Monthly Archives: August 2009

Right now my list of “things to blog about” is piling so high it’s about to topple over like the stack of clean clothes on the bed right beside me (which I am happy to ignore).  Part of this is due to something I heard at the Beth Moore Simulcast conference this past weekend.  She made the excellent point that some of us are in such a hurry to tell the world the awesome things that God’s teaching us that we spill it out before it has a chance to really settle, really work in us.  She said because of that we simply become liaisons, not listeners or learners.  I took this to heart because of course I LOVE to blog. Love love love it.  But I was also a bit tripped up by this because for me, writing something out is HOW I process it.  It’s like I don’t know exactly how I feel about something until I begin to write and then it all falls into place (at least sometimes).  So I’m torn–I don’t want to be someone who shares things prematurely, like a baby exposed too soon to the light of day. I want to let these thoughts have their proper gestation so they can be fully developed. But I also don’t want to let the moment pass! And for me, if I don’t write about it fairly quickly, that freshness feels like it’s lost. What to do?  Anyway, the past few days I’ve been OVERFLOWING with things I want to write about, but I’ve been sitting tight asking God to show me the balance–when to write, when to sit.  The answer? I don’t know. But the list of things to write is teetering, so I’ll share bits and pieces as time and God allow.

But today was just a fun illustration of one thing Beth shared this past weekend.  As she ended the conference she talked about humility. Now I am obsessed with the topic of humility because it is SO stinkin’ elusive for me.  It’s like a slippery fish I am obsessed with trying to snag with my greasy little fingers, but just when I think perhaps I’ve grown a bit–I realize that it’s pride that’s making me think like that. Oh the cycle!  But she shared a fun translation of Proverbs 25:27, from the Message, which interestingly enough I had just read that very day in my quiet time.  It had stood out to me, partly because I have not been very disciplined about the first half of the Proverb: “It is not smart to stuff yourself with sweets”, which had resulted in too-tight jeans and we all know that is no fun. But the second half was what she shared and I love the wording: “Nor is glory piled on glory good for you.”

Hm.  She shared about how it is actually not good for us to succeed all the time.  Nor is it good for our children to always succeed.  Some failures are healthy. Some humiliation, excellent, because it humbles us, and humility always leads to more intimacy with God.  If we only had success and glory all the time, we wouldn’t have the character God desires.  So she shared a story of how God rebuked/humbled her once and how on the spot she stood there and praised Jesus for His graciousness to her, humbling her.  I was so amazed by that. I HATE being humiliated. But what if we embraced it? What if we saw it as an awesome way to be drawn closer to the Father?  How cool would that be?!

So today, apparently, was my lab for this lesson.  First off, my sweet husband surprised me and wrote a post about me on his blog.  After reading that I was on cloud 9.  If half of what he said was true, then I had reason to feel good!  Secondly, I had been totally inspired by another gal friend of mine who homeschools (who happens to be on my teetering list of things to blog about), and I was thinking about how to make every day into a time of learning for Dutch, using what he’s most interested in to teach him.  So today I’m feeling strong. Dutch and I spend all morning reading Richard Scarry, and I even get him to count to ten (with help) and repeat the alphabet (letter by letter) after me.  In my zeal I even thought of a fun way to start teaching him to memorize Scripture.  I made these little cards–one side had my verse to memorize and the other side had a kid-version for him. So I had Psalm 37:3-4 and he had Psalm 37:3a “Trust in God and do good.” Yeah, I was really going for it.

(By the way, the reason I figured he was ready to memorize Scripture was that he’s started, on occasion, to repeat things we say.  And for whatever bizarre reason last night Jeff was laughing about some stupid line from TommyBoy, where Chris Farley says, “I eat little poops like you for breakfast!” And David Spade goes, “You eat poop for breakfast? Gross!”  And to my horror Dutch goes, “You eat poop for breakfast! Gross!”  Oh dear, I thought. Time to fill his mind with God’s Word before lines from crass movies!)

So after my educational morning, I realize that my $19.95 coupon for an oil change at Meineke expires today, and since my car was due for one, I decide that in the spirit of education, I will take Dutch to Meineke and let him watch the car mechanics (I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up and he said a car-fixer).  I had never been to this Meineke in Lake Oswego, but I mapped it out, headed down Boones Ferry, and as I trying to change lanes and zip through traffic, caught sight of the sign, turned in a back way, and pulled into the parking lot. I was in the back and there were a lot of garage stalls, but I saw a long line of cars pulling in to get their oil changed, so I just joined the line.  A man quickly ran out, “Here for our signature oil change service, ma’am?”  I smiled, said yes, then unloaded the kids and found a place to sit outside where Dutch could be right by where they worked on the cars. it was awesome. He LOVED it.  Both kids sat on my laps like little angels, and I sat there for 30 minutes feeling like a pretty got-it-together Mama.  My hair was even washed!  When it came time to pay, the guy had me come inside and I went to the front, and happily pulled out my coupon and handed it over.

