope in the Lord's faithfulness that one day soon I will indeed have a cleaner carpet in that room, and that my desire to proclaim even one job as "accomplished" will come to pass, I am now blogging. Let's talk about the art of accomplishment.

The story is told of a wife who invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to their six-year-old daughter and proudly said, "Would you like to say the blessing?"
"I wouldn't know what to say," the girl replied.
"Just say what you hear Mommy say," the wife answered, wanting to impress their guests with the excellent job she was doing raising the girl. Obediently, the daughter bowed her head and said, "Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people?!”

I laughed when I read this joke because I could picture the Mom and her eagerness to impress her guests. I am certain she planned, shopped, cleaned, cooked, primped, and sweated over the evening. She probably had a grocery list, a cleaning list, a recipe list…you get the picture. And I can indentify because I am a habitual list-maker. (There you have it, the dork in me lives on!) I live by lists, and have as long as I can remember, having learned this skill from my Dad. His was always in his pocket. Mine is always on the counter, or taped to the cupboards, or both, depending on how many different lists I have going at the time. My personal favorite is the “To Do” list. I’ve always--always--got one of those going, and it usually starts with laundry. And I lovelove LOVE to finish something on that list and cross it off! I do it not only for organization and personal accoutability, but also just for a plain old selfish desire of a sense of accomplishment. Feeling like I am getting things done and not just spinning my wheels is what keeps me sane.

I know that most of us reading this are caught up in busy lives. We’re holding down jobs, raising families, doing church activities, worrying about loved ones, enjoying our social lives, etc, etc, and yadda yadda yadda. I am not typing tonight to tell you what is wrong about that. I’m as busy as they come, and I have not yet figured out how to make myself less busy, so in the meantime, I make lists. It’s a survival tool for me, really. But the Lord spoke to me the other day about lists when I was in the scriptures with Him, and I want to tell you about it.

If memory serves me, I was reading in both Colossians and Luke that morning. Lying in the Words of Jesus and Paul are and a “to do” list and a “what not to do” list. The first list I’ll mention is the “what not to do” list, and it would read something like this: do not return evil for evil, do not give with the expectation of return, do not be sexually immoral, do not be impure, do not lust, have no evil desires or greed, have no anger, no rage, no malice, no slander, no gossip, use no foul language, and do not lie. That’s a tough list, and it’s not even all-inclusive, this is just from two scriptures! Eeeck. I know I’ve broken quite a few items on that list in my lifetime, I think even this week, (ahem, today) as I am sure you all have. I had one ponderance regarding this list of the mistakes we all make..…on this “what not to do” list, when do we get to cross something off?? How does our list get shorter? Where is the sense of accomplishment??

Obviously, God’s rules of things He does not want us to do is NOT open for negotiation. We can’t pick and choose what applies to us. Greed is as bad today as it was when Jesus preached on it. Slander and gossip are just as dangerous. Lies and foul language are just as hurtful. Lust is sneakier than ever. These “no-no’s” are written in the Bible, and God will never take an item off the lists He has created. But what about our personal lists? What about the tally of our mistakes? What about the ones in our back pockets? How can those get crossed off? You know the answer! In the eternal perspective, Jesus has already done it. They are gone. If you have humbled yourself, and asked for forgiveness, He has crossed them off your list. Praise the Lord.

But in sweeps our humanness and we falter. We go back to the mistake(s) we make most readily. We put it back on our list. I would suspect that if each of us took some time to make a list, right from scripture, of those things God tells us not to do, and then study the lists, we’d see our behaviors written all over them. They would be as personal as my list that says “laundry” on the top. They would be ours. My challenge to you today, for your reflection, is to figure out how to make your personal “what not to do” list look a little cleaner, a little shorter. Figure out how to permanently cross something off. Drop an old bad habit, don’t keep doing it and repenting, just drop it. If you do so, in the words of Jesus Himself, “then your reward will be great and you will be sons of the Most High, because He is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.”

That is some seriously good news to me.

Now that I am sounding all preachy, I'll switch to something a lighter. What the Lord has really laid on my heart, and what I most want to talk about, is the “to do” list. It’s long, it’s a tad exhausting, but it’s exciting. Let’s hear it now: love everyone, do good, bless others, pray for others, be generous, set your mind on Christ, wear compassion, be kind, be humble, be gentle, be patient, forgive others, be thankful, let the Word of Christ dwell in you, and let peace rule your hearts. (Again, not all-inclusive.)

Wow. OK, I can’t do all that. I quit. Or can I??

Sometimes the standards of our faith are heavy. They seem too ideal, too perfect, to rigid, too hard. They go against what everyone around us seems to be doing. The "rules" weigh us down, make us look different, challenge us. Perhaps we even feel like we are being set up to fail. But, what if, instead of me having dishes or laundry at the top of tomorrow’s "To Do" list, I had kindness. Or peace. What if I made that my first goal? What if the things I listed as the most important in my day were not the chores, but the gifts I could give to others? I am just one person. What if we all did that? What if the peace of Christ and the Word of Christ and the joy of Christ and the actions of Christ were dwelling in us first…and then we did our laundry, paid our bills, went to work, baked cookies for the kids, typed the minutes for the meeting, etc and etc. Would we look different?

None of us are perfect. Just like none of us can erase our mistakes, and we need a savior, so also none of us are perfect…and we can’t be good all the time. Christ knows that. Just like those weeks that the laundry does not all get folded at my house (OK, so maybe that is most weeks), sometimes I am not so patient or kind. Just ask my kids. I am not always a blessing to others. Sometimes I am weary of doing good.

There is hope. Woo-hoo! In Matthew 11:28, Jesus says “come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” Anyone else out there need a little rest? I don’t think He is just talking about physical exhaustion. The next verse says “take my yoke and learn from Me”. Learn right from Christ. He tells us that He is gentle and humble, and we will find rest for our souls. Who has ever wanted a gentle and humble teacher? Who better to learn how to master the art of accomplishment from than a gentle and humble teacher?! Jesus finishes in verse 30 by saying, “for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” This to do list might look like a burden to me today, but Christ says it is light. He says it is easy. He promises peace and joy like none other if we obey.

And I’ve got more evidence. In Galatians 6:9 Paul says, “Let us not grow weary of doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” Did you hear that?! REAP A HARVEST. A harvest of what, you ask? Only God knows. Blessing, peace, joy, empowerment...reward......a harvest of Christ, that gentle and humble teacher, whose yoke is easy and burden is light!

I like the sound of that. And so what if my carpet cleaning project was not accomplished and crossed off the list tonight? I've got better lists to master. To Him be all the glory.

Shelly Story 101: Basic History

2010-05-27T22:36:00.000-05:00

**This is an edited version of this entry, which posted originally on last Thursday. It is now Monday, and over the weekend I was in Omaha, where I got my hands on some fabulous photos to share. So, I have added them. They are so worth sharing. And perhaps I have added a sentence or two to the original version. Maybe. Just a few. Read on...

After much thought about what to type next on the blog, I have decided I will do a post on myself. Perhaps I'll take a break from espousing on what I am thinking, and switch to a description more specifically about my life. As this swims in my brain, I wonder it will be "self-serving", but it occurs to me that everything I type is fairy self-serving already; it serves the purpose of getting the burning thoughts and ideas out of my already-crowded head so that something new can take its place. So, I have decided that yes, I will fill you all in on me and my life. Perhaps knowing me better will lend more meaning to my other thoughts. I highly doubt that I can tell you about myself quickly and succinctly, but, with God's leading, I hope to tell you at least some of the important stuff. (Those of you that already know me can check this for accuracy, and chastise me later.)

I was born in Ohio and moved to Denver when I was three years old. Less than one year later my biological mother walked out. She was replaced by a much better model, although two years of mother-lack and the emotional fallout from feelings of abandonment at age four did their part to shape me. Once my Dad remarried, (the snap is the two of them looking fine back in the early 80's) I was happily raised as the oldest of five children in a blended family with my biological father, my stepmother who truly is my Mom, an adopted sister, an adopted brother, a full blood sister, and a half sister...and since we came together when we were just 6,5,4,3, and a mere twinkle in God's eye, it was completely natural. We are the Brady Bunch minus Alice, and those labels do not really exist in our family.

I absolutely loved Denver, and as the place that holds my first real memories, it was truly home in my heart. We had a straight-shot view of the Rockies out our front living room picture window, my school was large but that never scared me too much, and my Jr. high youth group rocked. We had dogs, bunnies, hamsters, fish, snow forts, a nearby roller rink, and (as you may recall from an earlier post) a wood burning stove. This doozie photo is one of the first Easters with my new family...I am the oh-so-adorable girlie in the bright yellow dress, knee socks, and sweet red shoes. I am proudly standing with my Grandma, my older cousin, and two of my sisters. We are stylin'.

When I was 15, my father took a transfer with his job, and we landed in Omaha, Nebraska. Omaha. Nebraska. Seriously?? Doesn't everyone in Nebraska wear overalls and straw hats and sleep with a pig in their bed or something?? If you ever doubted that someone could experience culture shock from moving a mere ONE state away, I am living proof. I mean, there was a corn field across the street from our house, for goodness sake!! And my high school only had 2000 students, one building, one lunchroom, and two gymns! Weird.

But far and away the very worst part of moving was leaving my youth group. I praise God for that truth, and yet, for a very long time, I could not praise God, because He allowed me to be uprooted from youth group and the foundation it was laying in my life. I went from a mountain top to a valley (in a spiritual sense) pretty fast, and quite honestly, it took me years to recover. I want to make it clear, however, that no blame lies with my parents for moving me. The blame lies with me and how my pubescent 15-year-old self coped with that move, as well as with the enemy who has mastered the craft of preying on the young in faith. Regardless of how far I fell off that mountain, I am forever grateful for the influence that the leaders of my youth group at Grace had on my life. Foundations so well laid in our youth never truly crumble, and when we dig deep we find them still laying there. It was that very foundation laid in me in Jr. high that I was able to build on later, and I know that God was merely exacting His perfect plan in 1986, when my "perfect" life was uprooted and transplanted to Nebraska. He had His reasons for planting me in Corn-ville USA.

