FMF {Five Minute Friday}: Break

I know it's already Saturday, but I'm jumping in with the FMF crowd! In case you're not in the loop, Five Minute Friday is a community of bloggers who come together each week to write like crazy for five wild, unedited minutes on a single prompt. This week, the prompt is "Break".

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I love being with people, even crowds. Six people spending the night? Woohoo!

I also love times of silence when I can just chill and think and organize that hall closet. Yes, I'm weird. 

Because of this tension, I've never been able to decide whether I'm an outgoing introvert or a downtime-loving extrovert. Regardless, I often fee a twinge of unease when I see a full calendar. Even if all the things on it are good, something in me starts gasping for air prematurely, and any little blank spaces suddenly seem very precious. If I'm not careful, I can become a downright miserly creature who hoards scraps of time like a dragon hoards gold.

Last week was Spring Break, and as a staff member at the university I got three glorious days off from work. #perksofworkingforacademia

In case you don't know him, I'm married to an extremely extroverted I-wanna-be-where-the-people-are type of man (cue Little Mermaid). When he began filling our tiny break to the brim with appointments and brunches and last-minute hangouts, I started to wonder if I would need a vacation after the vacation.

Dear God, I prayed, please help me not to be a blank space miser. I give you the time--you take care of me. 

Those three days turned out to be some of the most refreshing, fun days we've enjoyed in months!

We looked at dinosaur bones and butterflies at the Houston Museum of Natural Science.

We laughed until our abs ached with old friends.

We feasted at the Cheesecake Factory with my mother-in-love.

We played Phase 10 until after bedtime, and I didn't even care that I came in last place.

We caught up with precious old friends whose baby is now old enough to look up elephant pictures on my phone (how did he get so big??????)

Then--this was the whole reason we went to H-town to start with--we spent a delightful rainy afternoon celebrating one of my dearest friends at her baby shower.

Finally, my Dallas-bound family caravanned back to our place for the night. (There's that 6-person sleepover!)

Oh, and my new favorite thing to do is make my beautiful niece laugh. Click here to see how much she's grown in two months! 

P.S. I just realized that we went to the Cheesecake Factory on our last Spring Break too. It's actually a crazy coincidence, since we don't have one within one hundred miles of our house. Maybe we'll make a new tradition?

My life is like the movies

I have a crazy story for you. 

It was lunchtime a few weeks ago on a workday. I was chasing the last of my food with my fork when I got an odd text from my friend, Macie.

“Cherise, have you ever been to Pine Cove?”

And then, two seconds later—“And did you ever live at [insert address]?”

Um…yes. I had been to that family camp many times, but not since I was in high school. And that was my old address.

Immediately, my mind started running through bizarre explanations for why she might be asking. Did the camp release some ancient video online that showed pictures of me? Did I lose something at Pine Cove that had my old address in it? Why would she have it?

The truth was stranger than I guessed.

Macie is the kind of girl to whom encouragement is like air: she breathes it in eagerly and then exhales it to everyone around her. Just standing near her is like a fresh breeze to your heart. When I met her, she was a week away from marrying one of my hubby’s best friends. Our apartments stand facing each other now across the street, just right for five-minute conversations if we happen to be getting home at the same time.

Because words hold such weight for her, she has kept a growing stash of encouragement in a burgeoning drawer somewhere in her house. On the day of the weird text, she’d been doing some spring cleaning and decided to sift through a stack of notes from 2003, the year she had become a believer in Jesus.

One of the notes was from a camper she met while working at Pine Cove as a counselor. It was written in careful cursive on notebook paper decorated with gel pen swirls.

It was chatty, talking about summer plans to go camping and about how the writer was about to get her driver's permit. It told Macie she had a beautiful heart and that the note-writer was praying for her. 

It was signed, “Cherise Beekman”.

Y’all. That camper was ME.

It's seriously like a movie! I can picture it in lights: “Girl discovers that she knew her friend before she really knew her.” We had a first class freak out on the phone as we uncovered our secret past.

That summer in 2003, my dad had been out of work nearly eight months. My sweet grandma had died of cancer only a few weeks after the layoff, and our family had been feeling the strain of change, grief, and uncertainty. Some kind person paid for us to go to Pine Cove as a family. The counselors were wonderful—so grown up and so kind to the bony fifteen year old and her three younger sisters.