“Um, ma’am this coupon is for Meineke.  You could go next door and use it, but you’re at Jiffy Lube right now.”  I wish he would have laughed about it, because then it would have been fun, but instead he used that “You-are-a-stupid-blond-stay-at-home-mom-idiot voice” and I stood there like a buffoon then tucked my little coupon back into my purse and proceeded to hand over my visa to pay Jiffy Lube’s price.  Classic.  I walked out happy that my son had a fun experience, but a notch lower than I had upon entering.

Then we hit Old Navy.  I’d gotten a t-shirt there when they had the $3 sale, and brought it home to find the color obnoxious so I wanted to exchange it for another color. Sounds simple.  I was feeling ambitious so I carried Heidi on my hip and let Dutch walk by himself.  To make a long story short we had to wait in line three different times, probably at least 30-40 minutes total (totally not worth it for a  $3 tshirt!), and by the time we left Dutch was playing with a little toy tire. I had warned him not to kick it. What did he do? Sat it on the floor, and ever so slightly, kicked it with his foot. So I took the tire and put it back on the shelf. And it must have been just the right moment when all the rebellious, I-need-a-nap energy of the world was in order because he pitched  FIT. He threw himself on the floor, at the feet of the customers behind me, wailing at the top of his lungs.  Finally I picked him up to carry him out to the car, and he screamed like a wild animal and kicked his legs so hard I had to turn him sideways and carry him like a 2×4, all while teetering Heidi on my other hip, looking straight ahead as not to see the horrified stares of the other customers.  Once in the parking lot he started to slide down then wrapped himself around my leg so as I walked I was dragging him along with my leg until we got to the car where he collapsed into a heap of drooling, sobbing tears on the blacktop.  Oh yes, it was priceless.  That was the most costly $3 tshirt I’ve ever bought.

Of course none of this is any different than any other mom goes through in the normal course of life raising steel-willed toddlers.  All is fine now.  I’m still going to try to teach Dutch more every day. We’re still going to try to memorize scripture together.  And everytime I wear my $3 tshirt I will be reminded of the beauty of humility, and of circumstances which bring us down a blessed notch.

The good part is that I’m thankful.  God’s Word says that glory piled on glory isn’t good for me.  Amen to that.  Now let’s see if I can conquer the first half of that proverb, and lay off the sweets a bit…

Thanks for reading!

Every so often Dutch gets a treat–a sleepover at Papa & Oma’s house.  As I have had a ton to do getting ready for our first Women’s Bible study and moving (and both of those things happening on the same day!), we decided it’d be a perfect time for Dutch to enjoy such a sleepover tonight, freeing me up tomorrow morning to run some errands and catch up on things.  So tonight, with Jeff away at high school group, Heidi and I enjoyed a quiet–very quiet–evening at home.  We took the opportunity to visit some girls, a couple friends of mine who have each given birth to baby girls in the past month, and savored the chance to actually have a full conversation without answering a dozen questions about trucks in between sentences.

We cleaned the house, packed boxes, paid bills.  We went for a walk to our new house (which is painted, I might add!), and as I walked back I was relishing the chance to actually think, that is lose myself in a train of thought, when I realized that that is truly rare.  Even on our daily walks I am usually in a continual ongoing conversation of answering questions:  “What’s that moon doing?  I want touch the big brick wall!  Where’s the cows?  What’s that guy doing?  Our house is all done!  Where’s the work guys go?  What’s that truck?  What’s Lightning McQueen say?  What’s Big Red say?  What’s Heidi doing?”  So, tonight was a rare, I could just think.

And then tonight, I tucked Heidi into bed.  Being the girl that she is, she smiled, stuck her thumb in her mouth and promptly fell asleep. No, “It’s not bedtime! It’s not bedtime!  I want Mama lay. I want Mama lay!  I want read ano’ book.  I need juice.  I need my blanket!”  No collapsing onto the couch exhausted.  I looked around the house. It was clean.  Strikingly clean.  And this verse came to mind:

Proverbs 14:4, “Where no oxen are, the trough is clean;
But much increase comes by the strength of an ox.”

Does that seem odd?  Well my New Kari Translation is this:  “Where no Dutch is; the house is clean; but much joy and fruit comes by the flurry of a son.”

The truth is that my Dutch boy brings me challenges beyond what I ever imagined. He has more energy than I ever thought possible. He is creative beyond measure, which means he can think of an infinite number of questions each day, which are all directed at me.  He has the will of steel, which I pray each day for the grace to break and bring into subjection to God’s ways.  I feel like it takes limitless energy to constantly direct, correct, applaud, answer, respond, rebuke, encourage, affirm.  And each night, as I quietly close the door of his bedroom, I shake my head in wonder at how much energy it takes to raise this little son of ours.

But I’d never want it any other way.  How thankful I am for our little son.  The trough may be clean, but a clean trough isn’t my life’s aim.  It is to give all that I have (and give it I do!) to help our son grow in the knowledge of God, to train him in godliness, to love him ferociously.  So while tonight I’m enjoying a peaceful break, I’m thankful for the work that my little ox brings my way.  I love you, Dutcher.