Despite the nearby cornfields, I never started wearing overalls, and we never got a pig.
I finished my last three years of high school in Omaha, discovering that I am indeed shy by nature, that I love running, and that, yes, one can lose their identity in their boyfriend. Here we all are, in age order, commemorating my graduation from Millard North HS. After graduation, I tottled off to Lincoln for college at the University of Nebraska (still clinging to my boyfriend), and after 5 1/2 years, I graduated with a degree in Early Childhood Ed. It was during those years that God never left my side, even though I certainly left His. It was during those years that I attended--and screamed like a banshee at--Husker footballs games. Go Big Red! It was during those years that I detached myself from my high school boyfriend and tried to find my own identity. It was during those years that I discovered some of who Shelly Story is and what she wants. (Some.) It was during those years that I became imprisoned by sin. My cell mates were Binge Drinking and Miss Promiscuity. (Not good. Not good at all.)

It was during those years that I learned how to pay my own bills, including car loan payments, and get a tire fixed on my car, all without my Dad's help. It was during those years that I held as many as three jobs at one time to pay the bills. It was during those years that I lived with the person who single-handedly has made the greatest impact on my faith walk, and it was by no accident that we ended up as roommates. (That story would make a good blog post someday. Someone remind me later.)

It was during those years that God was continually watching out for me and working all things for my good, despite how far from Him I ran and how many poor choices I made.

He stuns me.

It was also during those years that I met and fell in love with my husband, Dan. You can read all about that here. Although undeserving of true love, although undeserving of being treated with such honor and respect and kindness, God put smack in my path the man of my dreams (not that I knew it at the time). The man who would complete me (not till I surrendered). The man who would give my life meaning (when I finally let him). The man who would one day receive a phone call asking him if he would like the opportunity to move to his family farm. I'm sorry, what was that?? Did you say FARM? Aren't there cornfields there? You want to be a farmer? You want me to go with you?? Do I have to sleep with a pig now??

Have I mentioned that God stuns me?? Case in point: Despite what I had always proclaimed would never happen, Dan and I were married less than two weeks after I graduated college, we took a honeymoon to none other than colorful Colorado to ski, and before I could say John Deere, I was a farmer's wife. In three weeks' time, I went from being a bartender and full-time college single, to being a farmer's wife in rural Northeast Nebraska. Talk about culture shock!

A word of advice: never tell the Lord that He has gotten you as far from your own normal as He could ever take you. Never tell Him where you will never live. Never, EVER do that.

As this post is getting long, the hour is late, and the man of my dreams is on the couch having just come home from work, I think I will stop here. Digest Shelly Story 101, and in a couple of days you will get Shelly Story 102: Current Events. There is where God really shows His sense of humor. It's stunning. (His sense of humor, not my life.)

You can never have to many oooos

2010-05-24T23:14:00.000-05:00

My daughters and I were riding in the car late last week on our way to town. I was spacing off...going over lists in my head, or perhaps planning where to put my new bedding flowers, or daydreaming about a date with my hubby. Whatever it was, I am sure it was important. The girls were quietly looking out the window, allowing me to reflect on whateveritwas in silence, which is a nice gift sometimes, and suddenly, out of the clear blue, Emma, age 5, says,
"You know, Mom, you can never have too many oooos."
"Huh?" was my oh-so-thoughtful Mommy response.
She continues..."Yea, you know, like the ooo on the end of kangaroo. Or the oooh when you see something neat. You can never have too many of them."

Instantly, whatever gobbledy-gook had been in my head was gone, and I was caught deep in thought about what she had just said. I love it when the simplicity of a child's heart and mind captures the truth about life. God plants the basics in us as children, and we adults go and mess it all up. But she is right.

You can never have too many oooos.

"Oooh, I love that dress you are wearing!" "Oooh, you sure ran fast to second base!" "Oooh, you look handsome tonight!" You can never give too many compliments.

"Oooh, that looks heavy, let me carry it for you." "Oooh, the offering plate looks empty this month, I better give some extra." "Oooh, do you hear the life flight helicopter? We'd better pray for whomever is inside." You can never do too much good.

"Oooh, Lord, what a sunset that is!" "Oooh, Lord, You really saved my butt in this one." "Oooh, Lord, Your ways are so much higher than my ways." You can never praise Him enough.

"Oooh, Lord, I really need you to save my butt in this one." "Oooh, Lord, my friend is really hurting." "Oooh, Lord, this looks like nothing but a big mess to me." You can never pray enough.

Every single day goes by without enough oooh in my life. I am a gold medalist at complaining and comparing (usually only in my thoughts, but we all know that God still hears it) rather than freely giving others compliments. I am world champion at getting so wrapped up in the lists, plans, and daydreams in my own head that I often fail to notice the needs of others around me. I spend so much time caught up in what is "wrong" with my life that I frequently fail to give God the praise He so richly deserves. I can rush through prayer time with the best of them. Anyone else saying, "amen!" to any of that?? (Please say yes.)

The good news is that I serve a God who loves me in my weakness, forgives me in my brokenness, and cherishes me in my imperfection. He takes the tiny little bit of oooh that I offer Him, and magnifiies it 100-fold. He nurtures my children with it. He strenthens me with it. He answers my prayers, even on a day when the best one I may have crafted was "Lord, have you seen my cell phone?" as I rush out the door at 11am. He still loves me when I fail. And He says "oooh" when I desire to serve Him mightily, and He lets me though I don't deserve it.

You can never have too many oooos...
May the glory of the Lord endure forever, may the Lord rejoice in His works--He who looks at the earth, and it trembles, who touches the mountains, and they smoke. Psalm 104:31-32

You can never have too many oooos...
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. Philippians 4:8

You can never have too many oooos...
No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind had conceived what God has pepared forthose who love Him. 1 Conrinthians 2:9

You can never have too many oooos. Thanks, Emma, I needed the reminder!

Blind trust walks

2010-05-20T07:09:00.000-05:00

Did you ever go to church camp when you were a kid? I only went once as an 8th grader, but then in high school I was given the opportunity to be a "counselor-in-training", and so began my long (but distinguished) involvement in Counseling and Directing at Camp. I counseled so many jr. high week-long church camps between the ages of 16 and 30 that I literally have lost count. One summer I was at camp three times, each time for a week, because taking that much time off of work and rearranging my life was actually easier to me than not going to camp. I absolutely love it . And while I could talk and talk on camp until you'd swear that you had been there with me, I won't (you can thank me later), but I am going to tell you about an element I have included in nearly every camp I have directed, "trust walks".

In a blindfolded trust walk session, all of the campers are put into pairs, preferably not with their best friends, and one member of the pair is blindfolded. The other then becomes their guide, taking their hand and calling out verbal instructions, while they walk around the camp and down the twisting, turning, up-and-down riverside trails for 15 minutes or so, until the blindfold is switched. It is an excellent teaching tool. At the minimum, the kids gain a greater appreciation for the blind, but they also learn how to put their total trust in another person and how to accept the responsibility of being a person on whom trust is placed.

The most fun part of it is being the guide. Definitely. As the guide, not only can you see what is coming and thereby walk normally, you get a front-row seat to the insecurities and infallibility of your blind peer. You get to see them stumble, you get to see them worry, and you get to watch them take big, giant, loping footsteps because they have learned the hard way that you don't always inform them of the tree root just ahead. Or the wall. You can see the insecurity that normally lies hidden when we have our eyes to help us. It's a tad comical to watch, certainly, and a much more secure position than being blind.

The least fun part, by far, is being blindfolded. Definitely. While you are blindfolded, you can hear the twigs snap and the river roar, but you still have no real clue as to exactly where you are. You can feel the breeze or the shade of trees, but that does not assist your understanding of which way to turn. You can feel the trail climbing higher and higher up a wicked hill, but you have no idea where the top is, and therefore you must press on. And as you are ackwardly stumbling along looking like a lost moose in overshoes, peals of laughter ring through the air. What is going on?? Giggles and snickers and snorts abound. Huh?? Did I just miss something?? As the person totally and completely at the mercy of someone as simple-minded, annoying, and silly as you, one tends to acquire a few fresh bruises, experience a few moments of fear and frustration, and quickly gain a deep appreciation for the gift of sight. Not so comical.

So, have you ever taken one? Have you ever strapped on a bandanna and, without cheating and tilting your head back so that you can look under the lower edge on the sly thereby giving the illusion that you are blind but really you aren't and all of the sudden others think you must have ESP or something...hee hee...have you ever, while blindfolded, allowed someone else to guide your every step on a twisting, changing, and at times, arduous walk around a church camp for 15 minutes? Have you ever been at the total mercy of someone who is as simple-minded, annoying, and silly as you?

It's not easy.

It's not easy to put your safety, well being, and confidence in another person. It is not easy to have no idea which way you are going or when it may end. It is not easy to have no true knowledge as to which way is the best way to turn. It is not easy to feel the hill without seeing the top. It is not easy to stumble, to worry, to suddenly feel a wall in your face before you have the chance to react. It is not fun to end up bruised and tattered while another person giggles. I think I'll pass, thankyouverymuch.

But, isn't that my life already? Aren't I on the world's longest trust walk? Am I not, in fact, already blind to what lies ahead, or which way to turn, or how high the hills are? Am I not already at the mercy of a guide? Am I not already completely helpless on my own, lost in the woods with no way to go but forward assisted by the guiding hand of another??

I'm gonna have to go with a YES on that one.

Blind trust walks not only gave me the appreciation for the blind, but also an appreciation for life. I am blind. In fact, all of us walking around on this earth are blindfolded. God designed it that way. Laced fully into our humanity is the inability to see the future. To know what is ahead. To have any real control. Oh, sure, I do have some control, but ultimately, where I go, what I walk over, and how many tree roots are in my path is totally and completely up to my Guide. Only He knows what lies ahead. Only He has the power to see the trail with all of its twists, turns, hills, and wide open spaces...and I am fully at His mercy to lead me over them all.