One of them was a bouncy person with flaming hair and a big smile who went by—wait for it—“Hip Hop Anonymous”. Isn’t that a great name for her?

So our friendship didn’t actually begin in 2008 when Macie bounced in to Jenny’s apartment with leftover wedding shower cake to share. In reality, I met Hip Hop Anonymous in 2003, before our husbands ever laid eyes on each other and before Macie ever joined our church!

God knew we were meant to be friends. J

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!

Living forgiven in front of them

 In my last post, I gave a teaser about our awesome Friday night. Thanks for patiently waiting! I always overestimate the amount of blogging time I'll have while we're over here in Milan.  (I mean, who knew we'd need silly stuff like sleep and food, right?)

Every evening after English Clubs, we go as a group to a local restaurant and invite the students to join us. The conversations we enjoy over food are often quieter and more personal than any we could have in the short break time during English Clubs, so we were excited when a large group joined us on Friday.

That particular night, we had an additional attraction: bowling! I'm terrible at the game, but I *almost* got a spare once, and laughing makes you bond with people, right? I don't mind being the joke. :)

Stylish, no?

Srike celebration!

"Giorda" is apparently the only logical way to spell my hubby's name...

After bowling, we headed over to the food court. I was with a sweet, talkative girl I'll call Rose, and I decided at the last second to join her group at "The Wild West". It's Italy's attempt at Tex-Mex, and while their guacamole leaves much to be desired, they do have pretty good nachos.

As the four of us at our end of the restaurant booth talked about the civic role of the Catholic Church in Italy, our studies, and our families, I was praying. I was listening intently, trying to hear past the surface and understand their hearts.

Usually, Italians are very reserved, and they have a hard time sharing personal details or discussing deeper topics. But if you listen well, there are often clues dropped about painful circumstances in their lives that can help you have a deeper conversation with them later.

Rose told how her mother had suddenly become very devout after visiting a shrine in another part of Italy. She now goes to church daily, as well as praying an hour every evening.

"How do you feel about the change in your mom?" I asked.

"Oh, it is fine and good," she said. "I like that she chooses this herself. It is not only religion. There is no person forcing her to do this--she decided it on her own. I think there is big difference between religion and a faith."

"I agree," I said. "When I was little, it was easy to believe in God because my parents told me. Later, I had questions and I found the answers when I read the Bible for myself. My cousin told me that it is ok to have questions because if something is true, it will still be true after you test it.'"


The conversation shifted and I listened for a long time. Then one of the guys said, "Wait--I want to hear you talk. Tell us about Texas." They listened, disbelieving, as I described the distance from Houston to Dallas, the variety of foods and cultures represented, the fact that not everything is desert, and the country dancing. The conversation was about to veer into an animated debate about Wild West shows when the same guy said, "No, this is OK, but tell us something else. I like to hear your voice. Tell us whatever you like."

Could I have asked for a more perfect chance to tell how God has changed me?

So I told my story.

How I used to find my value in the fact that I was a good student. How I thought my family was perfect. How my Grandma died. How Dad lost his job. How God helped me forgive my parents completely because I have been forgiven. How I now know that my value comes from the fact that I'm loved by God--not from what I do.

As we paid and walked out of the mall, Rose said, "I can feel everything you said. It is so similar to my life!"

She had to leave early and can't spend any more time with our team because of a job in another city, but neither one of us wanted to stop talking.

Please pray for this beautiful girl and for the other students who were sitting close. I know from experience that only God can give hope to a family that is breaking apart.
Only God can help us forgive wounds like that.
Only God's love can silence the accusing voices that tell us we're unlovely and unlovable. 

Less than two months away!

The excitement has been slowly building in my heart since January, when our letters were signed and sent. Part of me still can't believe that we are actually returning to Milan! (Click here for last year's post on returning...it's still a true expression of how we feel to be going back!)

In case you're new to the blog, or just need a reminder, here's what's going on:

Our church has linked arms in partnership with a tiny, brave church plant in Milan, Italy. Like us, they focus their ministry on the college students at a local university. Also like us, they are passionate about discipleship.

This was our team with the students last year on an excursion. Such a fun day! Hubby and I are front, left.  