Well apparently the Lord has me on a theme here of sharing stories that are embarrassing (by the way embarrassment is simply evidence of pride, which I have plenty of).  Right now I am home sick from church. Dutch is also sick with 101 temperature, so we are laying low. I hate missing church and we’re also missing a reunion today with all my college roommates, so I’m bummed about that. But on the bright side, I always feel like being sick provides me a rare opportunity to take extended time with God, sit and soak in His Word, spend time with Him during times when I’m normally off doing other things. So while I’m missing being with God’s people, I’m enjoying being with God.

So Dutch is still sleeping, Heidi is already down for her first nap, and I’m basking in the book of Proverbs, when God shines His light on a verse that instantly pierced my heart.  “Oh no,” I prayed, “Now you want me to share that too?! I already shared the poop story. Do I have to share about how stingy I am too?”  And of course the answer was yes.

I am stingy.   In my flesh, that is.  The word means, “Giving or spending reluctantly.”  Note that it doesn’t say that you don’t give or spend. Oh I do. But deep down I’m still stingy.  Now  earlier this week we had a choice about giving.  God clearly spoke to us from Proverbs 11:24-25:  “One gives freely, yet grows all the richer; another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want.”  I knew what the “what he should give” meant in our situation and the words “give freely” jumped off the page.  I thought, “freely we have received, freely give.”  It was something that had been freely given to us and therefore should be freely given to someone else (who deserved it way more anyway!!).  I didn’t know how it would “work out” because we’d calculated some numbers and it was tight, but we sensed God saying to leave the results to Him.  Jeff and I were so happy once we made that choice. Freely giving was fun!

So then yesterday.  We have this very sweet neighbor man, who I recently found out trims back the bushes outside our apartment door, so that I can push my stroller through the front walkway without slapping the kids’ faces with the bush.  I always had to shove the stroller through, trying to avoid poking an eye out, and then one day I was thrilled to see they were all neatly trimmed away, parted like the Red Sea, creating a perfect walkway for my stroller.  I thought it odd that the apartment complex had done that, since none of the other bushes were trimmed. Then finally through casually chatting with him one day I realized he had done it. I was floored. So thoughtful. So kind.  So above and beyond the neighborly call of duty (if there is one).  So yesterday we arrived home from visiting friends, and I found that they had been neatly trimmed again.  As I walked inside I thought, I should take him something, some cookies or something, to say thank you, and maybe that would even open a door to invite him to church sometime.

So later that night I get the kids to bed and Jeff is gone at church and I remember I’d just made a delicious batch of our favorite cookies and had taken a plate to our friends we’d just visited.  I pulled the rest out of the freezer and figure I’d situate them on a small plate and keep a few for us. Well the only paper plates I had were huge, and it would look odd  only giving him a few on such a big plate  (read: it would look stingy which is an accurate representation of my heart!), but in order to fill up the huge plate it meant there wouldn’t be any leftover for us.  Can you believe I’m actually having this conversation in my mind?  And I can’t make any more cookies because we don’t have any more flour and my “rule” is that when I’m out of something for the month I just go without, I don’t go buy more until the next time to grocery shop, because it helps us stay on budget.  And yes of course I could just give him ALL the cookies, but I really wanted to keep some!  They’re my favorite!

I don’t remember what took me from this ridiculous inner monologue, but I ended up going to bed because I felt a cold coming on, and this morning felt even worse. So as I’m sitting here having my sweet time with God, and Proverbs 23:6-8 punches me in the face:

“Do not eat the bread of a man who is stingy; do not desire his delicacies, for he is like one who is inwardly calculating. “Eat and drink!” he says to you, but his heart is not with you.  You will vomit up the morsels that you have eaten, and waste your pleasant words.”

Can I get an “ouch!”?  I am glad I didn’t take him cookies last night because I guess he would have vomited up those tasty morsels! 🙂  I was certainly “one who is inwardly calculating.”  Isn’t God’s Word amazing? Isn’t it amazing how it brings such clear conviction, even down to the exact scenario?  I read those words and knew, I was the stingy man.  I was the one inwardly calculating.  And I’m not just talking about cookies–of course now I’m going to go give the neighbor the whole silly batch of cookies, I’m at least smart enough to figure that one out! But I know I do this in other areas.  All the time. I know that much of my giving is not done freely–it’s done carefully, calculatingly… stingily.  And though I know I’m freer than I used to be, I know I’m not where God wants me to be.

Oh that God would change my heart.  That I wouldn’t be one inwardly calculating, but one who gives freely.  Without reservation. With no thought of myself. Without letting my right hand know what my left hand is doing (mentally patting myself on the back), but just being so free from the love of money and stuff that it can come and go without a second thought.  Let the calculating end and the giving freely begin.

Sometimes I feel like God has a funny relationship with me because He likes to ask me to do funny things, or at least what seem funny to me.  You see my husband is one of those who, when out walking, when he sees a piece of trash on the ground, he will stop, pick it up, and carry it with him to throw it away. He always does.  And of course I admire that about him, but I don’t always necessarily do the same.  I mean, I’ve got my kids, right? And who wants to pick up someone else’s garbage?