But praise Him that He has taken me by the hand and committed to be my Guide over the paths. Praise Him that He will lovingly tell me to "step higher" so I can avoid many of the roots on the ground. Praise Him for knowing that if He allows me to stumble sometimes when I arrogantly loosen my grip or stop listening, that I will hold tighter and listen closer to His instruction. Praise Him that when I cannot see the top of the hill, rather than discouraging me by telling me I'll never make it, my Guide encourages me to keep going in faith because there is, in fact, a top. Praise Him that sometimes he says "the way is clear", and gives me the freedom to run down a childproofed meadow on the backside of the hill. Praise Him that when I drop His hand, He does not leave me totally alone, but rather He waits for me to take it up again. Praise Him that He is not a sneering, jeering, twit who is as arrogant as I am, and that He never takes pleasure in all of my stumblings. And praise Him that I will, in fact, be successfully led out of the woods and off the trail to the moment my eyes are opened, when I can squint in the light and see His face, knowing that the walk is fully over.

I love my Guide. I think I'll take a hike with Him.

I can't believe I'm doing this!

2010-05-16T21:47:00.000-05:00

I think I may have addressed this thought briefly in another post, but I just gotta say it again. I cannot believe I am actually doing this...I cannot believe I am a blogger! Whatsupwiththat?! I am not totally sure why I started it...well, I am...I started it because I could no longer contain the stuff swimming in my brain day in and day out, and I feared I would explode if I did not start writing it down. But now, when I say the word "blogger" out loud, I feel as if I must fit into a dime-a-dozen category. While to me, the concept is fresh and brand new and exciting, I suspect that to many others, this concept is already old and worn out. At any given time of any given day, there are people blogging about weather, people blogging about news, people blogging about diaper changes, people blogging about blogging...and on and on and on. What makes any blog any different than the rest? What makes any particular blog stand out as a shiny penny amidst a pile of dimes??

No idea.

I am realizing, however, that I do want my blog to stand out. I mean, why stay up extra late a few nights a week espousing on all my thoughts, if it were all to amount to nothing? I do, in fact, want a reader or two. Or ten! Yeah, twenty, I'll take twenty. Make that 50. No, 100. OK, I'll take....I'll take whomever God leads this way long enough to catch their attention.

And therein lies the crazy part. And the key. I want whatever and whomever God wants and chooses to use in and through this blog. Sound vague?? No, not really. It is God's blank check. And it has me a little freaked out. "OK, Lord, do whatever you want." Did I really just say that?? Am I giving Him free choice to do whatever He feels like with me?? Am I nuts?? Oh, wait, yes, I am a nut. (Says so in my title.) And a dork. (I have known that for years. I embrace it without fear.) So I might as well put myself out there for the world wide web, and leave the rest to God, right? Right.

I realize, however, that every time a dear friend tells her friends about the blog and to add me as Facebook friend...or when a senior lady friend actually quotes me in a mass e-mail to everyone she cares about...or when a respected elder at church asks me when I have time to blog, thereby giving proof to the fact that he actually reads it...or when a gentleman 15 years my senior quotes me back to myself, commenting that I am "so right".........I realize that no only am I loving this more than I had dared to hope, but that suddenly the pressure is on.

gulp.

Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. I honestly cannot tell you how many times I have prayed that prayer. Too many to count. So many times that I wonder if I even notice any more when He uses me in some "small" way, as if the only way He should use me is in some big way...
Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. "Shelly, smile at that frazzled new Mom over there." {I smile. Too easy.}
Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. "Shelly, hold your son and sway him in your embrace until he looks up and says, I love you Mommy." {I rock my child and enjoy his embrace. I get just as much out of it as he does.}
Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. "Shelly, ignore the messy house and bake banana bread with all those old frozen bananas you have so that you can give it away." {I bake bread, give it away, and grumble about the toys all over the floor. Whine, complain. That is so like me.}

I have done all those things. Recently. In fact, they come naturally to me. They are so natural to me--as I am sure they are to all of you--that I frequently fail to notice that in and through simple acts of kindness, I am being used by God. And perhaps you feel the same way. You see, when you get used to being a nice person, a good Christian, and a kind soul, simple acts of kindness just trickle out of you like a leaky faucet, without a lot of effort or planning. Sure, God is guiding and directing, but it is so simple to be nice that the simplicity somehow removes the perception of Heavenly power. There is no "ah-ha" moment. No cheering crowd, no life changed, no awards bestowed, or even an afternoon nap as a reward. It's as if God is not really using you much at all, and you yearn for the big gushes of inspiration and usefulness. Or at least I do.

That last section sounded braggy, but I was not trying to. Not at all. It, in fact, is my own personal reminder to allow God to freely use me in the smallest of ways, knowing that there is not such thing as a "small" way in the Kingdom of God. And, I suspect that if you are actually taking the time in your day to read this blog, you, too, are a nice person who takes for granted that you are nice. Hats off to you! Here is your reminder that NO MATTER HOW SMALL, ANYTHING DONE IN LOVE FOR ANOTHER, IS YOU BEING USED BY GOD.

All that said, I do pray frequently that God will use this blog in whatever way He sees fit. To those of you forwarding it on, I am grateful. To those of you receiving encouragement, I am both humbled and honored. Give God the glory.

I had thought when I began tonight that I might tell you a bit about myself and the craziness that is my life, but God led me in a different direction. It's His blog, written by His Nut, so why shouldn't it swerve all over the place?? Instead, I will close with the lyrics of an Amy Grant song that years ago shaped part of who I am today.

When the weight of all my dreams
is resting heavy on my head,
and the thoughtful words of help and hope
have all been nicely said,
but I'm still hurting,
wondering if I'll ever be the one I think I am.
I think I am.
Then You gently re-remind me
that you've made me from the first,
and the more I try to be the best,
the more I get the worst.
And I realize the good in me
is only there because of who You are.
Who You are.
And all I ever have to be is what You made me.
Any more or less would be a step out of Your plan.
As You daily re-create me help me always keep in mind,
That I only have to do what I can find.
And all I ever have to be...all I have to be...all I ever have to be...
is what You made in me.

Thanks for this honor. Good night, Lord. I love you so much.

From rags to riches

2010-05-12T22:13:00.000-05:00

I love this quote..."The pessimist says his cup is half empty, the optimist says his cup is half full, and the child of God says his cup runneth over." It makes me smile every time I hear it, to picture a beautiful cup just overflowing with the fullness of God, like one of those old mall fountains with the bubbler right in the center. Remember those? Today many folks have something similar on a much smaller scale in their homes to create the soothing sound of a babbling brook (or to make a lady who has had four c-sections need to pee. Not sure which.) Anyway, as a kid I used to love to stare at those big mall fountains, wondering where is all that water coming from?? I found them very magical until, one day, I was old enough to see the clear plastic tube in the center of the spout, and it was then that I realized that the unending magical flow of water was just an illusion. While I still found them neat to watch, the magic was gone. I was merely looking at man's creativity. Cool, but anticlimactic.

I'm a lot like that kid still today, however as a grown up, one thing I marvel at is wealth. I admire it from afar, wondering just how some people seem to have an unending, magical flow of luxury, accomplishment, privilege, and convenience. While I admit that I don't actually know anyone who fits that description, if I even turn on the TV or walk down a check-out lane, I am bombarded with wealth. I wouldn't say I am really envious of it, but I do marvel at it. Anyone else ever feel that way?? Or am I the only one who wonders what extreme wealth would be like? Like, is the flow really unending? Do they bathe in their money? When a bill gets old and soft, do they just let the servants shine the floors with it? Or is it all an illusion? Is it merely man's creativity; an anticlimactic facade behind which to hide? No matter the answer, it is intoxicating, alluring, and utterly amazing that some--an elite few, but nevertheless, some--people live like royalty.

I'll never live like royalty...or will I?

I was thinking about this very thing today in the shower. (Anyone else do some of their best thinking in the shower?) I was thinking about how a mere year ago we were drowning in debt until the Lord, and only the Lord, orchestrated a complete turn-around of our finances through two big--HUGE--completely unexpected and unearned blessings. Huge. Unearned. Undeserved. So totally from God. I was giving Him glory and praise, wondering what He would do next to surprise us, since He has already proven that He is in the business of surprises, and it occured to me:

I am already royalty.

I know I already knew that. I've read in Romans and other places that I am adopted by God as His daughter through my faith in Christ. I know that as a daughter I am also an heiress. I know it says in 1st Peter that we are a royal priesthood. I know. But, today in the shower, I knew. It hit me afresh like a ton of bricks. I am His. I am an heiress.

No matter what He does or does not do with me, my life, or our finances down here on this earth, I am royalty. My cup is overflowing! I am privileged and accomplished. Not by my own merit, since I don't want to boast, but by His merit. He has this huge banquet table already set, and my seat has a placecard bearing my name! My name. Me. The dork. Me!

"But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." 1st Peter 2:9-10

"He who was seated on the throne said, 'I am making everything new!' Then he said, 'Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.' He said to me: 'It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life. He who overcomes will inherit all this, and I will be his God and he will be my son.'" Revelation 21:5-7

I knew there was a reason I always loved those mall fountains! I am royalty, bathing in my riches, drinking from the spring of the water of life. I may have said it before, but God stuns me.

ramblings of a night owl

2010-05-10T23:33:00.000-05:00

I should be in bed. Not only because the clock says so, but because this night owl is actually tired. I was nearly on the couch asleep an hour ago........wait--did I just type nearly on the couch?? Sheesh. Let me clarify..........I was on the couch nearly asleep an hour ago (aah, much better), but since Dan has to leave for work at 11pm, there is no actual dozing off for me before then. No way. None. When your man has to stand on a concrete floor all night long while you sleep in a soft warm bed all night long, if anyone gets the privilege of dozing in front of a TV in the evenings, I guarantee it is gonna be him. Which brings me back to my original point. I am sleepy tonight. I should go to bed. You'd think, by this stage in my life, I would have learned that fatigue should equal bed. But for me, notsomuch. For me, fatigue has come to mean "forge ahead". I'm not saying it is necessarily healthy. Just, quite often, necessary. So here I sit, at 11:39pm on a dark and rainy night, typing instead of sleeping. Truth be told, I have missed the blog these past few days, and even without a clear pre-planned thought to express, I feel like typing.