Each year, we send a team of students to encourage and help this church by putting together fun, interactive English Clubs for the students of Bicocca University. The clubs provide a great setting to meet students and build relationships.

We love the fact that we stay for two full weeks! That second week gives time for trust to form and conversations to go beyond the surface.

For many young people in Italy's post-Christian secularism, broken homes and shallow relationships are the norm. Knowing this, my husband and I have tried to text and Facebook our Italian friends throughout the year. Going back to the team and to our Italian friends--well, it's a bit like a family reunion.

Even though support raising is far from complete, my heart is full to bursting right now with thanks for friends like you who give to make it possible for us to return!

By our returning we tell the Italian students that they are more than a two-week project. The returning lends weight, not only to the friendships, but also to the declaration that Jesus is just as real and alive and life-changing as the first time we told them.

Never underestimate the power of persistent love. My own heart is proof that it can soften, redeem, transform.

Will you help us return? Click here for Fellowship Church's secure giving site.
**NOTE: please put "Castille Italy Mission" in the comment box before clicking "submit". This helps your gift go to the right place.

Will you pray?
Mark the dates for our trip in your phone calendar! (May 11-25)

• Pray for hearts to be open to the love of Jesus.
• Pray for us to be humble.
• Pray for courage and cultural sensitivity.
• Pray for Frank, Pam, Stacy, and Debbie--the long-term missionaries in Milan.
• Pray for every team member to reach their support goal by April 11.
• Most of all, pray for God's name to be famous and lifted high.

 

Spring Break: short but sweet

I now sincerely appreciate any and all student holidays. Like, really appreciate.

Even if they're not the long, luxurious swaths of time they once were.
Even if they're just a glorified, embellished weekend.

I am so thankful.

The University gave me two whole days off for Spring Break! The hubs and I savored Thursday slowly, puttering around the house and yard, doing laundry, meeting friends at coffee shops and parks.

Speaking of coffee shops, I tried out a new one for the first time on that beautiful day. As small as our town is, it can still surprise me! 1541 is a quiet, cozy little gem tucked away behind WallyWorld. Truly, it doesn't get as much traffic as it deserves. The Mexican couple who own it bake all the muffins and other goodies from scratch each morning and just look at the artwork they make of their cappuccinos!

If only they didn't close at 6pm each evening! If not for that small detail, I would make them my regular study place because of the low prices and quiet atmosphere. Regardless, I've resolved to give them some repeat business on weekends if only because I love supporting family-owned businesses.

Friday morning we were packed and on our way to my family! That evening Mom spent her gift card and treated Dad, Hubby and I to the Cheesecake Factory for my first time ever.

Can you tell we were pumped?

*Cue sugar overload for the next five hours*

The real centerpiece of the weekend, though, was the wedding of my dear friend, Jessica. Ever since we were kids, I've admired her for her ability to roll gracefully with imperfection and make the unplanned fun--laughing her contagious laugh the entire time.

Rain at an outdoor ceremony? No worries! Umbrellas make things cuter anyway.

Rain also has the power to give spectacular rainbows. What a stunning reminder of God's faithfulness on the day they promised theirs.

Never Thought I'd Use Facebook for This...

Four months ago, I was on facebook, staring at a blinking cursor with fingers poised. I was about to apologize to someone I hadn't seen in six years.

My thoughts were nervous, skittish of the message I was about to write. 

She won't even remember this. It was so long ago! She'll think I'm weird for dredging up the past. Worse, it might make her feel bad, maybe even create wounds where none existed. 

But I couldn't shake the conviction to make things right.

I'd been sitting with God, venting to him about someone who frustrated me. Eventually, the venting had given way to softness, me confessing the prickles in my own heart that were bristling in frustration. (Isn't it cool how that works?) 

Suddenly, in the clarity of that softness, I saw myself six years ago. There I was, frustrating someone with my own immaturity. I sat still in the flash of realization: the flaws in Past Cherise were the same that made me bristle with irritation now. 

Takes one to know one. 

So there I was, typing an apology halfway around the world. 

"...I know it has been many years, but would you forgive my arrogance from that time?..."

Her response came within five hours, full of forgetful grace and forgiveness. My heart basked in the glow of her words from my facebook screen. I felt light.

