THE WRITTEN WORD

My girls are visiting grandparents in Walla Walla this week so I have found time to clean out those corners that aren't important but bug me anyway. 

The dresser in my bedroom that holds new pencils and Christmas boxes, stamps, glue guns, outgrown t-shirts, old buttons...it's a catch-all place and it drives me nuts.

Not anymore!  It's all tidy, along with the closet under the stairs, that cupboard above the washing machine, the space under our coffee corner and other spaces that get set aside in favor of the urgent and necessities. 

This tidiness was not limited to MY forgotten corners; no, it generously went to the girls closets.  I went through their clothes, swapping out winter for summer and noting items that needed mending or were too worn out to stay.  During this purge, I came across a sunflower chest in Beanie's room.  I hadn't seen this chest in AGES.  It was a gift for my sixteenth birthday and I kept old letters and pictures and mementos inside.  I opened the lid, smelling the cedar lining, and was shocked at the amount of letters I kept.  

There were letters from that boy in high school- the one with the amazing hair and dreamy voice who I met at the roller skating rink.  I even had the mixed tape he made me.  Oh, yes.  

Mixed. Tape.

He even talks on the tape in his dreamy voice about how special I am and how much fun we have together and why he chose each song.

He was downright swooney to me.  (Is that even a word?!)  I couldn't think straight around him and was all kinds of gooey when I was with him. I thought he was the cutest, most interesting boy in the whole, wide world.

Until he told me HE didn't believe in Valentine's Day, but since I did he would give me a bear his brother's ex-girlfriend had given HIS BROTHER on Valentine's Day.

Suddenly he wasn't so interesting.

There are letters from that guy I seemed to date over and over and over again.  He was such a good friend and I laughed remembering that time our car broke down and we hitched a ride with a trucker.  We had spent the day in Moses Lake with my Nana playing pinochle and my car died going up the hill outside of Vantage.  We sat in the car and argued about which direction we should walk to get to a town (these are the days before cell phones) and we argued until the sun was almost down and walking was no longer a great option.  We got out and started walking anyway.  That's when the trucker pulled over and offered us a ride.  I was convinced he would murder us, but was talked into it anyway.  He deposited us safely in  Ellensburg, where we were able to call my dad. 

 I'm glad we survived.

Here is the card from that boy in college, the one I was convinced I would marry.  I found that card in my college mailbox after our second date.  He got me to my dorm after curfew and, at my college, if you got in after curfew you had to pay money.  He had put money in the card to cover my "late charge" and a promise to get me home on time in the future.  I  really thought he was "The One". He was the first person I told that my parents were having serious problems.  

He broke up with me saying God told him to and maybe we would get back together later. 

How do you argue with God?

Next are the letters from Logan.  He was my cowboy friend and I loved him like a brother. So many letters from Logan.  He spent a summer watching sheep somewhere in the middle of the United States and he wrote to me a LOT while he was out there.  He talks about his mom (I have letters from her in here, too!) and the stars and the fields and wide open spaces and sends me quotes about how "the little woman on his arm was made of powerful stuff."  His letters are full of love and encouragement; they are a delight to revisit.

Here is a letter from Mindy, a girl who noticed my kindness and just wanted me to know.  

A Valentine's card from another college boyfriend states that I have redeemed his faith in the female gender.  And here is the letter where he says he doesn't want to grow old and alone with sixteen cats to keep him company.  He wants to know when I'm coming to Colorado.

Poems from the boy I danced under the stars in the orchard with.  

He was a really good writer.

Some funny cards from friends and one from my mom congratulating me on my new apartment.

Stacks of cards and letters written by me to my husband and stacks of cards and letters from my husband to me.

Back when we were dating.  

I haven't had a card from him in forever.  He wrote sweet words.

And we knew nothing.

About each other, love, being grown up, building a life together, any of it.

We were very sweet and very stupid.

