Five Minute Friday:: Adore

Last year my windows were festooned with ribbons, like peppermint stripes to the floor. Colored lights glowed at the door, and the Christmas candles flickered in the hallway bathroom. Even the couch had a snowman pillow on it. 

This year, my 2-foot tree is the only bit of Christmas in an otherwise very normal, every-day living room. Only one present is wrapped. Another present sits on my desk in a brown box, exactly as it looked when the UPS guy dropped it off last night. All other presents are still at the store, undiscovered. It has been a busy month, filled with goodbyes to students who are returning home after the semester, graduation parties and unexpected guests. 

But my heart feels quiet. Anticipatory. 

For the first time, my husband and I decided to celebrate Advent. 

We bought a cheap brass candle ring online that came with the purple and pink tapers, and we downloaded a devotional by John Piper. We read it from the glowing screen of the phone as we lie in bed each night. 

The words have been garlanding my heart with awe. 

That the King would come, not to be served but to serve? The realization spreads fresh across my duty-bent heart like a red carpet to welcome him. 

And that star that God placed in the sky millennia in advance, timed to perfection so that men who scanned the night for signs would see it--dazzling. The sheer scale of planning that went into His entrance sends fiery sparks of worship through my heart, brighter than any tinsel. 

My house may look pretty much as it did in October, but I can feel Christmas within me. More of Christ. More adoration for my King, the one who let himself be made small and weak to bring me near. 

The story of how I freaked out and received a car anyway.

It was 9:32pm at the end of a long Tuesday. Work was still in crazy mode from the move, laundry sat in forlorn piles in our bedroom, and the empty fridge could not be ignored another day. My calendar was ballooning out of control with unexpected social engagements, and my head ached.

I called hubby on my way to the grocery store, hoping for a pep talk. Instead I heard:
"So, the car place called. They said it's the engine. The guy said they could probably sell our car for parts."

I gripped the steering wheel of our one working car. How could they offer so little for my faithful little Camry with the awesome gas mileage? And we'd just replaced the air conditioning that summer.

Suddenly, out of my mouth were coming fearful, panicky words that flung accusation on my man and fuel on my fear. It wasn't pretty.

Fear leaves little room for trust, especially when I speak it out loud. 

The next night I was still tense. I drove to the gym, popped in my earbuds, and clicked on a podcast by one of my favorite Bible teachers.

My legs and arms began to move in rhythm, and she started to tell a story of a whole nation who panicked. They looked into a new land, and instead of feeling excited that God had finally brought them to this beautiful place, they freaked out because the current residents made them feel small. They worried that they and their kids would be squashed like grasshoppers if they so much as stepped over the border.

The fear fostered amnesia. They forgot how God had rescued them out of slavery. They forgot how He'd fed them for 40 years. They forgot how He had already destroyed two nations for them.

I stepped off the machine and walked to the mats, feeling like the story was mine.

Those Jews looked at their smallness instead of God's bigness, and they shrunk back. Then she said something that made my pounding heart pause: "Their fear was rebellion."

After wiping away the tears that threatened to spill all over the exercise mat, I had an internal dialogue with God.

God, I'm sorry for not trusting you. I'm sorry for panicking instead of remembering how faithful you've ALWAYS been. You will always give me just what I need, even if it's not what I want. I don't want to forget your goodness. I don't want to rebel. 

There in the sweat and clang of the gym, I heard him say, Daughter, I forgive you. And I will always be your shepherd. Trust me. Stay close to me. Don't let your circumstances make you freak out. I am bigger than your circumstances.

A few days after my realization in the gym, hubby and I were actually feeling pretty excited about the one-car thing. After all, it was something we had seriously considered before. It meant less insurance to pay, less gas to buy, and less money to spend on up-keep. And it wasn't like we would be stranded. We have a bike, and we live a mere five minute walk from the University bus route.

We had just about decided that having only one car was the coolest move we ever made when my dad called. He said they had a car they weren't using, and wanted to know when they could drive it down to us.

"Aww, thanks, Dad! You're so sweet to let us borrow it for a while!"

He started laughing on the other end. "Oh, no sweetheart. We want to give you this car."

My jaw dropped, and I almost dropped the phone with the weight of what was being offered. After all my freaking out, my clenching and grasping at control, he was giving us a car.

So unexpected. So extravagant. So undeserved. And I thought to myself, this is what grace looks like.


Ok, I have to add this disclaimer--I don't share this story to say that God is good BECAUSE He gave us a car. Even if we had lost both cars at once, with no replacement, God would still be good because that is who He is. He is good, and He has already shown that goodness and mercy with crazy extravagance on a cross where He died in my place. 