Then, two weeks ago, a conversation jogged another memory of another hurt both received and given. This time it was from even further in the past, a time before puberty, braces or the end of fifth grade. Really, God? 

Obediently, I tapped out another facebook message. I received another surprised, grace-filled reply less than a day later. The sweetness of the exchange made me wish I had sent it sooner, felt the freedom years before. But until that week, I hadn't remembered.

In our apartment, there are certain little piles that have always been there--part of the decor. Technically, they're clutter, but they no longer register as mess in my brain. 

In my heart, it's the same. There are certain character issues and wounds that feel like part of the landscape--part of me. Invisible until my Healer says "See that?"--then it's suddenly there, conspicuous. 

I am so thankful that He is gentle, showing me the piles one by one. 

Ignite: Then and Now

Have you ever tried to water a potted plant that was bone-dry? The water beads up and splashes off the dust with no effect.

Only small drops, patiently dripped, get through the crust.

Just after Christmas, the hubs and I squeezed onto a bus with 56 other people and drove to Indiana’s capital for the Ignite Conference. Ignite is a bit like a family reunion for the several hundred college students and staff who gather every two years from all the churches in the Collegiate Church Network. For two days, we worship, barely sleep, hang out, and hear dynamic teachings designed to re-ignite our hearts with love for God and for people.

When I went to Ignite two years ago, I was like a waterless plant that had forgotten how to drink. Starved for friendship, terribly lonely, and laboring under a false weight of expectations, my hard protective crust blocked out the love I needed.

I'm not saying love was not offered--it was. The sweet women in our group welcomed me, sat by me, chatted as we made coffee. But the wounds I nursed were so painful that I was unable to soak it in. Love splashed off, ineffective. 

This time was so different! The acceptance got through this year and soaked my heart. 

To all the women who loved me that weekend, thank you!
When your engagement secret was shared, I squealed as I anticipated your joy to come.
Adoption hopes whispered over our pillows thrilled my heart for you and your future family. 
You came on an impromptu picture-snatching adventure with me in the bright cold, and I felt like your sister. 

You sat beside me for hours in the dark on a swaying bus, just to talk and listen. 
You prayed with me, 
You smiled at me, 
you weren't embarrassed to worship beside me. 

But the real thanks welling up in my heart is to the One who has patiently dripped love into my crusty heart. Dripped and dripped so persistently and long. And then He gave me a milestone like Ignite. A two-year bookend--something to hold side by side for the difference--so I could compare the soils of me then and me now. 

He used some of you, and my heart is so thankful!

If you feel like your own heart is impermeable, that it is too dry for love or friendship, take heart. He is a Spring of Living Water, and He doesn't give up that easily. 

If you feel like you are the water, continually poured on a hard one that won't receive, take courage. The softening is His job--yours is to be the pipe, the spigot, that He pours through. 

Sock Monkey in a Shoebox

Some things come full circle and smack you surprised.

Our homegroups have a tradition that plops Christmas into our consciousness a full week before Thanksgiving: the annual Operation Christmas Child shoebox-filling-party.

Picture if you can, a swarm of college students dashing around Target and Wally World collecting slinkys, teddy bears, coloring books, t-shirts and other school supplies and hygiene items. Each one is trying hard to think like a kid. Now, what did I like at age nine again?

Then it’s back to the rendezvous. Bulk items are parceled out, Christmas paper flies, and someone’s Pandora station is set loud on A Charlie Brown Christmas as the boxes are lovingly filled.

Even before becoming involved in homegroups, I remember filling shoeboxes with my family. Each box had a note from me, including my address, just in case.

One year it happened! A Venezuelan girl received my box and actually replied. Her letter sparked a pen-pal-ship that lasted several years. To this day, we are friends via social media.

I was telling this story in homegroup the week before the box-filling party when one of our new freshman girls piped up.

"I got one of those boxes when I was little."

Every head swiveled to her, and eyes got big.

She told us that when she was eight or nine, her church in Central America distributed the boxes. It was a complete suprise. "I got a sock monkey," she said. "He was so cute!"

She told us she felt so loved knowing that someone she'd never met had given her a gift. 

If you'd like to get involved in Operation Christmas Child, click here for information and fun videos of kids opening their shoeboxes!