My journal from those years is tucked in here. I cringe reading my thoughts on love and these boys.  I wanted them to love me and I wanted to love them well.  I'm sorry for the ways I hurt them and can only plead ignorance.  I also want to know why they hurt me.  

Probably the same reason.  

Here is the Christmas card written seven months after my mom moved out.  It's full of determination and courage and fight- maybe I shouldn't have spent so much energy fighting.  Maybe I should have written in the Christmas card what I wrote in my journals.  I wasn't okay.  I felt like I was hurtling through the air and nothing would catch me.  Ever.

I would never have a place to land.

I threw away the cards from that season a long time ago.  It was just too hard to keep them.  Scott has the ones written by me from that time.  They seem Pollyanna-ish, but I wasn't being fake; I was surviving. 

I have reached the bottom of the chest.  Surrounding me are piles of paper, some old pictures and a plaque declaring me the "Best Bus Socializer".  

 This is my written history from those years in voices other than my own.  As I read them I feel a little sad about e-mail and text.  I still remember how each one of my friends (especially boyfriends) wrote my name.  On the outside of a note, on the envelope for a card...it was special.  You don't get that with electronics.  Will my daughters get letters and cards to save and stumble over twenty years later?  Or will it all be stored in some "cloud"?  

That seems a bit impersonal and definitely not as romantic.

I'm here with a small plea:  

Teach your kids to write letters.  

Maybe some notes.  

Grab them a journal so they can experience the power of a written word- not typed, but written.

YOU write them letters!  Write them notes!

Show them how special it is to receive a compliment they can save for a rainy day; something to pull out and remind them they matter and that season mattered.

Teach your kids so they can write letters to mine.

 

The Season of Need

EASTER


Stage 4 Cancer.

A two-year old beaten to death by his mother’s boyfriend.

Sudan.

A church in Egypt.



This world is drenched in pain.  Once in a while, the candy coating of “I’m fine’s”

and forced smiles break and we are leveled by the sheer neediness of this world.



We are walking into “Holy Week”; the week leading up to the cross, where Jesus

took all this world’s brokenness and let it break Him.



Sometimes, on this side of the cross, it’s just too much.



Things we love and hold and believe in suddenly turn to death and we are left

looking at a broken and bloody Jesus.



The disciples.  They know; they understand.  They left all they knew about

themselves and let Him redefine their identities.  They watched Him speak to the

storm and it listened.  They watched Him heal the broken, restore sight and

sanity, raise the dead to life.  They saw Him take the small offering of a boy and

multiply it to feed thousands.  They had walked with Him, laughed with Him,

questioned Him and with each passing day found themselves really believing He

was the Messiah- the Promised One they had anticipated for always. They left

their homes, incomes, stability and reputations for Him.  And because He loved

them He warned them: “We are going to Jerusalem and everything that is written

by the prophets about the Son of Man will be fulfilled.  He will be handed over to

the Gentiles.  They will mock Him, insult Him, spit on Him, flog Him and kill Him. 

On the third day He will rise again.” (Luke 18:31-33)



But they didn’t understand.



And suddenly they were standing at the cross and everything they had believed in

was broken and bloody and covered in death.



They hid behind locked doors, denying they even knew Him.  Terrified, these men

who had witnessed miracles I cannot fathom, hid in fear because it was just too

much.



It’s what I do when things are too much.  Just this week I got news that made me

crawl in bed, cover my head and weep.  When my parents divorced, I spent weeks

lying in bed listening to sad music trying to muster the courage to face life again.  I

have friends who have buried marriages and husbands and babies and sometimes

it’s just too much to be on this side of the cross.



The earth quakes and rocks split; the sky goes dark and thunder roars.  Curtains

split and somewhere a voice howls,

“My God!  WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME????”



What do we do with our faith when it comes to this point?  What do we do with a

God that allows these things to happen?  We say He is love and we sing the He is

enough for us, but what about those times when He isn’t?  What do we do when

we come to Jesus and He just looks beaten and bloody and dead?