I share this story because I want to remind myself to trust my Shepherd, and I hope that it can encourage someone else too. 

This month as the Christmas lights go up and the stores vie for our attention, I want to hope in Jesus, and not my circumstances. I want to cling to Him, the rock-solid constant, so that finances, social engagements, lack of sleep, or messy kitchens don't throw me for another crazy loop. 

Another sister is spoken for!

My last big announcement on the blog happened in August when I shared the news that my sister, Sharon, and her husband are expecting a sweet new baby in January. (Click here to see the adorable way they told our parents!)

Now, I have more exciting news...

MY SISTER, KARIS, IS ENGAGED!!!!

I'm honestly not sure which is making me smile more--my happiness for her happiness, or my excitement over gaining this guy as a brother! Mark is an amazing dude, and I can't imagine a better man for my little sister.

He had reserved a wing of a museum they loved. He had pulled all the strings, set all the details, asked my dad's blessing, and kept her completely in the dark through the months of planning.

When she walked in, their favorite song was playing, and a collection of easels set in a semi-circle proclaimed "I love you, and always will."

Between the easels was a table topped with a Bible flipped open to their favorite verse, a picture of the two of them, and a basket shaped like a bird's nest containing the most beautiful little ring.

Did I mention that she loves birds? *swoon*

When he knelt to propose, the music was too loud for her to hear well, so they both ended up on their knees, face to face, tearfully hugging after he slipped the ring on her hand.

Mark's little brother captured the whole thing on video! (When I watched it at work for the first time, I was ambushed by tears of happiness. So if you cry easily like me, consider yourself forewarned.)

They haven't set a date yet, but I'm sure they won't wait long! 

From basement to palace

This is *way* overdue, but my office moved in September and I'm still excited about it!

Over forty people relocated from our basement "rabbit hole" beneath the Freshmen Commons to an elegant historical building with palatial columns, filigreed doors and watery colored glass. We are now on the first floor, which means that torrential rain will no longer flood our space with four inches of water. Yay!

Technically, it isn't a new place; the OGAPS office is actually returning home after a long displacement for renovations. In January of 2013, the University received a grant to restore our building to its original historical state. Here is an article from the TAMU times describing the renovation.

It's definitely an upgrade in every sense of the word, but I'm SO glad the actual moving is finished!

If you've ever moved, you know that a single person's accumulated do-dads, papers, and miscellaneous mess can be daunting. Multiply that experience by about 40, and you've got a pretty good idea of the task we faced. By God's grace we made it to the end with relationships still intact. :)

When the Jack K. Williams Building was built in 1932, its grandiose architecture would have made quite an impression. The Great Depression had made its paralyzing presence known across Texas by that time, and the farmer's sons coming to school from small, dusty Texan towns had probably never seen anything like it.

For many years, all of the University's administrative offices--from the President's office to the Registrar--were housed here. (Our suite actually still contains the original vault where student's cash tuition payments were locked!) For this reason, the building was originally called simply the Administration Building. In 1998, the name was changed to honor the work of former University president Jack K. Williams for his work to increase enrollment while preserving traditional historical landmarks on campus. 

The sweeping staircase in the lobby makes our building a popular spot for bridal pictures. We can see the photographer's flashes through the filigreed door that fills our suite's front entrance, and it makes me remember the fun of taking my own bridal portraits three years ago.

My favorite part of the building is the wide shaded porch that faces the University's green front lawn like a benevolent grandmother. When I sit with my lunch on the cool steps, the smooth columns soar upward to the fourth story roof above my head.

Here are a few more pictures of the details!

What if God DOES give us more than we can handle?

What do you say when your friend gets arrested for accidentally forgetting the item at the bottom of his cart before he walks out the door? What words can you possibly find for the friend awash in grief because her grown up sister suddenly drowned last week in a creek?  How do you answer the why in their tired eyes when a couple sits across from you at your kitchen table, describing how a house fire destroyed their home that morning?

And in case you're wondering--yes, all of those things happened last month to people I love. 

September was rough. 

When the lives of people around us are messy, when the pain they feel is bigger or different from any we've ever walked through, we get scared. It's uncomfortable, right? So we want to fix it, to say a magic word that will suddenly make it all better. Maybe we just want to be the hero.

Whatever the reason, if you feel the urge to tell them, "God won't give you more than you can handle"...just don't. 

The first reason is that it's simply not true. God DOES give us more than we can handle.

We know this from personal experience. Anyone who has ever had an EBD (emotional breakdown) knows that there are days we just. Can't. Deal. Life is chock-full of stress, and it only increases as we grow into our adult lives and accumulate more responsibilities.