I thought I might share with you some random nothings from my life. After all, a pile of nothings still might add up to something! (I hope.)

.....I was hugging Emma (5 years) the other day when she says, "Mom, if you had some of that oil that takes away spots and bumps, your face would look better." Great. Now I have a fat belly and a bumpy face. I am going to duct tape both of my daughters' mouths shut. (And please don't look real close the next time you see me, just to see if she is right!)

.....I looked out the kitchen window last week to see my 6-year-old (Cole) standing in a, shall we say, strange position. When I asked him about it, he replied, "Oh, I was just peeing in a bottle." Of course he was. Why wouldn't he pee in a bottle when there are 5 acres of grass in every direction??

.....Speaking of kitchen windows, even though living where I live it seems to me like the wind never stops blowing, it is muddy way to often for my taste, and the flies exist just to make me crazy, the view out my front door when the flies are at their peak is exquisite. And so, on many an early morning in summer and fall, it is not uncommon to see me running barefoot to the lane in my jammies to try to capture the beauty of God's artistry. Enjoy just a sample...

No matter how many mornings I look, I am continually in awe of God's creation. The vastness of His sky. The colors of His palette. The quietness of the mist. The stillness of the morning. The gentleness of His sunrise. It is intoxicating! And yet all of it exists on this broken earth. This earth that will someday pass away. This earth that cannot for one second compare with the beauty of Heaven.

God stuns me.

I'm not sure if I amounted to anything tonight, but with the thought of sunrises on my mind, I am crawling into bed. Nitey-nite.

The smell of cut wood

2010-05-05T23:02:00.000-05:00

Aaah, spring is here! The birds are singing, the grass is green, and the trees are in bloom. We've got calves dropping, a crop to prepare, fence to fix, and even a pregnant cat. Yep, spring is here! Praise. the. Lord.

Naturally, as is the season, it is time for yard work, and on Sunday, we did some as a family. I know, I know...day of rest. The thing is, though, that on a farm with a guy who has two full-time careers, doing yard work is actually "restful". It is unnecessary to the health of the farm. It is frivolous, if you will. And for me, who holds down the fort around here by myself much (ahem, most) of the time, having adult companionship in the yard is a true treat. And so it is that we found ourselves outside in the yard as a family on Sunday to do some spring sprucing. It was a lovely day, complete with warm sunshine and nice breezes. Dan went over to the other farm place to retrieve the riding garden tiller, whilst the children and I began the mowing and tree trimming here. It was at this moment that I happened upon a bush that was crowding the garden spot, making it impossible to get the mower through, so, naturally, I wanted it trimmed. Proving itself much greater that the boy-powered "loppers" in the hands of my skinny 12-year-old, I went for the chainsaw. With flashbacks of woodcutting days in Colorado racing through my brain, I thought, "oh, yea, I can do this."

Um, notsomuch. I couldn't even start the dumb thing.

And so, how did I handle it? As any self-respecting woman married to a manly-man such as mine, I set the bright orange chainsaw down in the yard, right at the base of the offending bush, where Dan would be sure to notice it when he returned. (Subtle, eh?) Well, notice he did, and pretty soon the chainsaw was humming, the woodchips were flying, the smell of wood was thick in the air, and I was instantly 13 again and in the Colorado mountains. Growing up in Denver, we had a wood-burning stove in our fireplace, and it was my father's sheer delight to heat the house with it as much as he could. It would roar for much of the mild Denver winters, creating a home with the most welcoming and toasty family room around, and bedrooms of blankets to combat the cool, crisp upstairs air.

The best part of having a wood stove...the fire. The worst part...the wood cutting.

What seemed like every single Saturday of every single summer for years, was spent loading up into a pickup truck and winding our way up into the backroads of the front range for the "perfect" woodcutting area. Mind you, there were five of us kids in the family, and we used one topper pickup for the job. My youngest sister would have the privilege of sitting in the cab, while the other four of us would bounce around in the back of the pickup. Not being able to really see out of the tiny windows in the topper, one of us was usually carsick. The gravel (dirt) roads were washboard roads with sheer drop-offs a frequent occurance. I can still hear my Mom gasping for breath when she though Dad got too close to the edge, and I am surprised she never put her foot through the floorboard trying to use her brake. The pickup rides were, to say the least, an arduous affair.

Once we had arrived at the "perfect" woodcutting spot, greeted only by the whisper of pine trees in the breeze and the whine of a chainsaw in the distance, we commenced the cutting. Dad would man the chainsaw, us kids would yell "TIMBER!!", and tree after tree would fall. After Dad had removed all the branches and created logs out of what was once a pole, Mom would assemble us into a "chain gang". She would assign one of us to attend to my youngest sister while the other three of us hauled logs. And so it would go, log after log transported from Dad, to Stacy, to Greg, to me, to Mom, who would stack them in the truck. On the next tree, Stacy would babysit and Nikki would jump into the chain gang. And the next tree, and the next tree, and the next tree...so it went for an entire day, until the truck was filled to the brim leaving only enough room in the back for four little bodies.

Yep, that is right, we were slave labor who had to ride on the wood on the winding way home, back down the washboard gravel (dirt) roads, all the way to Denver, each of us exhausted and irritated with the other, as our butts fell fully and completely asleep. Torture. Sheer torture. My friends were at the pool, or reading Nancy Drew, or recording songs off the radio with a hand-held cassette recorder, while poor moi was cutting wood. I found it utterly disgusting at the time.

Praise the Lord, however, that hindsight is 20/20, and what was once the shame of my pubescent life, is now one of my sweetest memories.
Know what I love most about woodcutting?...
the smell of cut wood
the smell of a chainsaw
the roar of a chainsaw, especially from far away
the total silence of the mountain forests
the sound of a tree crashing to the ground
the kid-made "forts" at the base of a pine tree
the hole in the ground for a toilet
the cheers and chants kids make up when having a chain gang
the feel of a washboard road
the roar of a campfire

God has, in His infinitely amazing and wonderous grace, taken what I once deemed an arduous task, and weaved it into a beautiful memory. It is fully laced into who I am, and my favorite pasttime of all is to sit by a campfire. I absolutely adore the smell of cut wood and smoke. Crazy, huh? No, it's just God.

And what, I wonder, is He going to do with some of what I consider are today's most arduous tasks?...
doing the dishes for a family of eight twice a day
cleaning up after yet another potty accident
picking up the trail of cookie crumbs on the carpet
tripping over stuffed animals and toy trains
driving to practices and games
leading an elementary youth group
planning a VBS for 100 children
bottle-feeding an orphaned calf
house-training a puppy
training up a child in the way he should go
washing 13 loads a week
nursing hurts
bandaging cuts
combing out tangles
and on
and on
and on.

Arduous? yes. Exhausting? yes. Humbling? yes. Useful? yes. Wasted? not one second. So totally worth it? yes. A thousand times, yes. Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

I can't wait for the next campfire.

laundry for the soul

2010-05-02T20:48:00.000-05:00

Ever thought you were doing pretty good in an area of your life? Ever thought others could even look to your example? Ever been proven totally wrong? Yep. Me again. The dork who thought she was doing good at something. Notsomuch.

Sometimes the Lord sharpens me through the example of others, and this happened to me in my not-so-distant past. I was participating in a group Bible study, and one of the women, a gal close to my age, came with her personal Bible, as we all were doing. My Bible was still relativley new, shiny, and engraved with my name. I kept it in a cover, so, you know, it would stay new, shiny, and nice. I was quite proud of it, in fact! Quite proud. For like 7.2 seconds. Then this other gal sets her Bible down on the table…and my eyes were instantly fixated on it. It was worn. It was tattered. It was literally swollen from hours of use and re-use. And this is a gal MY age! What I saw is that her Bible was alive and breathing, just like the Word inside it. That Bible was beautiful, and it made my pristine, protected, “pretty” Bible look perfectly pathetic!

I went home that night and took my perfectly pathetic Bible out if its case. I stared at it and wondered just why I had thought it needed to stay perfect. I opened it and I read it. (That is not the uncommon part.) And then I read some more the next day. (A little less common.) And the next. (Three days in a row--now we're talkin'!) I got my pen out and started underlining, marking, drawing exclamation points, and circling that which the Holy Spirit revealed to me. That day, I began the process of bringing my Bible to life, by giving the Word birth in me, and my highest aspiration is to wear it out!

And then I thought...Bible study is a lot like laundry. Bear with me here. For me, as the Mom of six kids and the wife of one farmer, I do a lot of laundry. Like 12 to 14 loads a week, not counting the sheets. (Anyone looking for a part-time job can call me later.) Needless to say, laundry takes a lot of my time. As any decent and self-respecting housewife, I mean Domestic Goddess, I have to commit to our laundry, and I must do it again and again. And again. And again. I have to make a plan. I have to sort, divide, wash, dry, fold, and put away every single piece of clothing. Every. single. piece. (makes me dizzy just thinking about it sometimes) And many weeks, I have to further challenge myself to do even more laundry by stripping the beds and freshening the place where my loved ones rest.

If I did none of these things, my house would be soon overrun by big, nasty piles of smelly, musty clothes. (Mmmmm...great mental image, huh?) My children would be unkempt and unclean. (OK, so that actually happens already. But not very often. Really.) My lack of planning and commitment would be obvious to myself and others within days.