I think we give space for grief.  We run our fingers over the splintered wood of

those beams; we cry for what should have been.  We pound our fists against

heaven and throw all our questions to the only One who can take it; the only One

who has taken it.



We pour ourselves out to Him until we are spent. 



Then we look in the empty tomb. 



The men weren’t going to go.  They were still behind locked doors.  But the

women knew that things had to be done; life keeps happening and you keep

showing up.  Clothes need washing, people must be fed and sooner or later we

rise and do what is necessary.  That’s what these women did.  They showed up at

the tomb to care for the dead body of their Lord. 



He wasn’t there.



And as Mary stood outside that empty, empty tomb, weeping, bending over,

searching for something that was not there, two angels showed up.



It’s called hope.



She turned around and Jesus was there.  He was right in front of her but her grief

was so big she couldn’t even see Him…but He saw her.



“Mary.”



Once He spoke, she saw Him for who He was.



No longer bleeding and dying and covered with death.



This is the resurrected Jesus- this is where I put my faith.  The cross is so

important, but it’s on the other side of it we find life; the “Way, the Truth and the

Life.”   I serve a Jesus who is life itself.  He is the One with eyes like blazing fire. 

His voice is like the rushing waters.  He holds the stars in His hand and His face is

like the sun shining in all its brilliance. (Revelation 1:14-16)



“I am the Living One; I was dead and behold I am alive for ever and ever.”

 (Rev. 1:18)



He breathes life into spaces that were dead.  One day He will loose justice on this

earth and everything that was wrong and evil will be made right.  He will wipe

every tear from our eyes and take back His kingdom.  “The kingdom of this world

has become the kingdom of our Lord and of the Christ, and He will reign for ever

and ever.” (Revelation 11:15)



He will ride with the armies of heaven on white horses and avenge the atrocities

that brought us to the cross. (Revelation 19:14)



There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain; everything will be

made new. (Rev. 21:4-5)



One day every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the

sea, and all that is in them, will sing:



“To Him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory

and power, for ever and ever!” (Rev. 5:13)



This world is drenched in pain, sometimes drenched in death.  But when I look

beyond the cross and see the Jesus that beat death to take back what was His…



This, THIS  is Easter.



The call to leave our flesh, with everything it chases and desires, at the foot of the

cross and walk to the other side, letting eternity get under our skin and Jesus

renew our minds so we are actively looking for ways to bring His kingdom here,

now.  Looking for people to bring to the foot of the cross so they can see His love

stretched out and hear Him calling them to real life, real hope.



To let the heartbeat of heaven become our own and discover that our treasures

are not of this world- we can give ourselves over to things that last forever.



To drench ourselves in grace rather than death.



This Easter, let’s learn to walk with the Jesus of Revelation; to stop grieving like

people who have no hope (1 Thess. 4:13) and start living like people chasing an

everlasting Hope.



“Amen.  Come Lord Jesus.



The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people.” (Rev. 22:20b-21)

Dear Forty,

I’m a week away from meeting you face to face.  You have been messing with me for the last six months; maybe this entire past year, and I’m ready to finally just face you and be done with it. Get it over with.

  

What IS this power you hold, this voice in my head, reminding me of all the things I have NOT accomplished.  You are just a number!  Not even a huge one!  But you won’t shut up, shaming me for what I’m not or what I haven’t done.

No, I haven’t been to Paris, roaming the streets with a journal, “finding myself” like Audrey Hepburn in “Sabrina”.  It’s probably a little late for that; if I haven’t found myself by now, I may be destined to be lost forever.

I haven’t written a book; I don’t even blog regularly.

Sigh. 

I haven’t eaten gelato in Italy, or hiked in the Alps, or sang like Maria in Austria.  I haven’t backpacked across Europe.   I’m not Mother Theresa or Princess Diana or even a realistic combination of them both.

      You tell me I have done nothing of importance or notice. 