But sometimes I feel like God asks me to do something and, just like I do with Dutch, looks me in the eye sternly and challenges me: Will you obey me in all things?  About a month ago I had such an experience.  I was out doing my daily walk and right along Salamo Rd, there was a little blue garbage bag. Now Jeff and I often joke about West Linn and their little blue bags. Everyone has them. They are for picking up dog poop, and since everyone in West Linn seems to have a dog, and they all take them walking, they all carry around these little blue garbage bags which they use to pick up their poop, tie up, and carry with them on their walks. I always think it’s kind of funny to see people dressed to the nines and swinging their poop bags along as they walk their dogs.

So on my walk, there in the middle of the sidewalk was one of these poop bags–full.  Sick.  I veered around it, thinking, “Gross, who would leave their poop bag in the middle of the sidewalk.”  And immediately the thought entered my mind: “Pick it up.”  I shrugged it off. By now I was a ways past, and I didn’t want to turn around, march back along the busy road and scoop up the poop bag. Come on.  I kept walking.  After I got home I knew I’d disobeyed. It might sound silly but I knew that I’d missed an opportunity to obey God.  But I was home, I didn’t want to go back, so I figured that was that.

The next day I went for my daily walk.  To my amazement when I got to that spot, the poop bag was still there! I slowed down, and realized that God was probably giving me another chance to obey Him. But you know what? I’m ashamed to admit it but I didn’t pick it up.  By then it was smashed on the sidwalk (sick!) and it’s always easier to disobey God the second time than it is the first, so I left it.  The next time I went by it was gone, and I realized I really had missed a chance.  Someone else had done what I was too proud to do.

Yesterday as we gathered for our women’s ministry meeting one of our leaders and I were talking.  She said, “I have to show you this devotional I read the other day.”  I took it from her and read the brief devotional story:  A man was walking along the sidewalk just as an expensive flashy sports car was pulling up at a traffic light.  The man finished his soda and tossed the empty pop can out the window into the ditch.  The man walking, a Christian, continued walking across the street and thought to himself, “What kind of jerk throws his pop can out of the window?  That is what sin does!”  Immediately he sensed God’s voiced prodding his heart: “Sin throws out the pop can, but grace stoops down and picks it up.”

Grace picks it up.  You know it’s so easy as Christians to expect the people around us to live as if they were Christ-followers.  But why should they? How can people who are dead in sin be expected to live as if they are alive in Christ?  Why should we expect unbelievers to have prayer in school, to speak wholesomely, to remain faithful to their spouses, when they don’t have Christ’s new life living in them. They live as sinners. Our lives should then be a response of grace.

So today I went walking, and would you believe it, as I turned the corner onto Salamo road, there it was–a blue bag, full of dog poop.  I kept walking past, but only a few steps. Grace picks it up. I stopped.  I turned around the stroller and went back.  I was a little grossed out as I picked up the doggie defecation, but carried it home.  And as silly and small as it may be, I finally sensed God’s smile on me, I finally had obeyed.

Well the humorous part was that I refused to bring the poop inside our apartment and we are a long ways from the dumpster, so I just sat it on our front porch.  When Jeff came home from work he said, “Someone left their blue poop bag on our front porch!”

I smiled. “No hon. It was me.  I learned something today.  Grace picks up the poop.”

I’ve always loved the passage in 1 Kings 8 (and also in 2 Chronicles) where it says, ¹⁰ “And it came to pass, when the priests came out of the holy place, that the cloud filled the house of the LORD, ¹¹ so that the priests could not continue ministering because of the cloud; for the glory of the LORD filled the house of the LORD.”

Can you imagine? Can you imagine God’s glory coming down and showing up in such power that the priests couldn’t even minister?  They couldn’t even do their “religious work” because God showed up in such power that they were overwhelmed in every sense.

We are a very “in control” church. Things are done well. Organized.  Carried out with precision and excellence.  Transitions are carefully planned, words are carefully chosen.  And for the most part, that is great–it’s a strength. I love that the people who serve here take what they do very seriously and strive with every ounce of their being to do it as unto the Lord, with all their heart.

But sometime I long for God to show up and get out of control.  Sometimes I think of that 1 Kings passage and think, “Oh that You would do that here at our church!  Show up in such a way that we can’t even continue to carry on as usual.  Let Your glory fall!”  Along this same vein, Joy recently shared this quote from Tozer:

Current evangelicalism has laid the altar and divided the sacrifice into parts, but now seems satisfied to count the stones and rearrange the pieces with never a care that there is not a sign of fire upon the top of lofty Carmel. But God be thanked that there are a few who care. They are those who, while they love the altar and delight in the sacrifice, are yet unable to reconcile themselves to the continued absence of fire. They desire God above all.

This quote has virtully haunted my thoughts and fueled my prayers for several weeks now.  Oh Lord please don’t just let us busy ourselves like ants, counting the silly stones and rearranging the pieces on the altar but never noticing that YOU are not there, that Your fire has not fallen!  We want the fire!  The only reason we have the stone and pieces (ministry and church services) is because we want YOU.  YOU are what we want, God!  That has been my prayer.