My new Chinese friend

Have you ever lived overseas?

I'm not talking about a vacation packed with non-stop pictures and travel and fun. I'm talking about a time long enough for laundry to be done, long enough for grocery shopping routines to form, long enough for lonliness to set in.

  Someone once told me that the number of calories an immersed language student burns daily from sheer mental effort to understand and be understood is equivalent to what a bricklayer would burn if he worked eight hours in the sun. I believe them.

I had the chance to spend half a year overseas after high school. The mental exhaustion was intense. The new language was an extra layer of difficulty that had to be peeled back from the most ordinary of tasks. I remember searching for words, lining them up in my mind, rehearsing them over and over as I stepped to a desk or cashier and hoped that the other person would be kind.

Now I am the person behind the desk. In my new office, every other visitor speaks with an accent. Their syllables halt in strange places and their faulty intonations make commonplace words sound like music.

For a long time, I have enjoyed tiny slivers of interaction with internationals--a few minutes on the bus, visits with a Chinese friend who now lives 3 hours away, or a Turkish friend who is very busy with her baby. Because our ministry focus is on a student homegroup that has mostly American students (by accident, not design), there just hasn't been the opportunity to interact very much.

Now, not only do I get to see and talk to foreign students every day at my job, I have a new friend from China! Lynn* is a first-semester graduate student from Shanghai, and she is my new conversation partner. Several months ago, she jotted down her name on a sheet of paper at an international student welcome event to ask for an American friend. We got connected, and I'm so excited to get to know her!

I'm sure I'll have plenty more to tell as we get to know each other, but for now, please pray for our friendship, and for Lynn as she adjusts to American life and our (very!) strange language.

*Not her real name

The Point of Bridesmaids

Seven times.

I counted this weekend, and was amazed to realize that I have been a bridesmaid for seven beautiful friends. How can I have been so blessed? These girls considered me close and wanted me there on their special day. They wanted me as a witness to sacred vows, to their new beginnings.

This weekend I stood as a man and woman made a forever promise to love, honor and cherish each other. (Isn't she stunning?)

As I looked at the list of women, I felt a growing resolve to continue to stand with them. Because we don't need friends only for pretty faces in the wedding album, or to help us bustle the dress. After the cake is eaten, after we're no longer newlyweds, after student loans and stretch marks and burned crock pot meals and PTA and decades of living life, we will need them more than ever. I will never outgrow the need for women beside me, for sisters' prayers, for witnesses that will hold me to my vows when they no longer make sense.

In the ceremony, my friend spoke of waiting eleven years for this day. I had only been her friend through half of that waiting season, but I had seen the tenacity and love and endurance of her heart.

A hope fulfilled is so beautiful. But even more beautiful was the beauty produced in her heart because of hope long deferred.

Switching gears...I have to share the funniest moment of the ceremony. (Because remembering these stories is another reason bridesmaids exist.)

Get the scene in your head: the bride and groom are on stage, each taking a turn kneeling and washing the other's feet in a ceramic bowl, symbolizing their commitment to serve each other in the manner of Christ. Her feet are washed, shoes replaced; no problem. Then the groom sat, and the entire room began to realize that his well-heeled, well-socked feet might be more difficult than her simple slippers.

 Looking back, a lot of it could have been avoided if foot-washing practice had actually happened at the rehearsal. That's what a practice is for, right?

The socks came off inside out...and then utterly refused to go back on damp feet. We in the bridal party started to giggle. The band started the refrain again, to buy time. As both bride and groom tugged on the stubborn dress socks, the giggles rippled out and engulfed the entire chapel. The photographer was laughing so hard she could barely hold her camera steady, but if she was able to take pictures of the hilarity, I'm sure they will be awesome. 

Small things

Again, I find that the ambition to blog regularly on a mission trip like this proved to be completely unrealistic. Oh well. There is grace in the doing and not-doing, and sometimes the call to sit and rest--to simply be--outshines the trophies we give ourselves for checking boxes off lists.


Our two weeks in Milan are drawing to a close. Sunday, we will eat one last brioche and point our noses back to the land of Starbucks and larger cars. I will miss Italy so much.

We have been living the refreshing rhythm of days measured by the quality of conversations with God and with others rather than by errands run or hours worked.