Likewise, as a daughter of Christ, striving to serve Him and live a life worthy of Him, I must do a lot of Bible study. (However, this is a job that no one can do for me. Dang it!) I have to commit my time, and I have to do it again and again and again. I have to make a plan. My plan must be systematic in that a plan will even exist in the first place. Since I have dirt that needs washed out of my soul, I need that systematic plan to sort and divide my weaknesses, through the sharpening of the Word. My plan must be progressive in that I can measure where I am going by where I have been. Am I coming clean? Are the piles diminishing? Can others see me shine, or do I still stink a little bit in my unkempt soul? And lastly, my plan must be challenging in that I must continually add to the learning and dig deeper, adding some new element that challenges me spiritually and intellectually, and that will strip my layed-in grime and give my Savior a fresh place to rest.

Aaaah, Tide fresh!

Everyone reading this knows that I cannot do my laundry without water. I have to open the faucet and let its purity and cleansing power come in, or else my efforts would be futile. There is as much a reason that God made life-giving water for our physical lives, as there is a reason that He gave us the life-giving Holy Spirit for our spiritual lives. I've thought of just a few reasons, and for your reading pleasure, I'll kindly list them here:

The Holy Spirit opens our eyes to see the world through God’s eyes.

The Holy Spirit enables us to recognize when God is speaking.

The Holy Spirit helps us to change as we come to know ourselves better through the study of God’s word.

The Holy Spirit instructs us to become more like Christ.

The Holy Spirit works to reshape us, moving us to respond by saying “yes” to God’s love, and yes to loving others.

The Holy Spirit convicts us when our oh-so-very-human arrogance rears its ugly head. Not that that has ever happened to me.

Bottom line? The Holy Spirit must be invited to inform our Bible study. He’s as vital as turning on the faucet.

So, why a post on Bible study? I'm behind and the piles are getting kinda deep. I needed a good reminder. :)

what does he see in me?

2010-04-29T16:15:00.000-05:00

17 years ago, I was falling in love. A mere 29 days earlier than this very day in 2003, I had enjoyed my last "first meet", not knowing, of course, that it was indeed the last. I had thought it was very nice, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that this guy would be the guy.

We had met in a bar (no shock there, to anyone who knew me then) through a mutual acquaintance, and even that very first night, we had enjoyed a really nice conversation. He shuffled his feet a lot, I tossed my hair a lot, and we both giggled nervously. A lot. He broke the mold of the typical "college guy" (probably because he was already out of college), and was not actually dripping in cologne, thereby leaving a trail of hormones and lust wherever he went. He was tall, which I liked, but kept scrunching down a little bit, as if self-conscious of the way he was built, which I did not like. He wore worn out cowboy boots rather than the latest, trendiest, and most cool shoes that money could buy. He was nice, and was cute enough, but honestly, he was so not the man of my dreams. Or so I thought.

God had other things in mind.

As time unfolded, I began to see in this tall, humble, intelligent, funny, ruggedly handsome, non-conformist, an allure that was magnetic to my soul, and fight it though I may, I fell in love with him. And he with me. And as we fell in love, the same question kept coming to my mind...what does he see in me?? Is he nuts? How can he possibly love me? (Am I the only person who has ever wondered that??)

For example, I had rarely met a Coors Lite or an Amigo's soft taco that I did not like, and my middle showed it. I still had acne. I was still in college and had spent too much time wondering what to do with my life, and even though I was close to graduation, I still was not sure what I was going to be when I grew up. I had no money. I lacked impulse control and had sought out physical comfort from too many men who had not earned it. (Think promiscuity) I claimed to be a Christian, but most everything about me screamed the exact opposite. And even though it was the style at the time, my hair was way, way, waaaay too big. (Think of the early 90's, a perm, really long thick hair with tall bangs, and you might be close.)

What does he see in me?? How can I be worthy of his love??

But, my worth in my sight did not matter. To Dan, I was perfect. I was all he had ever wanted. He did not see the freshman (or sophomore-junior-senior-5th year senior) 30 + pound fat roll around my middle. He he loved my big hair. He was blind to zits. He was still trying to figure out what to do with his life, too. He had made his own share of "mistakes of affection", and was leaving a past behind, too. He was broke, too. And he knew Christ even less than I did. To Dan, I was not a list of wrongs, but of rights. Because he is the right man for me, he overlooked all my flaws and saw only the best in me. It still amazes me.

But more important than this miraculous gift given to me 17 years ago, is the gift of acceptance and forgiveness I daily receive from God. Really, the question should have a capital H in it.

What does He see in me?

What does the Lord see in my soul when He really looks close? Does He see every shortcoming, every failure, every fault, every mistake, every blemish, every...every? Does He see all my fears, my doubts, my insecurities, my worries, my hurts? Of course He does. Does He notice? Absolutely. Does He care? You bet. But does it matter? No.

The God who so intricately knit me together in my mother's womb, the God who can number the hairs on my head, the God who knows my thoughts even before I do...yea, He notices. Nothing is outside of His watchful eye. But nothing can separate me from His love. There is nothing I can do, say, or think that will take one ounce away from His magnificant love for me.

Nothing.

As I daily walk this journey with Him, I am more and more aware of this truth. I still don't fully grasp it, and I hope I never do. I hope that I am forever striving to fully understand Him and His greatness, and the incredible depth of His love for me. What does He see in me?? How can He love me so much?? I just screamed at my kids...surely He is disgusted with me. I just slammed down the phone in anger at the harsh words of a friend...surely He made a mark on my tally. I just ate that whole bag of gummy worms myself without even sharing...surely He cannot trust me. I was just impatient with the man who loves me so well...surely I am unworthy. I just complained about the mud for the 427th time this week...surely I am ungrateful. I just....
I just...
I just...

I just got forgiven. I just found more love. I just drew one step closer to His grace. And to Him be all the glory.

Who sinned?

2010-04-24T10:54:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, a young couple, perhaps newly married and full of hopes and dreams, received the joyous news that they were expecting a baby. “It will be son,” boasted the proud father-to-be, praying that if he said it out loud, he could somehow will it into truth. “Let him be healthy”, said the mother as she stroked her belly and hummed lullabies.

In due time, the day came for their child to be born, and through tears of joy they learned that they did indeed have a son. A son! Praise the Lord! He was perfect and beautiful, and was the embodiment of all their prayers and dreams. Perfect, that is, until they realized that their son had been born blind. The young couple, utterly shocked and dismayed, no doubt wrestled with God on this sudden change of plans. I envision tears and pain…tirades and anger…fear and hurt. I can almost hear them asking, “But, Lord, what have we done wrong?!” The agony of such a realization surely ripped them to the core, living as they did in a time when physical defect was a thing of shame, and knowing instantly that their precious son would be reduced to the status of a mere beggar.

I know the story of another couple, also newly married and full of hopes and dreams, who, after praying for a child and surviving the struggle of infertility treatments, received the joyous news that they too were expecting a baby. At their first ultrasound appointment, that joy was magnified triple-fold when three tiny heartbeats appeared on the screen. “Just let them be healthy,” was the unison prayer lifted that day.

But life took a turn for this couple as well, when just 6 months into the pregnancy, an emergency c-section was performed, and three tiny, underdeveloped baby boys were lifted from the safety of their mother’s womb. Then, just six days later, the monitor above one bed was turned off, and a still, tiny bundle was handed to over his grieving parents to hold for the first and only time. “He fought hard” was the best comfort that could be offered that day.

This young couple also began to wrestle with God. “Why, Lord, why? Why give us three to just take one away? What did we do wrong?!”

As Jesus was walking along, He saw a man who had been blind from birth. "Teacher," his disciples asked him, "why was this man born blind? Was it the result of his own sin or that of his parents?" "It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,’ Jesus answered. He was born blind so the power of God could be seen in him.” John 9:1-3

Instantly, a curse had been turned to honor. Grief to privilege. Sorrow to joy! Imagine the realization for that couple, of suddenly knowing that before he was even born, their son had been chosen by God to reveal Christ’s glory and power. That his years of heartache and rejection had only been for God’s good. That they had never done anything so wrong, so ugly, so undeserving, to warrant that fate, but that they had actually been chosen for that struggle, for that purpose, and for God’s beautiful plan.

I’d love to tell you that Christ personally came to me and revealed why my son had to die at only six days of age, but He has not. That is OK. I don’t need to know. All I have to do is trust that nothing in my life is outside of His watchful eye. Everything can be used for His glory.

My friends, I have no doubt that everyone reading this either has, or is, wrestling with God over something. It may be as major as a health crisis, or as small as a bad week at the office. But what we can all celebrate and take comfort in is this: no matter what we are going through, it is not out of God’s control. Nothing in your life is going unnoticed. God has not--nor will he ever--turn His back on you. Everything in your life is a part of God’s beautiful plan.

If we allow God to work His will in our lives, like the blind beggar at the side of Christ, He will reveal His power in us.

out of the mouths of babes

2010-04-22T12:37:00.000-05:00

First off, let me apologize to the men who may read this. If you don't want to hear a 2-year-old and her mother discussing the female form, now is the time to stop reading. If, however, you are a father or grandfather and know all about the wonderful things a child notices--however embarassing it may be--then, by all means, read on!

So I was getting dressed after my shower a few weeks ago with my sweet 2-year-old in the room, and the conversation went something like this…

“Mommy, I like your nipples.”

“Thanks, Honey.” (How does one respond to that, really?)

“Do you like my nipples too?”

“Yes, Kendall, they are very nice.”

“Mom, you have boobs?” (Breasts is too hard to say with a lisp)

“Yes, and someday your nipples will get boobs under them, too.”

“They will??” (Wide-eyed and amazed)

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because God made you a girl, and every girl has them.” (Simple and to the point. Maybe she will drop this subject and let me get dressed.)

“God made me??”

“Yes, honey God made you.”

“On the Mii channel??” (Must be time to back off on the Wii!)

“No, Kendall, He made you in my belly”

“Ohhhhh, in your fat belly? You do have a fat belly, Mommy.” (Visualize Kendall with her eyebrows raised, looking up at me as a fitness trainer would if I had gained 5 pounds in a week)

“Yes, I do Kendall, and thanks for noticing.”