     
      And I believe you.


          For SO LONG, I have believed you.  Tossing and turning at night, feeling like I somehow missed my purpose; my calling.  Feeling like I missed my window.  Like youth and beauty and hope were only for people under forty, although I have many friends who have passed forty and defy that lie.  Believing that if I haven’t done it by now, I will never do it.


      But today, a week away from meeting you, I’m putting on my fight face and we are going to face the truth. 


Here are some things I HAVE done:

         
      I have kayaked next to a seal in the Puget Sound and down rivers in Hawaii.

      I have flown over the island of Kaui in a helicopter.  It was like riding in a bubble and I laughed like a fool the entire time.  It was awesome.

          
      I have gone swimming under a waterfall and had fish tickle my arms while snorkeling.

           
      I have danced in an orchard, in the headlights of a car, on the dancefloor with Pluto, on a beach and in my living room.

         
      I have sung jazz in a bar with a live band and sang back up, briefly, with James Taylor.  My voice has blended with voices far superior to mine in glorious harmony and I have led people in worship to the very throne of God.  I can't believe that privilege was mine for a while.

          
      I voiced commercials.  Just a couple, but it was so fun!

     
     I guest-blogged!  While my own blog is sporadic, to say the least, I guest blogged and wrote a small piece for a newsletter.  Dare we call that pseudo-published?


          I have hugged Mickey Mouse so many times I’m sure Minnie is more than a little jealous; I got to take my kids to Disney.  Pure magic.  I laughed with my kiddos on the Go-Coaster over and over, had a tea party in Minnie Mouse’s house and told Darth Vadar that he was very tall.


          I have stayed married.  After watching so many friends stop being married, this is worth mentioning.  Seventeen years, and he still makes me laugh.  Seventeen years, and I still believe him when he says he loves me.


          I have two amazing girls.  Bringing them into this world was such a holy moment and raising them is a sacred vocation.  I forget this in the mundane of emptying the dishwasher, cleaning bathrooms and doing laundry (which is never done!!), but this is the season I have surrendered myself to; this is the season I chose.  I never regret it.  Having the space to watercolor, dance, read, hold baby crabs at the beach, build sandcastles and stories and watch them grow, listen to them laugh and watch them love…this I HAVE done.  Yes, it is a challenge not to lose myself in this vocation, but I have found such joy and purpose here.  In their smiles and in their little voices quoting “Jabberwocky” and the Psalms.  Oh, forty.  Nothing tops this.  

Not even Paris.


And this is something I DID always want to do.  Two boxes I wanted to check for as long as I can remember:  be a wife, be a mom.  

I’ve done it. 


          I have taught my kids to read!  And to discover the joy of history and music and books and Shakespeare and ballet.  And Jesus- even more important than reading, I have taught my kids about Jesus and His love for them and the people around them.  We ask questions and pray and laugh at the disciples for their laugh of faith while celebrating that Jesus still loved them and had patience with them, so maybe we can have patience with each other.


          I have owned my own business and did well in my chosen profession while I was in it.  I loved my clients and they loved me.  I loved hearing their stories and learning what they were about.  I loved giving them a space to be heard, cherished and cared for.

I have stayed strong and active.  I love yoga and Zumba and dancing. I do this with no medicine. After being diagnosed with fibromyalgia at nineteen, this belongs on my list of accomplishments.                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                                     In your face, forty.

I have moved.  And moved.  And moved, again.  This one, well, this one hurts.  It’s a tender place.  This one is hard.  Something I didn’t want to be part of my story, like my parent’s divorce or post-partum depression. But it IS part of my story and I have done it.  Leaving friends and homes and dreams and plans behind.  I have met new people and discovered new places that feed my soul like Manito in Spokane, the beach here at home, my in-laws house in Yakima, and the Shakespeare Festival in Boise.  I have immersed myself in new libraries, new parks, new worship teams and new seasons.  This last move, I just didn’t quite have the energy for so much “new-ness”.  But God has been gracious. Always.  I have a family member here that I love like a sister.  An old high school friend and his family to share holiday meals with.  Neighbors that I love; neighbors with so many kids that I feel like our cul-de-sac is something from a book!  New friends from the Y, of all places! God surprising me with His love in unexpected places.  I’m so grateful.