But stress or tragedy in the lives of people who follow God is nothing new. What about Joseph, trafficked into slavery by his own brothers? What about Job, who lost his wealth and his kids all in one horrible day? What about Moses, terribly insecure and shaking in his bare feet when God told him to lead millions of people out of a country where they'd been slaves for 400 years? All of them were handed far more than they could handle.

Telling someone that they'll never be given more than they can handle feeds several lies:

1. It sets up an unrealistic expectation that life will be relatively easy for those with faith.

This sounds great, and is a key part of the Prosperity Theology preached by many. However, it is the complete opposite of what Jesus actually told his disciples to expect. Jesus said that "in this life you will have trouble" (John 16:33). He also declares that "if anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me" (Mark 8:34).

 Faith in God does not guarantee an easy life. In fact, the sheer number of verses calling believers to self-sacrifice, suffering, and endurance indicate the opposite.

2. If you do find yourself falling apart, it must be because you don't believe strongly enough that you have what it takes. 

This is such a terrible lie, straight from Hell. Not only does it further isolate the person, it also piles a heap of guilt on an already painful situation.

There is definitely a Biblical call to stand firm on the promises of God. But did Jesus promise an easy life? Did he promise that you would never have a meltdown or feel depressed? We must be careful that the promises we are claiming are actually from the Lord. (See point number 1.)



One of the reasons that folk theology takes root and gains popular acceptance is because it sounds so much like the truth. Telling someone that God won't give them more than they can handle is almost  a true statement.

However, the truth is that God will never give you more than His grace is sufficient for.

The Apostle Paul had a struggle that seemed to crush him. Three times he pleaded with God to take it away, but each time God said, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Not only did God promise to give grace that is enough for all I need, he even seems to say that the best circumstance through which to display His power is our weakness. What kind of crazy, backward display of power is this? But that is the mystery of the majesty of our God.

The truth is that God never intended you to handle it alone. 

Our loving Father wants us to rely on Him, and not on ourselves. Our natural normal state is not independence, as if God wanted us to eventually remove the training wheels of His love and grace. Our natural, normal state is deep, constant dependence on Him for every need, every moment.

Our natural state is also community. Even about Adam, a sinless man in a perfect, pre-curse world, God said, "it is not good for man to be alone." (Genesis 2:18)

I firmly believe that one of God's primary and most tangible expressions of grace to believers is other believers. When we, as the Body of Christ, are all built up into the unity of the Spirit, we share one member's pain as our own. We bear one another's burdens.

The truth is that God loves us so much that he is even willing to allow painful circumstances in our lives to bring about this intimacy with Himself and within his Body. 

This is a delicate topic. I was so nervous to bring it up that I almost skipped it entirely.

I realize that it would be completely arrogant for me to look at anyone's pain and assume that I know the reason God allowed it. When God allows cancer, or sexual abuse, or a house fire, or a machete massacre in a Nigerian village, I have no words.

And friend, I don't know the "why" behind your story of loss.

But I know that the ultimate good for humans--the absolute best thing that can ever happen to us--is to know God. To see Him for who He is, to experience His greatness and love, to become intimate friends with the Creator who call us His own--this is the best, most joyful thing.

Your loving Father might allow pain and loss in order to bring you into the deep intimacy with Himself and his Church that is your ultimate good.

Paul described this experience in his own life like this:

8 We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters,[a] about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. 9 Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God,who raises the dead. (2 Corinthians 1:8-9)

I firmly believe that there is no evil or pain that God cannot redeem for our good and His glory.

After all, the brutal murder of an innocent man named Jesus was the way God chose to bring salvation to the world. 

Five minute Friday:: Care

This month has spun past full and fast. Some months are like that--each day so brim-full of people and conversation and work and weekends busier than the weeks between that you can barely catch your breath. 

I crave the process of writing like a runner craves the road. I feel so thankful that I finally get the chance to sit for five minutes on this Friday night and pin down meaning with these keys. I'm grateful to Kate for faithfully hosting this writer's party each week, even though I know her month might have been as full as mine. 

Tonight the prompt is CARE. And if you have no clue what's going on, head on over here to check out what Five Minute Friday is all about! 

{CARE}

An open letter to the woman with the 101-year-old mother:

Today you tipped a little while in my direction and spilled out some of your story. I felt honored that you would tell me, the girl a half century behind you in wisdom.

You told how she came to live with you this summer. How her house sits empty in Ohio with no one to cut the grass. How the sister in another state was caring for her, but now it’s your turn and you feel like there are days it’s just simply too. Much.

You told how she was a rock for your family, caring for your handicapped brother until even his hair was gray and he fell. Your mouth pulled in at the memory, and I thought how painful it would be to lose a brother. I told you so, and your eyes grew glossy.

You told how exhausting it is now, how you were unprepared to physically lift the woman who carried you as a child.