And this past weekend, in a tiny measure I believe God gave us a taste of what that might look like.  Joel preached a sermon on baptism–informative, clear, de-mystifying the idea and addressing some common misconceptions.  Clear, to the point, no arm twisting, just teaching.  Then at the end, he invited anyone who wanted to to come forward and be baptized–right then, in their clothes.  There was no one ‘scheduled’ to be baptized. No one planning on it. And we knew there was a possibility that no one would come.  But we worshipped and waited.  As we sat there singing, this whole idea was bursting in my heart. “God let the fire come!” I prayed.  With everything in me I pleaded with Him, to come and mess up our lives a little, to let His glory fall, to do more than let us rearrange the sacrifices, but to really come and make His presence known.  And then, to our amazement and praise (tears streaming down my cheeks), TEN people went forward and got baptized.  Praise God!  I went home marveling at God’s power.  That night our Director of Operations, who was leaving on vacation early in the morning, text messaged Jeff and said: “Set out 20 towels for Sunday morning.  Hope that’s not enough.”  I agreed. First Sunday morning service, filled with mostly long-time church-goers, surprised us with another FOURTEEN people going forward, making bold declarations, full dressed and soaking wet, that they wanted to follow Christ for the rest of their days.  Second service, I didn’t know what to expect.  I continued to pray, as did everyone else. And as we began to wait (if you can even call it that), people began to stream forward.  I tried to count at first, but after a while I was crying watching person after person be baptized, and then I turned my head and my jaw dropped at the sight–people were lined up all the way across the front, along the wall, all the way to the back of the church, waiting to be baptized.  What was going on?  It looked like 1/2 the church was waiting in line!

Soon Joel, shaking his head in amazement, explained that people could go if they had to get their kids, but invited anyone who could to stay, since we would be there awhile!  The worship team finally quit playing and just joined in the clapping and cheering as each person made their stand or Christ. Then we soon realized–we were out of towels!  The floor was sopping wet, and line was still long, and we were out of towels. So next thing we knew people who lived nearby were running home and grabbing their bathtowels, happily giving them away to those choosing to follow Jesus that day.  It brings me to tears right now even, seeing the people coming in the front doors carrying towels.  Even the woman who was selling all her home-staging things (where I got to shop for things) went and brought a huge bag of her brand new towels. Soon we were mopping up the floor and continuing to happily embrace those who’d be immersed.

All in all 74 people were baptized this weekend.  God got out of control.  Church went late, I guess you could say.  People got wet. Outfits were ruined. Mascara ran.  And a few dozen people are probably short a few bath towels this week.  But you know what? That’s what made it that much more awesome.  The body rallied around those getting baptized, people freely gave, happily gave, joyfully gave.  Tears streamed down faces.  People stood and shook their heads in amazement.  God was glorified.

I know those experiences aren’t always going to happen. But can’t we pray? Can’t we pray that in whatever form or fashion, God would continue to be gracious to us by letting us have HIMSELF?  By letting His glory fall? By letting the fire come to consume the sacrifice? We don’t want to count the stones and rearrange the pieces. We want the fire.  And not just in radical baptism services, but in radically changed lives, marriages restored, addictions forsaken, people transformed from death to life.  I pray–will you pray?–that God would be gracious enough to give us Himself.  That He’d let His glory fall in such a way that business as usual cannot go on.  That He’d get a little out of control.  For His glory and for our good. Amen.

My hair is washed for the first time in a week.  I just washed my face with water for the first time in a week as well (had to just use astringent and cotton balls to keep my incision from getting wet). Nothing like a real shower (where you don’t have to wear shower shoes), clean dry hair, and clean clothes.  Camping was awesome, but home is bliss.   The washer and dryer are humming, the kids are napping, Jeff is gone to work, and I am happily sighing–there’s no place like home.  What a sweet, precious vacation we had.  FULL of friends, family, and memory-making.  Not very full of sleep, but that’s ok. 🙂  But while all of it was refreshing, fun, and so very needed, there’s no place like home.  I love home, even our little apartment. I love our beds–all of them, that beckon each of us to ease out of each day’s burdens and lose ourselves in God’s gift of sleep…sleep…sssslll…zzzzz…oops, sorry.   I love our WCC family and am so excited to worship with them tonight.  There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.  I love the people we serve alongside.  I love the hills of West Linn. I love the people.  So thankful to be home. There’s no place like it.  I bet it will be this same sweet feeling, except a million times greater, when we finally awake in glory.  A long wonderful but tiring journey behind us, and finally seeing the place we were created to enjoy.  Home is a glorious thing.  There’s no place like it.

I’ve mentioned that we are presently enjoying a week of vacation, traveling around Oregon visiting friends and family.  What I haven’t mentioned is what happened the day before we left on vacation.  I wish I’d gotten a picture in order to prove how awful it was…but Jeff, my parents, and Joy and Joel are my witnesses that I’m not exaggerating.