I have seen God provide for a lot of my wants and all my needs.  I have been on the receiving end of both the best and the worstof the church community.  I have watched Him say yes to so many prayers…and no to others.  I have learned what raw trust and faith look like.  I have questioned God and been angry at God; I have yelled at Him and sung songs of love to Him; I have believed Him and doubted Him, sometimes in the same day.  I have learned that the more I come to know Him, the more there is to know.  I have loved well and loved poorly.  I have asked for so much forgiveness from the people I love.

    

I know there is more to come.  More life to live, more songs to sing and words to write and people to love.  More tears to cry, more moments of failure and more heartbreak.  More hope.                                                                                                   

I’m not even halfway done, unless something unexpected happens.  Which is always a possibility.  Not to be morbid, but each day is a gift (even the hard ones) and I don’t know when this gift will stop arriving.  This is living, though.  To keep opening the gift with expectancy and gratefulness.  To feel and hurt and love.  To stay open to it, all of it.  To embrace the joy and the pain; the laughter and the tears; the happy and the hard.  To hope and believe that my story has meaning.

  

Forty, do you see?  I HAVE done things.  Some not so important and some very important.

I haven’t done ALL the things, but that’s ok.  In the words of “Out of the Grey”: “So, we haven’t been to Paris and found the café of our dreams, but our table holds a whole world of memories.  We may never get to Venice and stroll the streets of Rome, but we built our worlds together and we got the best of both.”

And, I’m not done.

No.

Not yet.                                                                                                                                                                    I will see YOU in a week.

Hope

It's Christmas.
There are lights on the tree, lights on the house, lights IN the house casting magic and wonder on my walls.
Santa is at the mall and in front of the grocery stores ringing a bell and I even saw him at a church.
Starbucks has it's "holiday" cups and Christmas songs are playing everywhere.
People are smiling and shopping and Christmas cheer seems to ooze from every shopping bag and store I have visited.
Christmas cards are arriving, bringing news from old friends and new.  Their kids have grown; she cut her hair; they look happy.
But not everything fits so perfectly into my Christmas cookie cutters.
We still have real life happening.   Marriages are ending; cancer is returning; surgery is around the corner; families are broken or simply annoying...this is real life.
I never know what to do with it, but ESPECIALLY  at Christmas I'm lost.
Today as I am on my knees weeping and questioning what God is doing, I think of Mary.  And King David.  
Here is Mary.
Sweet, young, "chosen by God" is what the angel said. "The Spirit of the Lord will overshadow you." He was pretty impressive so she was inclined to believe him.  "Blessed are you among women," is what he said.  So what was she doing on the floor of a stable?  Having a baby who would "be very great and the Son of the Most High"?  This did not feel very blessed.  There was no nurse, no midwife, no mom.  Just the dirty floor of a stable and some cows.  Maybe God could have chosen someone else?  Because this was ridiculous.
Then we have David.
A poet and musician. Hanging out with some sheep until his father remembered he was also part of the family and called him to stand in front of Samuel. That is when Samuel anointed him to be the next King of Israel and the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon him. Then has was running for his life.  Hiding in caves and leaving his family and best friend and trying not to be killed.  This is not how one chosen of God should live.  There should be pillows and comfort and no threats of violence.  Maybe God could have chosen someone else?  And David could go back to his sheep and poetry?
Both of these people were chosen by God and His very Spirit was with them, but was it worth it?  All the pain and confusion and terror and heartbreak?  
I'm watching people, chosen by God, walk through pain.
I'm watching people, chosen by God, walk through fear.
And I have to believe it's worth it to be chosen by God.
See, I don't think this is it.  Hebrews 11 is the "Hall of Fame" for people of faith.  And tucked in the middle it says,
"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. ¹⁴ People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. ¹⁵ If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. ¹⁶ Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one."