Note to self: lay off the cake and lock the bedroom door.

Eat the whole cookie

2010-04-19T23:24:00.000-05:00

It has been almost a week since my last post. As a brand new blogger, I am a tad nervous about losing whatever "fan base" I may have up to this point, however big or small it is, if I am not diligent about posting often and posting well. I want to impact my readers, lift them up, call them to think deeper...whatever God wants from this for them. So staying silent for 6 days has indeed conjured up a nervous sense in me. {{stress}} But it's a good stress. I was silent because one does not just rush onward after a sad death. One does not just charge ahead and start making jokes or espousing on life, when grief is still hanging around in the air. God wanted me to use this time to digest where my life is, to ponder what is good and right about it, to let grief hang around as a valuable tool. And hang though it may, I do feel that it is time for a new blog post. Let's talk about cookies...

The other day I entered the kitchen to find a mound of black round cookies on my counter. And some on the table. And, of course, some on the floor. The kitchen and the living room floor. Ground into the carpet. Black cookies circles everywhere.

It could mean only one thing...Kendall (age 2) had found the Oreos.

[Some of you are probably wondering where I was whilst the offending toddler was eating all the cookies. Never mind. It is irrelevant. I am an attentive Mom. Yes, I am. Despite the cookie evidence to the contrary that day, I typically know what she is up to. That is not the point here anyway, thankyouverymuch.]

After discovering the mess of cookies without guts, I went searching for the mess-maker and found her in the bathroom, attempting to wash her hands, with a face so covered in black crumbs that she could have doubled as a hobo. It was amusing. Sort of.

"Kendall, what happened to the cookies?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? What are you washing off of your hands?"
"I don't know." (This is her way of avoiding the subject, as if claiming ignorance is somehow going to throw me off the case.)
"Kendall, were you eating Oreos?"
"Yes." (Ahaa! Now we are onto something.)
"Why did you only eat the white part?"
"Because the white part is yummy." (Duh. Dumb question, Mom.)
"Well, why didn't you eat the black part too?"
"Because the black part is yucky." (Of course it is. They wrap the white part in something yucky on purpose, you know.)
"Honey, you can't just eat the white part. You have to eat the whole cookie."
"But I don't want the whole cookie. I only like the white part."
At this point I said something prof0und and mature like "Then I am just going to stop buying cookies for you." (Yea, right, like that will fix her. We both know it is not true. She'll get Oreos again. Spoiled baby.)

As I walked away from the messy toddler to the crumbs in my carpet (which I did make her help clean, by the way) I got to thinking, How often am I just like my toddler? How often do I take only the part I like, and try to leave behind the rest? How often am I given a good and perfect gift, and then proceed to pick it apart looking for only the best?

So, here for your reading pleasure, are my lessons from the cookie...

1. When God gives us something in life, even if it is packaged a little differently than we would have liked, He does not want us to embrace only the good stuff and try to peel away the rest. We must try to make the most of everything we are dealt. We have to eat the whole cookie.

2. When we try to pick and choose what we are given, it is a lot more work, and we get a little messier. We may even end up looking like a hobo with black crumbs all over our faces, rather than having just a few crumbs on our fingers. Everyone will see what we have done. In the long run it's easier just to eat the whole cookie.

3. When we attempt to use a gift in the wrong order, or in a way other than that which was intended, we can leave behind a mess that someone else has to clean up. We leave big black circles sitting around, as a trail of breadcrumbs, that demand another's attention. We have to eat the whole cookie.

4. When God gives us something that He chooses just for us, He knows that it is only the entire gift that will satisfy. When we pick and choose that which we will embrace, we are left longing for more, feeling eternally unsatisfied. The white part of an Oreo is not nearly as filling as the whole cookie. We have to eat the whole cookie.

5. Unless you are a child, the white part of an Oreo is not really a stand-alone taste. A few bites, mabye; but then we find ourselves longing for the perfect compliment: some black crunchy chocolate stuff. Likewise, many of our most good and perfect gifts in life are not meant to stand alone. Sure, it may be great for a time, but after a while we need to be sandwiched in the entire gift. Life gets tough. Maybe you will feel better if you eat a cookie.

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Now I'm the one doing it

2010-04-14T23:08:00.000-05:00

Tuesday was a sunny but windy--I mean windy--day. So windy that to have taken my double stroller out on the wide-open gravel roads, even laden with 75 pounds of toddler and preschooler, would have been taking our safety into our own hands. So, as I had promised my five-year-old a stroller ride before preschool, I donned my running shoes and headed to town to walk instead. I passed a tractor on the way. The girls sang along to the radio. I talked with people in town. I bought milk before heading home. It was all very normal, I was living my life.

On October 30th of 1997 I was sitting at the intersection of two extremely busy streets in Omaha. The sun was shining and the unseasonably early snowfall that covered the ground was glistening. The traffic, undeterred by slushy piles of snow, zoomed along. I looked around me as I waited for my green, and all I saw was people busily going about their business. Some were talking, some were singing, some looked annoyed by traffic, others looked plain bored. And then it hit me. No one knows. No one knows what I am going through right now. The sun came up. The earth is still spinning. These people are still living their lives while mine is laying in a pile of rubble back at the hospital. Everyone is still living life.

And it seemed desperately unfair.

I was driving between my parent's house and the hospital where my newborn triplet sons lay. Tyler and Ben were just 9 days old, and between them they totaled just over three pounds. Born extremely prematurely, they were barely clinging to life, and their brother Joshua had died three days earlier. I was living a nightmare, not knowing why this could have happened to me. Racked with Mommy guilt about what I may have done wrong, and what I should have done better, I was planning a funeral while getting a crash course on hospital terminology and pumping breast milk for the babes I still had, each of whom only had a 50% chance of survival themselves. I was as broken as I have ever been. And it was at that moment that I realized that life goes on. Everyone else was still living. The world did not shut down due to my grief. As badly as I may have wanted everyone to freeze in their tracks until I caught my breath, they didn't.

Now I'm the one doing it.

A dear woman, a Mom, 32-years young, full of energy, enthusiasm, beauty, and love, lost her battle with cancer Tuesday and was called Home. Her name was Carrie. A whole town is grieving Carrie's loss, grieving for her husband, and grieving for their children. A whole town feels helpless. And yet, life is going on.

On the warm and windy Tuesday of this week, I took a walk. It was no one other than God Himself who led me to my drawer of rarely-worn tee shirts first thing that morning, to pull out my "Footsteps in Faith" shirt, the ones made for Carrie's benefit two years ago. It was no one other than God Himself who spurred my daughter to beg me for a stroller ride that ultra-windy morning, an activity I have shared with Carrie many times in my life. It was no one other than God Himself who ordained me to offer that walk, just two hours after her death, as a humble tribute to the energetic soul just passed. I lived my life Tuesday, even though a nearby family's life was laying in rubble.

Now I am the one doing it, and it seems desperately unfair.

I have no amazing words of wisdom. I am not the leading authority on death and grief. I am merely reminded that God is in control. Even when we feel like we are spinning out of control, He is still in control. Laura said to me on the sidewalk that morning that God comforted her with a song on the radio. Wendy proclaimed in the drug store four hours after her death that Carrie had met God already. Everyone is walking around searching to find God's hand in this situation, and I pray they are finding it. God is in control. He is not failing to notice. He is holding this world that will keep spinning, the sun that will keep shining, and the lives we will keep living.

He wants us to be the ones doing it.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain,a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace."
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

In loving memory of Carrie.

I am that dork

2010-04-12T07:05:00.001-05:00

A strange and wonderful new thing is happening to me lately. Since I went public about my blog 10 days or so ago (and shamelessly sent e-mails to, oh, I don't know, maybe 60 of my closest address book friends), not a day has passed that someone does not mention something about the blog to me...
"Hey I like your blog."
"I read you blog today, I think is is great."
"Thanks for your story. Loved the pictures."
"I can't believe I am married to a blogger."
And my favorite of all, "Your blog is an inspiration to me."

Can I just say, PRAISE. THE. LORD.

Who knew?? I mean of course He knew, but who knew besides Him, that the silly somethings swimming around in my brain could affect someone else's day?? That the annoying habit I have of thinking about everything as an object lesson, could actually be put to good use?? It's crazy!! (In a good way, of course.) It is almost surreal, really...I am officially a "blogger". I think my hair even looks better to me since I claimed that title. It's all very exciting!

The day after I posted the sandwich story, a dear friend said to me that it broke her heart that I had to skip lunch to buy toilet paper, and since then I have been thinking a lot about her comment and that reality. I feel it best, first off, in the spirit of all truthfulness, to admit that I selected the example of toilet paper for the humorous side of it. Cause, you know, TP is waaaaay funnier than Windex. But in our budget, TP and cleaners both fall into the category of "miscellaneous necessities", and what is more necessary than TP? Not much in a family of eight. Not much. But were we actually in danger of using leaves and scratch paper in the bathroom if I had eaten a sandwich that day?? Maybe not. Then again, maybe we were. It is all in the choices.

If you have never heard of Dave Ramsey, I highly recommend him. He has taught me more in one easy-to-read book, The Total Money Makeover, than years of stumbling around by ourselves, believing the lies of modern society, ever taught us. The biggest lie we were believing was we must have it now. Wrong. Or how about the lie that says budgeting is too hard. It's not. Or my personal favorite, credit cards are my friend. I don't think so.

Driven much by fear, but trusting totally in God, and empowered with some brand new knowledge thanks to Dave Ramsey, Dan and I took a good hard look at our finances a little over a year ago, and boldly decided to cut up all but one credit card, and that one was left at home on the shelf to collect dust. We condensed to using only one checking account. We even got the dorky envelopes from Dave's website and started putting cash into categories. Yes, that is me, the one at WalMart who divides her purchases up by category, and takes four hours in the checkout lane, so that I can buy the socks with "clothing" money in the "clothing" envelope, and milk with "grocery" money in the "grocery" envelope, and toilet paper with "miscellaneous necessities" money from that envelope. I'm the one who saves a measly $10 a month so that we can license our car once a year without dipping into grocery money. At first, I was embarrassed when I went into the bank and asked for such a large lump of money divided into such a specific combination of bills. I was embarrassed to be in the checkout lane digging into 4 different envelopes just to buy the 8 things I had on my cart. It's counter-culture and a tad embarassing!