I don’t know what it’s like, but thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for dying to self for the sake of the dying. Thank you for making her breakfast each day, making her bed, making her smile.

We—the self-absorbed, the media-glutted, the youth-obsessed—we desperately need your example. We need to see love in action that is not flashy, not instagrammed, not applauded. We need to know that it’s possible to love our parents this way so that when the day comes, we will have the courage to care too. 

An Italian in Texas! (And a crazy start to the semester)

For thousands of college students, the new school year means cramming your life into the back of your car and returning to the world of tests, papers, and dorm life.

And for those of us who do campus ministry (or are married to those who are), it means prayerfully flinging ourselves headlong into the busiest season of the year.

It means opening our hearts once again to befriend and love students.

It means pretending we don't have work at eight am for the sake of a deep conversation.

It means choosing to create community for young men and women who may carry scars from community gone wrong.

This year, it also meant the collision of two worlds: Italy and Texas. 

On the Italy mission trip two years ago, we met a young man with a big personality. Michele (pronounced "Mih-KE-leh") was not a believer in Jesus, but he had a lot of questions, and he seemed to have a really good time with our team and the Italian believers.

Several months after we returned to TX, that young man decided to follow Jesus and was baptized in an Italian mountain lake.

When we returned to Italy this past May, Michele was like a different person! He was full of joy, constantly laughing and joking around. It was as if knowing Jesus amped up his already gregarious personality. More than anything, he was excited to talk about Jesus and the Bible with anyone he met.

Check out these joyful guys! (Michele on left, with our friend, Ottavio, who is also a believer in Jesus.)

Two weeks ago, (smack in the middle of the busy semester kickoff) Michele arrived in the US for his very first visit! One of the permanent missionary couples in Milan traveled with him to Texas when they came back for their son's wedding. Hubby and I had the privilege of hosting him for two of the nights he was in town.

He promptly bought a cowboy hat that he wore with more Texan pride than most Texans.

This pic was snapped in Milan after he returned from his American adventure. Can you tell which one is Michele?

He also dove right into our busy preparations for welcoming the new students, helping the hubby pass out flyers for the Freshmen Connect event and even helping him set up the sound equipment for the student-led worship band.

But more than the Blue Bell Ice Cream, BBQ, steaks and stetsons, we were thrilled that we could share ministry with our Italian brother. While the church in Milan does some similar things--we are both doing campus ministry after all--is is larger and more established here.

Here too, the campus does not censor religious speech.

We went ice skating too! (from left: me, Michele, and two of the awesome students who went with us on the Italy mission trip last May)

We were also pumped to receive the encouragement of having Michele with us!

There is nothing quite like being around a newer believer to remind you of how crazy and amazing it is to know the God of the Universe. 

Or how precious it is to pray openly, publicly, without repercussions.

Or the fact that it really is incredible, this chance to do college ministry. This chance to stand witness to God changing the lives of young adults, one by one.

Our homegroup plus new students on the night of the Kickoff Rally! Right there in Rudder Fountain, we baptized two of the girls who joined our group last year. An awesome night!

Love in San Antonio

Last month, my love and I stole away from everyday life to celebrate our 3-year anniversary in San Antonio. We were a month or so late, but who cares, right? What a fun, exciting city! 

Each summer since we married in 2011, we've tried our best to set aside a little money so we can step out of our normal routine and go celebrate each other. We know it may not be possible every year to actually leave town, but we're making the most of it while we can! 

This year, we were excited to stumble across a Groupon deal for a hotel within walking distance of the Riverwalk.

Even though I've lived in TX all my life, it was my first-ever time to visit the Alamo. (I know, you're probably thinking I'm the worst Texan ever...but better late than never!) 

Because of its prominence in TX history textbooks and movies, I think I expected the building itself to be bigger. The portion pictured above was actually one of the smaller parts of the low, single-storied compound. Admission to the grounds was free, but we quickly realized that our knowledge of the site and the battle fought there was pretty pathetic. Trying to figure out the story from the signs and displays was overwhelming, so...

we bought a set of audio tours! 

 Seriously, it was the best $10 we spent on the whole trip. 

We also bought a sno cone--and the experience of buying it next to the Alamo--for the low price of $4.

It was delicious. 

A roaming mariachi band kept popping up at different points throughout the day, offering their music to families lunching outside. Finally, I asked one of the band members if I could take his picture. 

Nice tie, senor. 

We walked miles of sun-dappled narrow sidewalks lined with river on the left and restaurant tables on the right. 

The walk was beautiful, but it finally wore us out. We found a steakhouse and plopped our tired selves into the barstools--the only seating available. 