Even then, "measure" is a mis-nomer. Because how can you measure what God might do through a seemingly inconsequential hug? Or a friendly chat over a maroccino?

Two weeks is a blip on eternity's timeline, but if love was expressed, that blip carries the weight of eternity.

This morning I forgot this. For about three hours, I walked in a fog of self-doubt which was really God-doubt in disguise. It hit me after breakfast, causing me to question my effectiveness, my abilities, and whether I had wasted my time coming.

As I type, I'm scoffing at the absurdity. But even the absurd can sound true when you're tired.

I looked over the past two weeks and saw only a string of inconsequential moments, conversations, and activities. Only two weeks, when I longed to give the whole shebang and move here for good. It seemed so paltry. Like loose change in my coin purse.

But there was that day when Jesus called her two coins the biggest offering of all. 

And there was another afternoon when a kid's lunch, given to Jesus, fed enough people to fill a stadium. 

He loves to use the weak things, the small things, the awkward things, even the boring things.
By this, He shames the strong.
If I feel strong, I'm actually weak.
But when I give Him the small things--my little lunch, my loose change--His strength is obvious.

So this is what I'm learning. It's only something small...but I guess I could be wrong about that. :)

"I'm doing good"

What makes a day "good"?

As a bank teller, I am constantly asking customers how their day is going. Of course, ninety-nine percent say "I'm good", I'm doin' fine", or something similar. Social norms put us on auto-pilot and keep everything clean and shiny.

For years, I've tried to avoid the plastic smile in favor of authenticity. Fake might be pretty, but it keeps us insulated from real friendships. Who relates to Barbie anyway?

So early on, I swung to the other extreme. (Hint: extremes are usually bad.) It made for some pretty awkward conversations with perfect strangers.

I like to think I've learned from my mistakes, that I know when to bare all and when to be polite, but I still have slip-ups.
But lately, I've been convicted that my desire to be authentic and "real" sometimes drives me to cross a fine line into simple griping. Or (gulp!) even gossip.

Which brings me back to my first question: What are the qualifications for a "good" day--one that I don't gripe or complain about?

Must the day be nearly perfect to be a "good" one?

Maybe my standards have been too high. Maybe a good day shouldn't have to be so perfect, measuring up to the "good" days of last year, or even last week.

A sweet young mommy-friend of mine has come to a similar conclusion. These days, exhaustion is the norm in her world. So are spit-up stains and tantrums and diapers and all the other normals that mommies of toddlers and infants endure. Three years ago, before kids, the lack of sleep alone might have translated into a no-good-very-bad-day.

So, she has wisely adjusted her standards. A "good" day is a day when her children are loved. It is a day when there was sleep before, no matter how little. It is any day when her heart is focused on thankfulness, on loving, on Jesus.

Good is a choice.

I will still share the hard things with friends. I will still show the reality of my life because shared comfort brings closeness.
But because Jesus is good, and He is with me, I choose to believe that today is good. 

Spring homegroup update!

It's about time for an update about homegroup! That is, after all, the fiber of the student ministry here at Fellowship Church, the rhythm of meetings and life in nourishing community.

We lost a lot of people last December: some to graduation and new grown-up jobs elsewhere, some to student teaching assignments in other cities. It's natural and expected--the population of a college town is in constant flux, and students themselves are in transition...but I was sad. I miss people when they leave.

This is why the perpetual prayer for those of us in college ministry is,  "Jesus, send us new people you have in mind, people who are hungry for you."

One way He is answering that prayer is through a sweet girl who isn't exactly new, but whose new-found confidence and humility in her new leadership role is a breath of fresh air to the homegroup! Sarah met us as a quiet freshman at last year's Spring Rally, and has since grown so much in her heart for other students and her understanding of the Bible. Most weeks, she brings along a new friend from one of her classes, and invites them to coffee or lunch on her free time. Yay for new leaders who are faithful!

In addition to old members stepping into leadership roles, we have had about eleven new students check out our homegroup since January. While not all will stick, we are praying that many will, and that we will be able to share our lives and the love of Jesus with them.

In other homegroup news, the first girl sleepover of 2013 was a smashing success! Hubby went elsewhere for the night while we stuffed ourselves with salad, homemade enchiladas and ripe strawberries, and then danced ourselves silly to the wii game, "Just Dance". Oh, and we painted toenails. Duh.