I understand longing for a better country.  My favorite Christmas song states that "a weary world rejoices for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn."  We are a weary world looking for a glorious morn.  Plus, I'm a mom.  I'm always looking for a NOT weary world.
And it came. 
Jesus came.
Into this dark and weary world.
The darker the world, the brighter the flame of hope can shine. 
It may sound hokey, but it's true and I believe it.  When my soul is struggling to hold onto hope I can ask, in the words of David,

"Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God."  (Psalm42:5)

Hebrews 11 also reminds me that "faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see."
So even when I can't see it, I know God is good.
Even when I can't see it, I know God is love.
Even when I can't see it, I know that God has written us onto the palm of His hand, written us INTO the palm of His hand and He's got this.  
Even when I can't see it, I know that "all things work together for good to those who love God." (Romans 8:28)
He doesn't always cause the disaster or diagnosis or situation.  But He works with it and makes beauty from ashes, joy from mourning and turns my despair into praise (Isaiah 61:3).
This I have lived.
This I have seen.
So this Christmas, as we all deal with real life, may I hold your face in my hands and say with great compassion:

"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)

We are even told we will need the power of the Holy Spirit to overflow with hope.
It's not an easy thing.
So, friends, let's all do the hard thing and hope and pray for that which we cannot see.

May we all overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit- especially this Christmas.

And can you just take a minute and sit by your tree or your fire or a candle and ponder these words:

"My people will be able to camp safely in the wildest places and sleep in the woods without fear.  I will cause my people and their homes around my holy hill to be a blessing. 

And I will send showers, showers of blessings, which will come just when they are needed.  The orchards and fields of my people will yield bumper crops and everyone will live in safety.  When I have broken their chains of slavery and rescued them from those who enslaved them. then they will know that I am the LORD....

They will live in safety and no one will make them afraid...

You are my flock, the sheep of my pasture.

You are my people and I am your God, says the Sovereign LORD."

(Ezekiel 34:25b-31)

There's something to hope for.

Yes- I homeschool my kids

Today I was sitting at one of my daughter's activities and I heard a group of moms chatting.  Not one to shy from eavesdropping (especially when my youngest is napping on my lap) I was surprised to hear one of the moms exclaim, "Homeschool moms are the smartest women I know!"

I wanted to throw up.

This- THIS- has been my challenge since starting my homeschooling journey.  I'm not on the proverbial "Homeschooling Bandwagon".  I believe there are multiple options for educating our children and this is just one of them.  I know women who work full-time, part-time and stay home and they are a mix of brilliance and motivation.  Choosing to homeschool doesn't make you a genius and amazing mother any more than working full-time makes you a neglectful mom who only cares about money.

Can we all just grow up?

I attended a private Christian school.  My classmates were a stellar group of people and I loved school-every part of it.  Well, except when Caleb made fun of my clothes in the first grade or Rachel was so mean in middle school or...there were definite "blah" moments, but overall it was a great experience.  I don't know if I would have loved it so much if I had been in a different class or a different school, but this was how the cookie crumbled and it crumbled pretty good for me.

I have friends who attended public schools.  Some had great experiences, others did not. 
I have friends who teach in public schools; I have friends who teach in private schools.  These women are amazing and it would be an honor to have them teach my girls.  I think we all need to be supportive of public schools especially, because the odds are extremely high that my future son-in-laws are sitting in a class there right now and I don't want them to be idiots. 

Seriously.

My children's future neighbors, friends, husbands and communities are sitting in schools all over this world and I want to do what I can to ensure they are getting a quality education.  Just because we do school at home doesn't mean we don't care about what's happening in public education.  People, we are all connected and the sooner we just embrace it and work with it, the better.