The large group in the back appeared to be celebrating a birthday. A woman was trying to give a speech, but we could tell that she was having a hard time making herself heard. The restaurant staff found a microphone for her, and suddenly we were part of the audience. 

Her husband was celebrating his retirement from the military after a long career. We lingered over the end of our meal to enjoy the stories of a man we didn't know. 

We left feeling romantic, thinking about growing old together like the couple we'd seen. We are still only at the start of this beautiful journey. 

We heard jazz music and followed it to an Italian cafe for dessert. We had coffee and tiramisu and conversation with a Hawaiian bartender named Rodger who ended up making the tiramisu complementary when he heard why we were in town. 

The jazz music was live, and the singer decided we needed a song to call "our song". 

He sang "What are you doing with the rest of your life?" while we danced between the tables. 

Still sometimes can't believe that we're grown and married and can do grownup things like rent a hotel in a beautiful city and explore it together.

And guess where our church's next church plan team is going? UT San Antonio! I had no idea while we were there, but now that I know, I am super excited! I can already imagine the team having homegroup hangouts on the Riverwalk, talking with passerby about Jesus, and enjoying the fun music scene.

Related Links:

My thoughts on our *actual* anniversary this year. 

The crazy adventures we had on our first anniversary. (crazy is not an exaggeration!)

Five minute Friday:: Reach

When I read this week's prompt on Kate's blog, I immediately thought of a story told by author and pastor Brennan Manning.

This one took longer than 5 minutes, (so I totally cheated this week!), but I think when you read the story you might agree with me that fudging the rules in this case was totally worth it.

"Reach"

His name was Larry Malaney and he was even less glamorous than his name suggests. He was a hippie who never bathed, never seemed to change his clothes, and had a horrible case of acne. His appearance--and his odor--isolated him from his classmates.

When Brennan Manning met him in the 60's, Larry was a college student and self-proclaimed agnostic. He would often come to Manning's office to debate him about spiritual topics. It was probably one of the few places on campus where he was not rejected because of his sloppy hygiene. "In all my days," Manning writes, "I have never seen anyone with such low self-esteem."

He grew up under the strict thumb of his father, one of a breed of traditional men known as "lace-curtain Irishmen". Even in the heat of August, Mr. Malaney Sr. never came to dinner at his own home without dressing in a freshly-pressed suit. Larry would come to the same table smelling like he had never bathed in his life.

Family tension? You bet.

One Christmas, however, everything changed. Larry had spent several days at home, filled with the usual squabbles and strained silences. He told his father that he was leaving on the train the next morning, and his father said he would ride with him part of the way. It was, after all, on his way to the office.

The next morning, they sat together in silence. At the stop they disembarked, the elder to walk to his office, the son to wait for the second train.

Photo credit: www.urban-photography-art.com 

As they stood on the platform, a group of men across the street began to taunt Larry. One man yelled out "Hey Pig Boy! Oink! Oink!" Another man jeered, "If that was my son, I'd lock him up in the basement where he belongs!"

Larry turned away wordlessly. The cruelty was not new and he had learned to ignore it.

Suddenly his father, the prim "lace-curtain Irishman", gripped him by the shoulders and turned him until they were face to face. He then pulled his son into the first embrace of his life and kissed him on the lips.

"Larry", he said, "if your mother and I live to be 200 years old that wouldn't be long enough to thank God for the gift he has given us in you. I'm so proud that you are my son."

After that cold December day at the train station, Larry was a different person. He was still a hippie, but he cleaned up. He started dating. He had a new confidence, and he smiled readily. Soon after, he showed up at Manning's office with a simple request. "Tell me about this man, Jesus." Manning then explained the good news of the Gospel. At the end, Larry simply smiled and said, "OK."

In his book, "The Furious Love of God," Manning explains Larry's transformation:

“It wasn’t because of the six weeks of sitting in Brennan Manning’s office while I talked about Jesus. No, it was because of a day long ago, during a Christmas vacation, standing at a bus stop, when his lace-curtain Irish father healed him. Yes, his father healed him. He looked deeply into his son’s eyes, saw the good in Larry Malaney that Larry couldn’t see for himself, affirmed him with a furious love, and changed the whole direction of his son’s life.”

That prim man reached for his son when the world flung insults--and healed him. Despite any rejection that he had previously meted out through his strained silences and tacit disapproval, this was the shining moment when he loved well.

You may not be a perfect parent, but today, you can choose to heal with your unearned acceptance.

You may not have had a perfect parent, but there is a Father who reaches for us now. Arms stretched painfully wide on a rough cross, he reached for us in our stinkiness, our sloppiness, our never-enough.

And we are healed.