Another incredible time happened last weekend at the women's retreat...but that weekend deserves its own post...HERE.

I like gardening on canvas too

It must have been Jesus' idea, because it hasn't crossed either of our minds until the moment before she said it:

"Would you wanna get together next weekend and paint?"

Ohhhhh girl, would I.

Painting is one of those elusive hobbies that never seems to materialize because I rely on the off-chance that I'll I have nothing more pressing to do. Annnnnnnd we all know that in this life, there is ALWAYS something that feels more urgent than dabbling in paint, be it cooking, shopping, laundry, work, returning a phone call, a meeting...you get the idea...and I don't even have kids yet!

But as a wise friend of mine recently blogged, "I'm too busy" is actually code for "Other things are higher on my priority list." In other words, we make time for whatever we value more. Tough but true. (Go read her blog here!)

Painting simply doesn't stack high on my priority list, which is why it had to piggyback on something that I DO fight to make priority: girl time with friends.

So we sat last Saturday night, yellow table and tea and tubes of paint between, and soaked in the sweetness of understanding that you find with a good friend. We worshiped to the sound of Meredith Andrews on Pandora, and Jesus was there, and the paint flowed.

I'm learning--slowly--to not drag a little bag of guilt into sweet times of rest like these. I'm sure some of you remember the book I mentioned last month?  I continue to chew on it, and it continues to challenge my ideas of simplicity, my motivations for busy-ness, and how I understand God's attitude toward rest and stillness. I'll have more about the book in another post, but the fact that I painted and enjoyed fully (sans guilt) is evidence to me that I'm learning how to rest!

Tomorrow night is the start of our women's retreat that Fellowship Church, and I'm praying that it will truly be a time of deep surrender-rest for my heart and the hearts of all the other ladies there. If you would take 30 seconds and pray with me, that would be awesome!

(My painting is a copy of a painting I pinned on Pinterest, by Ginnette Callaway.)

Part of the Club

My husband and I joke that our street is a tiny slice of ghetto in a suburbia pie. There are old cars and weeds instead of sculpted lawns, and the cracked concrete probably dates to a time before my birth. But none of this stops the kids of our street from turning our neighborhood strip into a half-mile play zone.

I love the kids. They run and bike and scooter and clump noisily in driveways and stairwells, taller ones toting toddlers. If you stop between car door and front door to talk, shyness will evaporate, brown eyes will sparkle, and suddenly you have a friend.

google pic

Ever since I moved in over a year ago, I've daydreamed of building relationships and even organizing a simple Bible Club with stories, games, and snacks. What could be easier? I live here, right? But my student life left no margin, and I've found time just as scarce now that I'm a working woman. God, I prayed,  I want to be involved somehow, but the thought of starting something from scratch feels so overwhelming. 

Enter: the awesomeness that is answered prayer. Boom. 

I wanted to work out at a nearby gym, but instead of driving, I decided--for the first time ever--to walk.

I was halfway down the street, when I heard an excited female voice ask"...And what do you think Joseph did then? He went right to his brothers and told them his dream!" Who is telling a Bible story? I wondered.

As I rounded a group of parked cars, I saw a tiny crowd of children, all giving rapt attention to an elderly blond woman who held a picture for them to admire. Another elderly woman sat nearby with a curly-headed girl in her lap. I quietly came close and sat cross-legged on the edge of the blanket. This was so much better than lifting weights.

At the end, as the kids smeared their mouths red with popsicles, I introduced myself to the women. I discovered that the Bible Club that God had placed on my heart had already been in progress every week for fourteen years! Their faithfulness humbled me to the core. Ms. M actually lives on my street, and though she usually leaves the storytelling to her friend, it is her willingness to host and fund the Club that has kept it going for over a decade.

Yesterday, I went back, and I feel so encouraged! Here is a place for the dream I've held so long. Here I can meet the kids, show them love, know their names and stories. Here I can use the puppets that have languished, unused, in my old trunk for three years. Here I can learn from the faith and faithfulness of the older women, and begin to make love a tangible verb on my street.

(AND, if you live on my street or anywhere nearby, you should come! 4pm, Wednesdays.)