When I told my husband that we should think about homeschooling, my oldest daughter was maybe one week old.  She was so precious!  And small!  I didn't want to be away from her.
He asked me if I was going to start wearing denim jumpers and no make-up.
Yes, there is a stigma involved....

But as I met families who homeschooled I envied their relationships.  The relationships within the family were tight in a non-creepy way!  The siblings enjoyed each other.  The kids enjoyed their parents and vice versa.
That's what I wanted and that is why we started homeschooling.
My kids have endless hours to play together.  We go to the park on a whim and do science experiments together.  We learn about other countries and the kids who live there.  We spend hours writing books and reading books and we really, really enjoy being together.

This is what it looks like in my house.
This is what I WANT it to look like at my house.

I didn't do this out of fear or because I am against something.
I did it so we could have more time together as a family.

That was my motivation.

At a recent "Mom's Night" with a local Christian homeschooling group I was considering joining, I was shocked when the first two women who walked up to me immediately started mocking the transgender community.  I have never seen these women, don't know what they believe (although I started to get a way strong sense) and it was the most bizarre choice of conversation I could imagine.  After listening to them mock and judge and state over and over that THIS is the reason they homeschool, there was finally space for me to say something.

"Don't you think it would be the saddest thing if your child felt they were in the wrong body?  Don't you think it breaks the heart of God, who put us together with such intention and love and deliberation to have His children wrestle with this?  Don't you think it's His kindness that led all of us to repentance?  Until I see more kindness coming from the church on these subjects, I think we should all shut up.  I don't think it's funny;  I think it's sad.  And I do know that Jesus never mocked people."

Then I walked away. 

So, so sad.  In fairness, there were some women there who I had a lovely conversation with and I left with some helpful tools in my teaching.  But it left a really bad taste in my mouth.

So, where do we fit?  My little family and me?  We are Christians and our days ARE full of Bible reading, memorization and wrestling with making choices that make Jesus' heart happy.  I think we would be doing this regardless of where we did school. 

I have Christian friends who have told me I'm robbing my kids of the chance to be a light in the dark world; that I'm denying them very important school experiences (like Middle School?!) and I better not even consider homeschooling through High School.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

I have Christian friends who have told me that sending your kids to school is missing God's calling on your life as a mother.  (Oh, yes.  This has been said.)

In the meantime, I'm the one who will stand before God and give an account for the choices I make for MY family.  As the mommy, I get to make these big choices.  I don't make them alone;  Scott has a very loud voice and opinion, too.  Together, we revisit this choice every year and see how it's working for our family.

So far, it's working really well.  I'm having a blast and so are my kids.

So, as we are closer to summer, may I just wish you joy and wisdom as you navigate these educational minefields.  Whatever you choose, know that I think you're still a pretty great parent and am happy to be your friend.

There's a vote of confidence for you! 

Hope

Stage 4 Cancer.

A two-year old beaten to death by his mother’s boyfriend.

Sudan.

A church in Egypt.

This world is drenched in pain.  Once in a while the candy coating of “I’m fine’s” and forced smiles break and we are leveled by the sheer neediness of this world.

We are walking into “Holy Week”; the week leading up to the cross, where Jesus took all this world’s brokenness and let it break Him.

Sometimes, on this side of the cross, it’s just too much.

Things we love and hold and believe in suddenly turn to death and we are left looking at a broken and bloody Jesus.

The disciples.  They know; they understand.  They left all they knew about themselves and let Him redefine their identities.  They watched Him speak to the storm and it listened.  They watched Him heal the broken, restore sight and sanity, raise the dead to life.  They saw Him take the small offering of a boy and multiply it to feed thousands.  They had walked with Him, laughed with Him, questioned Him and with each passing day found themselves really believing He was the Messiah- the Promised One they had anticipated for always. They left their homes, incomes, stability and reputations for Him.  And because He loved them He warned them: “We are going to Jerusalem and everything that is written by the prophets about the Son of Man will be fulfilled.  He will be handed over to the Gentiles.  They will mock Him, insult Him, spit on Him, flog Him and kill Him.  On the third day He will rise again.” (Luke 18:31-33)

But they didn’t understand.