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Five Minute Friday:: Filled to Pour Out

The sun is setting on the first half of the weekend, and I feel so thankful for the nearness of Jesus even in the craziness and emotion of this past week. 

My husband's laptop screen forms a glowing A-shape with mine in the middle of our tiny coffeshop table. I'm so glad that he and I are both feeling better. He has been battling a bacterial infection for the past two months and is nearing the end of an intense round of antibiotics. Funny thing about antibiotics is that they can weaken your immunity. He caught a nasty cold, and then of course I caught it from him, but today we both seem to have more energy. Thank you, God! 

Aside from feeling sick physically, my heart has been sickened this week by the horrific images in the news. It is only now, after I have brought the gut-wrenching sorrow to the feet of Jesus, that I begin to feel some relief. 

Today I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday crew again, but this time is special because it's the FIRST time that the party is hosted by Kate Motaung. The concept is still the same: the hostess issues a one-word prompt late on Thursday night and we all free-write on that theme for five minutes. No editing, no over-thinking, and no perfectionizing. (Yes, I just invented that word.)

We all post our links here on her blog and leave some comment encouragement for the writer who posted before us. 

{Fill}

He fills my cup.

Jesus sat at a well and told a dry, man-weary woman that he would give her water that would never run dry. His water would become a living stream of water flowing from inside.

I love this part. My dryness is splashed over and my emptiness filled to satisfaction.

But like a long, hot shower, I can marinate in this overflow and forget that I am filled to pour out.

This week and last week and the week before, my eyes have filled at the news of an arid land dripping with the blood of families. When seven year olds are forced to wed, when fathers are made to watch their little ones slaughtered and their spouses taken, the world’s ragged thirst for the Healer is glaring from the screens of our computers.

We are to fill the cups of the thirsty, and Jesus promises that He will count it as a personal gift to Him.

http://smithsk.blogspot.com/

We are to fill up in ourselves what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ, standing with and for our family, His Body.

http://tinyurl.com/ktm5gex

And before and during and after each physical need and literal cup filled, we are to fill that beautiful basin in His presence with our prayers.

May they burn and rise as a sweet aroma day and night. 

__________________________________________________

If you haven't had the chance to read much about the recent events in Iraq, here is an article written only two days ago that summarizes the intense persecution against Christians by the militant Islamic group, ISIS. 

If you want a reliable source of news about our persecuted family around the world, please visit Voice of the Martyrs and subscribe to their email newsletters. 

Read enough and want to do something practical?

To provide aid for families fleeing the violence, click here or here. 

To petition Congress to take notice of the plight of Iraqi Christians and allocate aid, click here. 

To move Heaven, let's all get on our knees. 

"What is the price of two sparrows--one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing about it." --Matthew 10:28

Chocolate Trifle Recipe

This is one of those summer posts that I meant to post weeks ago, but better late than never! (Plus, now you get it just in time for the weekend!)

My hubby happens to be the only member of his family who has a birthday in a month other than June. This year, by weird coincidence, the sum of the ages of his parents and brothers equaled exactly 200 years.

So of course, they threw a bi-centennial birthday party!

Even though my husband's 33 years threw off the number, they let him celebrate too. Quite nice of them, don'cha think? :)

Dozens of family members and old friends showed up at the TX coast to sit under the spindly legs of his family's pink beach home. We ate tacos, compared patriotic pedicures, and spit watermelon seeds while the nieces and nephews spent their Popsicle-induced sugar highs in the surf.

In honor of the occasion, I tried out a new Chocolate Trifle recipe I'd begged from a co-worker after she made it for an office potluck. (Thanks, Allison!) I loved it because it was decadent and chocolate-y enough for my chocolate loving self, but not overly heavy thanks to the whipped topping she used. And with only five ingredients, it was super easy!

Chocolate Trifle

Ingredients

• 1 box brownie mix (I used a gluten free mix so that hubby could have some too)
• 1 3.9oz box instant chocolate pudding
• 1 12-oz can sweetened condensed milk
• 1/2 c. water
• 2 containers of whipped cream topping (one 8-oz, the other 12-oz)
• candy of your choice (I used Heath Bar)

Directions

• Prep brownies by box directions. Let cool, and then cut into small squares. Divide the brownies in half.
• Line the bottom of a large bowl with 1/2 the brownie pieces.
• In a separate bowl, combine chocolate pudding, 1/2 c water, and 12 oz sweetened condensed milk. Graduate fold in the 8 oz container of whipped cream topping.
• Layer the pudding and whipped cream mix over the brownie layer in the bowl (reserving at least half of the mix for later).
• On top of the brownies and pudding, make a layer of whipped topping (use about 1/2 of the 12 oz container).
• Sprinkle half of the candy over the whipped topping.
• Place another layer of brownies in the bowl. (Are you catching the pattern? LAYERS.)
• Use remaining pudding over the new brownie layer.
• Use the remaining whipped cream over the new pudding layer.
• Top with the rest of the candy.
• Chill until ready to serve!