I mentioned before that I had this strange cyst that developed when I was pregnant with Dutch.  Now, three years later, they finally decided to remove it.  In the last few weeks it had actually improved somewhat so by the time I went in for the surgical procedure I was feeling pretty good.  It was probably a centimeter in diameter, not too bad. I figured they’d carefully slice it open, remove whatever, put in a stitch or two (or maybe I wouldn’t even need stitches? I was optimistic), and then I’d be on my merry way.  Sure I’d probably have a little slice mark but we were leaving on vacation the next day and I was sure by the time we got back it’d be gone.  Even asI type this I’m laughing to myself and shaking my head.

Oh was I wrong.  When I went in, the surgeon proceeded to tell me that because of the way it sat the had to make a 2-inch long diamond shaped cut and remove a huge chunk of my face (that was my translation) so that as she sewed it back together it wouldn’t bunch up (so my face wouldn’t look like an old pair of nylons).  Now I have given birth to two children.  I am not squeamish in the least.  I don’t mind needles, shots are fine.  But as she described this and then proceeded pull out a needle and dig it around in my face pumping me full of anasthetic until my eyeball started twitching, I got so light-headed I just sat there and prayed in my head, over and over, “Please Jesus don’t let me pass out. Please don’t let me pass out.”  Then, as the room spun, they led me to another room, where she covered my eyes and said, “You’re going to feel a lot of pulling and tugging.”  Oh dear Jesus, please let me not pass out.  Call me a wimp, but I would rather push a baby out than go through that again–trying to make polite conversation as I can hear and feel the snipping of scissors as she cuts up my face.

So when she finally finished the inevitable moment of truth came and the nurse handed me a mirror.  They both looked at my with pity, then the doctor said, “You’re still beautiful.”  It was kind of her yes, because what I saw was scary.  I’m a wimp, but it was startling to see my face with a huge two-inch slice, purple and blue with bruise, with ten big fat stitches squeezing together the bulging edges of my incision.  Wow.  When Jeff picked me up he looked scared.  Joy was sweet at punch, but Joel’s face gave it all away–I’ve never seen his eyes that big. 🙂  He gets squeamish just watching people cut vegetables so I didn’t share any gory details. My dad goes, “Oh my gosh!”  And Dutch ran over to me as I walked in the door, then stopped and looked concerned and said, “Mommy got owie!”

So you can imagine how excited I was to go to Corvallis and see people we haven’t seen in years then go to Jeff’s family reunion, and give an explanation 150 times, at least, that no I hadn’t gotten in a bar fight or a car accident…

But all in all that was no big deal.  People were polite, no children ran away in horror, and the worst part was just that it hurt to smile and whenever the wind blew my hair would get stuck inthe ointment or the stitches and then I’d have to excuse myself and pull my hair out of my face. 🙂

But when we got to Bend I realized the bummer part–we are on vacation and my incision can’t be in the sun–at all.  No water, no sunshine.  So much for waterskiing, swimming in the lake, or basking in the sun.   Yesterday I savored a day in the shade, watching the boys playing out in the wading pool.  Then today I thought about the rest of the summer–how would I play with the kids, sit at softball games, enjoy the last summer barbecues.  Then I remembered something I heard while in Corvallis.

Some dear friends of ours who are going through an extremely heart-breaking trial, responded to the question “How are you doing?” in this way:  God’s not taking us out of this storm, but He’s teaching us to dance in the rain. Now a silly little surgery on my face is NOTHING compared to what they are going through. But I love the lesson.  Dance in the rain.  I knew that had application for my silly little trial.

So I bought a hat.

Not just any hat.  Jeff took me to Ross and I bought the most humongous, wide-brimmed ridiculous sun hat you can imagine, the kind that necessitates wearing enormous sunglasses and sipping a tropical drink with a little umbrella.  In fact, if I put on bright lipstick and stand on my tip-toes and hold my arms at right-angles I look like a desperate attempt to be totally tropical Barbie.  So now, armed with my ridiculous hat, I can handle any angle of the sun.  And if it kills me I will don that silly thing with all the confidence in the world, grinning from ear to ear–well, maybe not that big because it still hurts to smile… but you get the idea.

So now I must go.  My little hat story may be silly, but I pray for the grace to apply the lesson even when the trail isn’t trivial, when it takes all the faith in the world to dance in the rain.  I’m thankful for my friends who show me how it’s to be done.

You’ve often heard me say that in many ways Corvallis still feels like home.  Perhaps because that’s where my romance with Christ really took off, where my walk with Him deepened. Perhaps because that’s where Jeff and I met, married, and worked side-by-side in full-time ministry.  We labored there. Truly labored, for hundreds of college men and women to know Christ more. I feel like my heart is poured out there, on the sidewalks and the streets and the coffee shops. There are little bits of me here and there, memories as strong as if they’d been today.  The old fraternity where Jeff proposed.  The Red Horse coffee shop where I met with every college girl I could get to open a Bible.  There are people there with whom we’ve walked through great tragedies.  We’ve cried together, prayed together, waited together, battled together.  We’ve been on our faces together, desperately seeking God for His kingdom to come.