You know that commercial, the one where the happy music comes to a screeching halt when someone uses cash instead of credit? Where all eyes whip to the one who has no plastic? I am that dork. It's me. Now you know. I have known it for years, but my dorky-ness usually only rears its ugly head when I play any organized sport, or try to design my own Halloween costume from household articles, or attempt any sort of craft. For the most part, I think I have been pretty good at hiding the major dork in me...until now. However, with this new cash-only envelope system, with happy music screeching to a halt every time I hit any checkout lane, I feel like painting it on my forehead just so everyone will know that I am that dork.

Ta-daaah!

I'll let you in on a little secret about being that dork. It's liberating. Oh my gosh, truly liberating. Who knew? Who knew?? I mean of course He knew, but who knew besides Him, that embracing the Biblical principals of tithing first, saving before you spend, abandoning all credit, and some good old-fashioned self-denial, would be so liberating! It's amazing! It's dang hard sometimes, but it is amazing.

And you know what? God is not failing to notice. Everything falls under his dominion. Even whether we choose toilet paper over fast food is important to God. He is not failing to notice any "little" thing we do to get our lives just a little more right with Him, and He rewards His faithful. For example, He watches when His little ones tithe first. (Forgive me for this next part, but what fun is a captive reading audience if I don't toot my horn just a little bit?) Tithing is a huge strain at times to keep it up, but God loves a cheerful giver. We once had a financial advisor suggest our cash flow would look better if we would "consider giving less to charitable contributions". We thought about it for approximately 7.2 seconds and said NO way. We'd never get anywhere if we had abandoned the one thing we actually did right. God is not failing to notice. He watches when His faithful pass up a new shirt to make sure there is enough in the clothing envelope for back-to-school. He watches when we deny ourselves for His principles. He watches the hard stuff we do just to be right with Him.

No, Dan and I are not getting rich just by giving up plastic and embracing our dorky-ness, but we are now totally debt free. One year, debt free. He used amazing people and unexpected gifts (perhaps more on that in another post sometime), He used lots of our tears, and He used a huge measure of His strength poured down into us and our little envelopes, but with His help, we are debt-free. I may have mentioned it before, but God is GOOD.

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who has promised is faithful. Hebrews 10:23

The best sandwich I ever had

2010-04-08T02:30:00.000-05:00

About 10 years ago, my Aunt got married in Philly and I (along with much support from my parents) drove out with my then 21-month-old twins to attend her grand affair. As part of our adventure, we took a day trip into New York City. It was the first and only time in my life I had (or still have, for that matter) been to the Big Apple. It was mind-boggling for this Midwestern gal, despite having grown up in Denver, that so many tall buildings, so many cars, and so many people are crammed into such a small area. I was both awed and annoyed by the experience, and proud to have had it.

On that day, we ate lunch at a little cafe with black and white floors and funky bar stools. I am certain it had NYC unique-ness and character oozing from the very bricks that supported its walls. I'm just sure of it. I ordered a fantastic--absolutely fantastic--sandwich that has lived in infamy in my mind ever since. It was wonderful. It was divine. It was luscious. Dare I claim this sandwich was Heavenly? Mmmmm. It was a portabella mushroom sandwich, and I kid you not, this mushroom was the size of my face. De-lish.

That sandwich was so good, and the experience so unique to my life up to that point, that the re-telling of the sandwich story has been almost as good as eating it, and for a great many years now. It is a great conversation opener, for example, in the produce department upon passing the mushroom case..."Aaah, I remember a sandwich I ate once in New York City that makes that withered mushroom here in Nebraska look like a weed." Or at a restaurant with funky bar stools..."Well, these stools are very nice, but compared to the ones dripping with mushroom juice in New York City, they are stiff and unforgiving." Things like that.

I can now claim, however, to have truly eaten the truly best sandwich of my life, in my not-too-distant past and not-too-distant travels, right here in good ol' Northeast Nebraska.

I won't pretend that Dan and I, and our children, don't live very tightly budgeted. We do. While our choice for me to stay at home all these years is a good one, and his choice to remain committed to the family farm is the right one, those choices have taught us one of many valuable lessons...budgetbudgetbudget. And budget some more. And perhaps sometimes go without. Like this day, for example, I was skipping lunch because I decided to buy toilet paper instead. But I was hungry nevertheless. And while those lessons are mighty in importance and eternal in significance, sometimes it sucks. Sometimes a person just wants to throw the budget out the window and splurge. It was a day like that, a couple of months ago, when I was aching for the permission to splurge on a fast food lunch, but through prayer and persistence, was not. I was resisting. {gritted teeth} I admit I may have even been doing a little pouting. {sigh} Maybe. Just a little.

Anyway, it was on this day of power and pouting that I went out to shop, and on the way, the radio was on. My local Christian radio station, as is typical, was holding their daily "Bible Brainbuster" trivia contest. Ooh! Cool! I heard the promo, I got my phone. I dialed up the number, I waited. They asked the question, I knew the answer, and I hit send. AND I WON. (Sad to say, as I sit here, I cannot for the life of me remember the question, but I am sure you would have been impressed.) I, Shelly, whipped out some Bible trivia and won. And can you guess what I won?? AN ARBY'S COMBO VALUE MEAL! Praise God! I won lunch!!

Proud as a peacock, I whipped my car right to the station and picked up my bronze certificate, and headed straight to Arby's to silence my grumbling belly. Not typically an Arby's fan, this day it did not matter and I ordered with flair. A turkey bacon club, thankyouverymuch. Not to be too deterred from my time agenda, I decided to just eat in the car. As I ate, I, of course, continued to listen to the very radio station that had just bestowed such good fortune on me. And as I listened, I found myself drawn into a segment on starving children in the world. I heard, much to my horror, how many children die each day due to malnutrition and malnutrition-related diseases. The statistics are staggering. I heard a plea to do something to save dying babies with bloated bellies and wasted limbs.

And while I sat there in my car, in the parking lot of a mall, in the richest nation in the world, with my plump and healthy two-year-old smiling over her curly fries in the back seat, gorging myself on an over sized sandwich given to me for free, just because I can read my Bible without persecution and can afford a cell phone, I began to weep. I wept over every last bite. And all I could think was, Who do I think I am?! What makes me so deserving? Why am I so special?? I did nothing other than to be born here, and they did nothing other than to be born a world away in an impoverished nation. I don't have to watch my children suffer and die. I don't have to sweep a dirt floor in a drafty hut. I can talk on my phone and drive my car and buy all the toilet paper I need.

And yet, even here, in America, while I bask in arrogance, God reminded me that He is still meeting all my needs. He is concerned even for my lunch on a day when the budget wins. He is so big, so real, so true, and so right, that despite all my unworth, despite all my pouting, He is willing to meet my needs, right down to a lowly sandwich. He rewards the unfaithful, He cherishes the lowly, and He uplifts the downcast.

I don't know why or how I managed to be so very blessed, to have been born at the latitude and longitude of this great earth that He chose for me, and why I was not born in a hut in a wasteland, but what I do know is that God is in control. He has my life in the palm of His hand and will oversee every detail if only I will let Him. He loves me and cherishes me and claims me.

That day, I was once again reminded that God is not failing to notice. I now have a new "best sandwich" story. The best sandwich I ever had. To Him be all the glory.

My life as a have-not

2010-04-05T07:27:00.000-05:00

My entire Clan of In-Laws (minus a boyfriend who had to work) went bowling on Easter Saturday. All 23 of us, plus my own little sister, piled into the little 6-lane alley in Smalltown America and bowled til our thumbs were sore and our shoulders begged for mercy. For a few of us, that takes two full games. For others, it was about three frames. I am somewhere in the middle, although I persevered until the end of game two. It was not pretty. Thank God there were 15 kids there to take the pressure off, and I was not the worst bowler in the room.

I have not the gift for bowling. Or any organized sport, for that matter.

Following the escapades of the bowling alley, we pressed through an evening of dyeing Easter eggs, showers, and baths, and fell exhausted into bed in anticipation of what the morning would bring. Easter Sunday came early and began with those familiar words known oh-so-well to every parent: "Dad! Mom! Get up! The Easter bunny came!!" How wonderful! Amidst the trails of candy wrappers and Easter grass on the floor, our salvation was found once more. Christ is alive!! He is risen! Eat a chocolate bunny in celebration!

I have not a clean floor or a small waistband.

After a truly lovely church service, I attempted the impossible. At least it is impossible in my world. I attempted to get one good--just one good--photo of my children in their Easter best. I am intelligent. Dan is intelligent. Our children are intelligent. So can anyone tell me why it is that getting one--just one--good photo can be such an impossible nightmare? Sometimes this process can be enough to make me want to scream out "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST SMILE?!" (In Christian love, of course.) Thankfully, this year I did not scream. I laughed. But nevertheless, despite the odds, despite the past evidence to the contrary, I attempted these oft-sought-after photos again. Hope springs eternal, especially on Easter. Here, for your pleasure, are my failed attempts...

I have not children who can sustain attention toward a camera. I have not a beautifully landscaped yard with a gorgeous spring backdrop. I have not the patience for this process.

What made Easter truly lovely for me this Easter was not the baskets, candy, or ham dinner. It was not the music at church or watching the black drape come off the cross while I wrestled with a two-year-old who was overtired and wired on sugar (not a good combination). What was lovely for me was the laughter of children running circles with their cousins. It was the squeals of "go faster!" while they got to ride in the back of Daddy's pickup on our gravel road on our gorgeous spring day. It was the "aroma pleasing to the Lord" in my backyard. It was the sticky faces covered in roasted marshmallow goo. It was watching my brother-in-law make the perfect S'more.