When Bold is Not Beautiful (How to Play Nice Online)

There is something about anonymity that makes people bolder.

Have you ever seen the gritty secrets posted on one of those completely anonymous "spill your guts" forums? The darkest things can come to light when no one can trace them back to you.

I'm sure we've all seen those passive-aggressive statuses or tweets.

Even when not anonymous, an interface like the internet can remove the fear of confrontation that many of us have. Suddenly we're not yelling into a person's face, we're just using ALL CAPS for emphasis. We're not being snarky in someone's living room, we're just using *sarcastic font* to show how idiotic his blog post was.

Bold is not necessarily beautiful. 

Even if we're pretty nice folks online, the ease and speed with which we communicate online can make us careless. The blinking cursor means we can't see the hurt flicker across her face, or the way he just folded his arms. It's hard to know when we've gone too far into the tender territory of her heart.

In the three years that I've been blogging, most of the reactions have been positive, but some have cut deep. In those moments, as I scroll down through barbed text or well-meaning platitudes, it's a hard choice to breathe deep and remember grace. Grace for them and grace for me--because I'm not guiltless either.



I'm sure that wiser people could add to this list, but here are a few things that Jesus has brought to mind as I've wrestled with how to do community in this age of simultaneous connection and technological distance.

#1--Assume the best

My mom was right about this--most offenses will be erased before they even start if I begin by believing the other person meant well. Seriously, this works! I've been employed in customer service positions at a bank, a hotel, a restaurant, an ice cream shop and now at a university, and nothing diffuses stress in the other guy more quickly than feeling like you get them. When you give them the benefit of the doubt, you extend grace.

Remember, no one is the villain of their own story. 

Did the person sound impatient? Assume that they are feeling pressure from someone else, or at least that they are frustrated with the situation and not with you.

Did their post come across dogmatic or abrasive? Assume that they have a good reason--a back story--for feeling so passionately about the subject.

Did they sound as if they intended to hurt you? They probably didn't. Even if they did, this should evoke pity in us for the wounds they almost certainly have. Hurting people hurt people.

#2--Sleep on it

You know how the internet is designed for instant communication? Yeah, that. 

Because even the best-intentioned among us can be careless, give yourself a buffer. The more emotion you feel about what you are about to write, the longer the time should be before you post. (I once wrote and re-wrote and prayed over a particular response for weeks.)

Words, once released verbally into the atmosphere or digitally into the blogosphere, are no longer yours. You can't snatch them back, and they can be twisted and misunderstood and widely spread. 

Save yourself some pain: pause, hit "save", and come back later. 

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, because human anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires. -James 1:19-20

#3--If possible, be personal

Ok, you slept on it several days but still feel like you should say something. Keep in mind that sometimes the internet just doesn't cut it, and we have to go old-school. 

In one of my Communication classes in college, I learned that over eighty-five percent of communication is non-verbal. 

Over eighty-five percent! Some researchers even put the number as high as 93%. That means that even the most perfectly worded email has only a 7-15% chance of communicating the fullness of your true heart. 

Many of our online friends are also real-life friends (think Facebook, Instagram...), and there's no real reason why we can't set our laptops aside and grab coffee or have a Skype date to repair a misunderstanding. 

What if we've never met and probably never will? Even then, be as personal as possible. Send a private message instead of a public comment. And in your tone, aim for conversation, rather than accusation. 

If the goal is authentic relationships and not just blog traffic, let's be relational.

Five Minute Friday :: Finish

It is Monday, but I sit on the floor in my sister's room, a hundred miles away from my office.

The prompt this week is finish. In the grief and mingled joy of the past few days, the word sits at home in my heart. 

For Lisa-Jo, the wonderful mommy blogger who has hosted this link up for over 5 years, the word signals the passing of the baton. She wrote so beautifully this week about finishing your piece of a story. A story that was never yours to begin with because all stories are inherited and gifted to you for a time. She is passing the baton to her dear friend, Kate Motaung, who I am excited to read and come to know as I have come to love Lisa-Jo.

FINISH

I get glimpses of the truth when the baby I just held is suddenly in pre-school, or when I wonder how college could be behind me already. 

Life is short, but most of my hours slip past unnoticed-- a given rather than a gift. 

On Thursday my phone buzzed for the second time against my leg. I was sitting in a friend’s living room, surrounded by my homegroup as we worshipped to the strumming of a guitar.

I stepped out into the humidity to answer the call and my heart stood still at Dad’s words.