We drove down Saturday for the bridal shower of…my daughter. Yes, beautiful Sarah Westfall, soon to be Mrs. Ian Nelson.  Almost five years ago she played my daughter in the play Tilly.  That production and the ministry that went with it was probably one of the most impacting and significant things I’ve ever done in my life.  And now, my little daughter is marrying the guy who played my son (her brother)!!  But at the shower I sat in a room filled with girls I’ve watched grow, with women I’ve watched, emulated, gleaned from.  I sat with women whose faith in Christ is so remarkable it’s only something I can dream of.  I sat with the producer of the plays, who I worked with all the years in Corvallis (whose husband just sold our house!).  We spend countless hours praying, planning, crying, blocking, choreographing, picking music…oh my goodness.  So much history.

Then we spent the afternoon with some of our dearest friends, Adam & Grace Poole, and their four boys.  Grace and I were best friends in college, and now Adam and Jeff have become closest friends. They are probably two of the most likeminded guys; Adam challenges Jeff in all ways. They read books together and challenge each other.  A kinship that is so rare and so precious.

Then Saturday night we stayed at our old house (that just sold! We figured it was silly to get a motel when we own a home there!) It was our first home, and we hadn’t stayed there for more than five years.  We brought sleeping bags and camped out on the floor, memories sweeping over me as I lay trying to fall asleep. The night we got the keys, and drove over with paint cans and sparkling cider, painting the walls into the night, sipping cider and dreaming about our life together.  Our first Christmas morning, snuggling by the fire.  The phone call that invited us to move to San Jose. The day we walked away from the house, pulling away in our Uhaul, tears silently slipping down my cheeks as I tried to be brave. 

And this morning we went back to our old church home, Calvary Corvallis.  Though now somewhat foreign, in a new building with many new people, after checking the kids in I walked outside and the familiar voice of Ryan Smith floated through the outdoor amphitheater and carried me back to hundreds of worship times, and carried me forward into the presence of God.  We found our dear friends, Aaron and Candi (the couple who moved to San Jose with us), who had brought a blanket for us to sit on (knowing that we’d forget), and within moments I was there, sitting in the presence of God, lost in Him.  Though the service was nothing special, it was powerful: just Ryan alone on his guitar, Pastor Rob simply preaching the Word chapter by chapter and verse by verse, with more resolute conviction than ever, communion, offering, an invitation to receive Christ (with several people responding!), and the service closing with a baptism for anyone who wanted to come right then, dressed in their clothes, and make a public declaration to follow Jesus.  Of course afterward I felt like we had a hundred people to see, but soon Heidi was hungry and I snuck away to feed her in the car…then saw another dear friend, now a missionary to Indonesia but home on furlough, and she snuck into the car and caught up while I fed Heidi.

And then we left.  Tired, hot, hungry…but full.  So refreshed. So filled and ministered to.  So blessed.  So reminded of our glorious Savior and His amazing love for us.  So reminded of His glory and His kingdom and how He wants to come down and change us.  So aware that everything on earth sings about the glory of God.  As we drove, the kids slept and Jeff and I turned on the worship music and listened to one of my new favorite songs, My Romance by Melissa Wise:

Look at the way the flowers bloom for You
They want to show You their beauty Lord
Running waters dance, You and I romance

Chorus:
Unto You be all the glory.
Unto You be all the glory (repeat)

Bridge:
The angels dance around You
The earth it sings about You
Open up the heavens Lord
Let Your Kingdom come to earth

my praises all surround you
my soul can’t dance without you
open up the heavens Lord
let Your kingdom come to earth

—-

Don’t get me wrong.  Jeff and I are exactly where we want to be and exactly where God has us. You couldn’t pay me enough money in the world to leave the work God is doing, to leave our family at WCC.  I love it. And I love them.  But I’m thankful for little times of refreshing where God takes us away from our usual routine, and gives us a glimpse of His glory. Using people, using scenery, using memories, using music.  The earth sings about Him. He is so glorious. The angels dance around Him. The flowers bloom for Him.  My soul can’t dance without Him.  And my prayer is that God would open up the heavens and let His kingdom come to earth.

Just today a friend told me a fun story, about how she was getting her eight-month-pregnant self out the car and trying to extricate her sleeping toddler from the backseat when a huge bee came buzzing dangerously near them.  As she bent down to get her daughter she prayed, “Please Lord just let that bee just go the other direction!”  As she hefted her daughter out of her carseat and straightened, she looked on the roof of the car. The bee was creeping toward them, stopped, and fell over dead.  What?!  Later she walked back out and sure enough the bee was still dead on the roof of the car.  It seemed that God went a little over the top with His answer to her prayer, perhaps just as a little way, in the midst of some hard times they are going through, to remind her of His extravagent love and watchful care.

Sometimes right now I feel like God is going over the top with us.  I just went back and re-read my posts from this time last week and it appears that this time a year ago was a particularly difficult time.  In fact, in one post I was trying to write out the “good things” that I saw during that difficult season and ended up writing this:

The truth is that I just can’t see it yet.  I’m still too far in the midst of the circumstance to even see it right.  The fact is right now as I sit there trying to think, I can think of ten bad things for every good thing.  It’s been SO hard on our marriage.  We have less money and more debt than ever before.  I feel discouraged and depressed almost all the time, like it takes a supernatural measure of courage to do everday things.  We have no close friends nearby.  We’ve invested a year in a place where it now seems likely we won’t be long term.  We have nowhere to live. We have no job.  There are a million three-generation-household-living dynamics that are driving me insane (and I know we drive my parents crazy!).  And the worst is that this was my choice, and I should be thankful, I know that, but I’m not. I’m miserable, and every time I think of one thing to be thankful for, there are five things that bombard my mind that are depressing. So, sorry to get so real and raw with you, but what this has taught me is that I don’t think I’m going to see this one very clearly until later. Time will have to tell what those “good things” are.