And suddenly they were standing at the cross and everything they had believed in was broken and bloody and covered in death.

They hid behind locked doors, denying they even knew Him.  Terrified, these men who had witnessed miracles I cannot fathom, hid in fear because it was just too much.

It’s what I do when things are too much.  Just this week I got news that made me crawl in bed, cover my head and weep.  When my parents divorced, I spent weeks lying in bed listening to sad music trying to muster the courage to face life again.  I have friends who have buried marriages and husbands and babies and sometimes it’s just too much to be on this side of the cross.

The earth quakes and rocks split; the sky goes dark and thunder roars.  Curtains split and somewhere a voice howls, “My God!  WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME????”

What do we do with our faith when it comes to this point?  What do we do with a God that allows these things to happen?  We say He is love and we sing the He is enough for us, but what about those times when He isn’t?  What do we do when we come to Jesus and He just looks beaten and bloody and dead?

I think we give space for grief.  We run our fingers over the splintered wood of those beams; we cry for what should have been.  We pound our fists against heaven and throw all our questions to the only One who can take it; the only One who has taken it.

We pour ourselves out to Him until we are spent. 

Then we look in the empty tomb. 

The men weren’t going to go.  They were still behind locked doors.  But the women knew that things had to be done; life keeps happening and you keep showing up.  Clothes need washing, people must be fed and sooner or later we rise and do what is necessary.  That’s what these women did.  They showed up at the tomb to care for the dead body of their Lord. 

He wasn’t there.

And as Mary stood outside that empty, empty tomb, weeping, bending over, searching for something that was not there, two angels showed up.

It’s called hope.

She turned around and Jesus was there.  He was right in front of her but her grief was so big she couldn’t even see Him…but He saw her.

“Mary.”

Once He spoke, she saw Him for who He was.

No longer bleeding and dying and covered with death.

This is the resurrected Jesus- this is where I put my faith.  The cross is so important, but it’s on the other side of it we find life; the “Way, the Truth and the Life.”   I serve a Jesus who is life itself.  He is the One with eyes like blazing fire.  His voice is like the rushing waters.  He holds the stars in His hand and His face is like the sun shining in all its brilliance. (Revelation 1:14-16)

“I am the Living One; I was dead and behold I am alive for ever and ever.” (Rev. 1:18)

He breathes life into spaces that were dead.  One day He will loose justice on this earth and everything that was wrong and evil will be made right.  He will wipe every tear from our eyes and take back His kingdom.  “The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of the Christ, and He will reign for ever and ever.” (Revelation 11:15)

He will ride with the armies of heaven on white horses and avenge the atrocities that brought us to the cross. (Revelation 19:14)

There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain; everything will be made new. (Rev. 21:4-5)

One day every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, will sing:

“To Him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!” (Rev. 5:13)

This world is drenched in pain, sometimes drenched in death.  But when I look beyond the cross and see the Jesus that beat death to take back what was His…

This, THIS  is Easter. 

The call to leave our flesh, with everything it chases and desires, at the foot of the cross and walk to the other side, letting eternity get under our skin and Jesus renew our minds so we are actively looking for ways to bring His kingdom here, now.  Looking for people to bring to the foot of the cross so they can see His love stretched out and hear Him calling them to real life, real hope.

To let the heartbeat of heaven become our own and discover that our treasures are not of this world- we can give ourselves over to things that last forever.

To drench ourselves in grace rather than death.

This Easter, let’s learn to walk with the Jesus of Revelation; to stop grieving like people who have no hope (1 Thess. 4:13) and start living like people chasing an everlasting Hope.

“Amen.  Come Lord Jesus.

The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people.” (Rev. 22:20b-21)