“Cherise, your uncle passed away today in his sleep.”

My tears flowed warm, steadily wetting my husband’s shirt as he held me. I cried for my uncle. I cried for us. I especially cried for my sweet aunt and two cousins who will now have to live without their dad. He was a fixture of our family, a constant in my memories of Christmases and dinners and reunions.

He was sixty years young.

Life is short. It’s easy to assume that the trajectory we are riding will continue, that we have time to make that phone call, forgive that friend, learn contentment, finally do that thing.

But the finish line could be closer than we dreamed. 

Five Minute Friday:: Belong

One of my favorite bloggers, Lisa-Jo Baker, gave this prompt last week, and I jotted the following poem down in ragged spare minutes that never unfolded into enough time to actually post. Usually, she gives the 1-word prompt late Thursday night, and a community of bloggers around the globe take 5 minutes to simply write--no editing or re-thinking allowed! Then we post our links and leave encouragement on each other's blogs.

I'm too late to join the party this week, so this one almost stayed in the draft pile, but my hubby encouraged me to publish it anyway.

I remembered truth as I wrote. I remembered that this--the universal longing for belonging--is an ache whose remedy was costly, but was given freely. We can rest here.

Prompt: Belong

We ache and we long
to belong.

Every middle-aged teen
and geriatric child
and stodge-faced youth
will understand.

Long after parents
are gone
is the ache to be welcomed,
havened,
cuddled close and long
and told
You are mine.

We ache and we long
to be loved.

Every Joe-Doe-Blow,
perfectionista,
and black-faced sheep
will understand.

And when the shape of it
unclouds,
it's the want to be seen,
admired,
heard deep, understood
and told
You have worth.

He aches and He longs
to gather us.
He rises with compassion
to show.
It throbs deep
and pours out red
with costly welcome
for every middle-aged teen
geriatric child
stodgy youth
Joe-Doe-Blow
perfectionista
and black-faced sheep.

You are mine. 
I gave you worth. 

My sister's secret is out!

I've been itching to blog this news for what feels like forever, but it wasn't my secret to tell. However, now that the real owners of the secret have put the news on facebook, I can tell the world that...

MY SISTER, SHARON, IS HAVING A BABY!!

**Cue the flash mob dancing, fireworks and other means of extravagant celebration!!**

Sometime shortly after Christmas, she and my brother-in-law will welcome a new little Someone, and all of us are thrilled! It's grandchild #14 for his parents, but for mine, it's #1!

Every grandchild will be special of course, but this one, by simply being first, gives each of us a new label.

Mom is now also Grandma.
Dad becomes Abuelo.
We three sisters are suddenly Aunties. (I became an instant aunt to the most adorable kids on the planet when I married hubby, but now I'll be an Auntie on both sides!)

Being the creative genius that she is, my sister came up with an adorable way to announce the pregnancy. Mom had been wanting a photo album of their wedding pictures for several years, so my sister created the books for both sets of parents and then placed a small card in the pocket in the back cover.

The front of the card said, "The adventure continues..."

...and here is what they saw on the inside!

My brother-in-law secretly caught their reactions on video, and it's absolutely priceless. Enjoy!

A letter to the bride

Little cousin, you were so lovely that weekend, radiant in your womanhood and your love.

You ran to us the night we arrived for your rehearsal dinner, all glowing and breathless with arms flung wide, and I felt like years and miles hadn't mattered at all.

You are no longer the doe-eyed little girl who made flower chains with my sister and begged us Olders to "be the bad guys" for your games. You no longer climb trees barefoot, sharing secrets with the Twin Cousin and concocting pranks for your big brother.

That was precious, but this, this new season you've joined us in--this is glorious.

You made those forever promises as you stood in your lace, and I leaned close to my own love and let the vows re-imprint themselves on my resolve.

You will see--weddings get a new layer of richness and meaning after you have your own.

The East Coasters were the last pockets of family to finally meet my husband. It felt like your new love and mine were initiated into the clan on the same fun-filled, rain-blessed weekend. Every outrageous game of Brandi Dog and Farkle, every crochet stitch taught--they turned our far-flung lives into community again and I remembered how much I love our family.

The couple that started it all: Grandma and Grandpa Beekman

Sweet cousin, I love you. I love the love I see in you, between you both, and pouring out to everyone within reach.

I pray you keep choosing love. Keep choosing humility.
I pray you keep choosing to open yourselves to friendships, even when they move away or get pregnant before you do or take a while to return your calls.
That you will have grace for the budgeting foibles that will come.
That you find a beautiful new "family culture" as you discover how to do the oneness of marriage.

Aaaaannnd I secretly pray that you move to Texas. (Because that would be awesome!)