It is later now.  Even as I read that I shake my head with my eyes full of tears because that was exactly right, time would tell what good things God was working.  He strengthened us, refined us, deepened us.  That same week we visited WCC for the first time.  Little did we know…

And now, a year later, I feel like God is having this fun game, going over the top in showing me how much He loves to bless us.  These are perhaps “small things”–but every single little kiss takes me back to a year ago and reminds me that all along, God had sweet, rich blessings in store.

For one, I cannot put it any other way but that our new home is BEAUTIFUL. I had no idea.  When they told us about it, it was hard to picture, and we knew we were getting the “budget” version of it and so didn’t have high expectations.  Oh I was so wrong.  We got to sneak through the other day and it is 100 times more beautiful that I’d ever imagined.  Little ridiculous things like the garage doors are my favorite style. Who cares about garage doors?! I guess I do, and perhaps God does because His ridiculous daughter does. 🙂

Secondly, because of a dispute with the CC&R’s (long story–our house is technically not up to the CC&R code because it’s smaller than the rest of the houses in the neighborhoo), our builder, DR Horton, has to upgrade the exterior of our house to the highest level of stonework at no cost to us.  That’s an upgrade that’s worth thousands.  Plus, there’s a good chance that they will also (because of this same dispute) be leaving the lot that is next to ours (a corner) vacant so that the subdivision isn’t overcrowded.  Um, greenspace next to us instead of another house? Yes please!!  And we had no idea. In fact I find it funny because all along we felt like this was THE lot we were supposed to buy. Even though the houseplan wasn’t exactly my favorite we felt like the lot was what we were supposed to have. Now of course I think the house is gorgeous, and I’m shaking my head at God’s over-the-top-ness.

Third, a week before our Corvallis house sold I found out that a professional home-stager (stages high-end luxury homes for sale) was going out of business and allowing the church to buy her high-end decor items at ridiculous deals on July 26th.  At the time I was committed to not getting anything for the house because our house hadn’t sold and we were still firm that we wouldn’t go forward with the new house unless our Corvallis house sold.  Well, as you know–it did, just a week before.  In fact, two days after our house sold Jeff preached at church and she was so touched by the sermon that she met with him afterwards.   While they talked she found out about our house story and so allowed me to go beforehand, all by myself, and shop her 4,500 square foot warehouse and get incredible deals on rugs, towels, decor, candles, even a model ship for Dutch’s room, all for a song.  As I walked through her warehouse, filled with beautiful home items, all by myself, my eyes filled with tears.  My heavenly Father was throwing me a shower. He was lavishly pouring out his love on me, giving me a private shopping party for the house He had provided.  I never in a million years could have forseen any of that.  And yet He did. He knew all along how He would go over the top to show me His love.

Then yesterday we found out that the inspection is done on our Corvallis house and they want nothing repaired.  What?!  Again, that is amazing.  That means we can basically walk away, close September first, and be done.  Jeff and I were just shaking our heads in amazement. Really, God?  Then also yesterday, as I was being my ridiculous coupon-clipper self and buying cheap toilet paper at Target, I found these storage baskets that were exactly what I was looking for.  I’ve been searching high and low for some pretty square storage baskets, with lids, so that we can keep the kids toys contained in the living room without it looking like we live in toys-r-us.  Well Target had these two beautiful, perfect-sized baskets on clearance marked down from $60 each down to $30 each.  I didn’t feel comfortable buying them without talking to Jeff so I went home.  But today Jeff said, “Go get them! That’s perfect and it’s a great deal!”  I still hestitated. I know, I’m ridiculous, but it’s hard for me to spend money on new stuff like that.  So this morning I prayed and asked God if He wanted me to spend His money on them.  And I felt like I should go, but as I drove away I told God, “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, I’m just doing my best, so please show me if this is how you want me to spend your money.”  I decided to first check at Goodwill to see if there was a better deal.  Nothing there, so I went on to Target, found two baskets the perfect shade and went to check out.  To my amazement when she rang them up they were 1/2 off even THAT price, so they were only $15 each!  I shook my head and laughed to myself as I gave her my card.  Even baskets, God? You even care about baskets?  I don’t know that God cares about baskets, but apparently He cares about me. 🙂

This is the God we serve.  I deserve none of this, and I know there will be (and are right now in other areas) difficult things that arise.  There will be seasons of joy and seasons of sorrow.  But for right now, I just have to tell of how my God is extravagant.   He showed us on the cross, and He’s showing me through seemingly insignificant things like baskets and garage doors.   My God is over the top.  He’s crazy in love with us.  Let’s give this extravagant God the best of our love in return.