God did such an amazing thing on the cross over 2000 years ago. The most amazing thing. Ever. And yet, who did He do it for? Us. A bunch of overstuffed, busy, simple earthlings covered in Easter grass and marshmallow goo. A bunch of have-nots.

I have not fame or riches. I have not the perfect body. I have not well-behaved kids who make life peaceful and calm. I have not the perfect church. I have not the prettiest yard. I have not the nicest house. I have not. I have not. I have not. As I reflected on the failed photo attempts of my children, I wondered, how often does God want to scream "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST SMILE?!" How often does He give me a good and perfect gift, and watch me complain about something else?

Yes, Lord, the sun is lovely, but the wind is too strong today.

Yes, Lord, the kids are happy, but do they have to be so loud?

Yes, Lord, Dan can still work, but does he have to work so much?

Yes, Lord, the kids are healthy, but they still can't clean up after themselves.

Yes, Lord, I asked to be used by You, but not in this way.

Complain, whine. Whine, complain. Worry about this. Fret about that. Have not. Try too hard to have it all. Anyone relate??

But, I do have it all! I have Christ, His salvation, my family, and a backyard campfire. My life as a have-not can be pretty good sometimes, if only I would keep my heart focused on Him. He just gave His life for me, and I am basking in that glow today.

The ultimate unfair

2010-04-02T10:50:00.001-05:00

It's finally here! My kids have a bonafide three-day weekend that is not due to a blizzard!! Our winter was so brutal, with so many snow days, that every single holiday, day off, or break day, was taken from the school calendar so as to get all the learnin' in before the end of the school year. Sure, we had nice days of winter repreive thrown in, but all in all, this winter was hard, was challenging, and was seemingly hopeless. It has seemed a tad unfair, and there were many times we thought it would never end. It has been that long haul through this winter to today, a planned and anticipated day off, that makes this day seem so very wonderful. Aaahhh. We had waffles and bacon, the baritone is bellowing from the 12-year-old's bedroom, and a couple of kiddos are doing art. It is a good day.

It is also Good Friday, the day we mark in honor of Christ's crucifixion; the day our savior endured His death on the cross. For Christ, this day, too, was a much planned for and anticipated day. His entire ministry on earth led up to this day. Just as my children, their father, and I (and every neighbor in a 300-mile radius)endured a long haul through a difficult winter, so Jesus endured a long haul through a three-year earthly ministry that was full of trial, rejection, and heartache. Sure, He had many, many bright spots (many more so than our bleak desolate Nebraska winter), but Christ's ministry sets the prime example for us of enduring and perservering just because we love God that much.

While I realize it was not exactly 2,030-ish years ago at this moment, let's pretend briefly that it was. What was Jesus doing at this exact moment of this day? I think at this point He had been awake for over 28 or 30 hours straight, and had already been beaten boyond recognition. He had sat up all night, bleeding and oozing from His wounds, suffering in pain, mockery, and rejection. He had stood trial first thing in the morning, and was probably being prepared for the long march through Jerusalem with his own murder weapon on his shoulders. All for my sins. For the redemption of all of His Father's creation. It was a grim, ugly moment. Talk about perserverance.

And what does Christ ask me to do for Him??

Am I asked to suffer--really suffer--for my sins? And I murdered for my sins? Do I have to carry a cross, endure a beating, and publically bleed and suffocate to death for my mistakes??

All I am asked to do is believe. To trust. To love. To put my hope in Him rather than myself. That's small potatoes compared to what the Lord asked of Jesus. I am sooooo good at accusing God of asking me to live through situations I believe are "unfair". I can whine and complain with the best of them. But the ultimate "unfair" request in history was when God asked Jesus Christ to die for MY sins. Not His. Mine.

Unfair.

And yet He did...with love...all for ME. And YOU. The lyrics of a song by Scott Krippayne are burning in my brain right now. Read for me...

You never asked my to hold out my arms
No one put nails my hands
I'll never fell the weight of the world
Or carry a cross on my back
Nothing I do could ever replace
All that You did on that day...
You took my place up there on the tree
You gave Your life so that I could be free
You died for me, now I'm living for You,
Lord, that's the least I could do.

The very least I, Shelly, can do for Jesus, is live for him. Believe, trust, love.

Happy Good Friday, everyone. May Christ's sacrifice for YOU be a glorious hope!

The backside

2010-03-29T11:48:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, and as is the tradition at our church, the men host an Ecumenical Men’s Palm Sunday Breakfast first thing in the morning, before anyone needs to be at church for anything else. This year, my husband and I were asked to be the speakers. After much thought, prayer, and discussion, we settled on the theme of “moving forward” in our faith walks. Christ Himself commands us to follow Him, and Paul and the author of Hebrews both use the metaphor of running a race to achieve the prize of Heaven. We said lots of good things like that.

Today, I have been reflecting on the truths God revealed to me as Dan and I gave our talk. For example, if you don’t move, God will probably move you. And that may not always be a pleasant process! But what is really swimming in my brain—so much so that I walked away from the dishes to type (I know that may shock some of you)—is the backside. (The backside of my strong, handsome husband was a pure joy to me as I listened to him describe the trials, heartaches, joys, and events from our lives to the group of men assembled in our small church. But Dan’s backside is not really my point today, no matter how much it is burned on my brain.) God’s backside is what I am really celebrating.

The backside of a long drive is where you reach your destination. The backside of an interaction is where we see our mistakes. The backside of a great date is where you do the most smiling. The backside of a trial is where we see the Hand of God most clearly.

Everyone reading this has suffered through at least one trial. Guaranteed. Everyone reading this has experienced one victory in their life. Guaranteed. Everyone reading this lives life, day in and day out, over and over, perhaps without much planning or perhaps with a mountain of planning. And at any given time, we are all just starting a journey, smack in the middle of another, and completing yet a third…or fourth…or tenth. Only God knows how they all work together.

He is already ahead of us, standing on the backside, waiting for our arrival.

Once upon a time, I was comfortable. My faith life was easy. Church was good. Marriage was good. Singing in the choir was good. It was all, well, good. So very plain and good. Until I realized I wanted “more”. More passion, more joy, more excitement when I heard the name Jesus uttered at church. My church was not the problem. I was. I wanted more. I knew there was more. I knew it. I wanted more of Christ. But I did not know how to get it. It was not until a nearby church hosted a two-day seminar on the Holy Spirit that I really allowed Christ to grab me, willingly, and do a BIG work in me. With fear and trembling, I accepted the invitation to go forward and be prayed over. With tears streaming down my cheeks and off my chin, I choked out the words, “I just want to feel it”. The six most powerful words I have ever uttered. I just want to feel it.

Today it is eight years and three kids later, and I "feel it" like I never knew possible. I have grown in only the way our Creater could have worked. I am journeying toward His backside and I can’t wait to see where He takes me!

I am so glad Christ has my backside.

Just a little taste of Heaven

2010-03-25T17:47:00.000-05:00

I love to go camping. Sitting by the fire, watching the smoke rise and curl heavenward, relaxing with dirt under my fingernails and no real agenda…aah, that really does it for me. I may have even said once or twice, “This is Heavenly!” We all have places where we have felt like that; where the peace and beauty of the setting seems to wash the cares of life away for a time. Some may say it is at the beach, or on a mountainside, while gazing at a sunset, or even on a lawnmower. Our little “tastes of Heaven” are the beautiful places that bring us joy and peace of soul. As humans, we strive to seek out the beauty of this world and wonder, is that what Heaven will be like??

I, however, have truly found a taste of Heaven on this earth, and I call it Presbyterian Pilgrimage. The camp where we gathered for those three days was fairly brown and skies overcast, so to call it “beautiful” would be stretching the truth a bit. The bed in which I slept was comfortable but was not designed to pamper me like a spa would, so to claim it as purely “relaxing” would be a lie. My days were full of worship, communion, prayer, learning, laughing, eating, singing, praising, fellowship, and intentional community, so to claim that I had no real agenda or demands on my time would be wrong.

Set your minds on things above, not on earthy things. (Col. 2:3) Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. (Col. 2:5-6) “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ He who was seated on the throne said, ‘I am making everything new!’ “(Rev. 21:3-5a)

In Pilgrimage, more than any other place before or to perhaps even to come, I have truly found that little piece of Heaven. It is a place where no one fights, no one lusts, no one condemns, no one is judged, no one slanders, and no one has any other gods. A place where everyone is accepted as God’s workmanship. Where everyone is loved. Where everyone can give praise and receive grace. A place where the presence of the Lord is literally tangible, and where His community is blessed. The physical beauty of the place—or of the participants, for that matter—does not affect the atmosphere of Pilgrimage. It is simply God’s community, designed by feeble humans, knit together by Him, for His glory; and at that place, even if for only three days, the “things of the world” pass away.

My mind cannot conceive the physical beauty of Heaven (it says so in 1st Corinth. 2:9), and therefore my desperately human attempts to compare it to campfire smoke, the ocean surf, the orange sunset, the mountain air, or the smell of cut grass, are, well, desperately HUMAN. My mind simply cannot conceive it. But we are assured in scripture that in Heaven, the old will have passed away, and with it all the heartache of this world.

Until Pilgrimage, that is something I could not conceive of either. Now I can.

To Him be all the glory.

www.gpppilgrimage.org

In two years' time...

2010-03-23T23:54:00.001-05:00

In two years' time, my friend Amanda went from being lonely to married and pregnant.

In two years' time, our youngest daughter was weaned, potty trained, and taken out of her crib.

In two years' time, we went from drowning to debt-free.

In two years' time, my husband was resurrected from a near-death collision and back to looking like it never happened.

In two years' time, the Lord has worked so hard on my husband that he is seeing himself in a whole new light.

In two years' time, the Lord has stirred a passion in me to break free from doubt, and earnestly seek a speaking ministry in His name. I'm still a little scared but oh so excited at the possibilities.

What else can God do in just two years time?? I can't wait to find out!

GOD IS GOOD.