A Little Good News

"Bad news on the doorstep"... it was a line in a song but now it was my reality. I can't remember the exact wording of the headline, but it's timing and irony were unsettling. Reaching down to pick up the paper, I heard my mother in a worried voice asking me to fetch her jacket from the canoe. She had forgotten the word "closet" and had substituted another. Yet another "c" word had invaded her brain. My dad, in desperation, had planned this trip and began loading suitcases into the trunk of the car. Laetrile was a controversial treatment for cancer and had been banned in the US. Dad was willing to go all the way to Jamaica to save his beloved, so now we prepared to drive them to the airport.

The doctor had said there was no treatment available here for Mom's form of cancer and that she likely had two months to live. A diagnosis like that hits you in the gut with a feeling of utter hopelessness. My dad, the eternal optimist, firmly believed if all the doors close, you open a window. He began to search for alternative treatments and found this hospital in Jamaica that specialized in natural cures for cancer.

Did he know, like I knew, that the headline was a message... a harbinger? The newspaper told the story of a local family whose son was battling cancer. The parents had been the objects of criticism as they fled to Mexico seeking laetrile as a cure for their boy. We had followed the story for months and it came to a conclusion on the day my parents were flying to Jamaica. The young boy had lost the battle and it was plastered across the front page. Who are we to blame them for trying to save their son? Who could blame my dad for wanting to save his wife?

Mom called me several times while they were on the trip. Some days she sounded like her old self again - as if the fresh air and sunshine were lifting her spirits above the pain that racked her body. Hearing her voice gave me hope, but those hopes were dashed when we picked them up at the airport. In my head I can still see the paleness of her face as her wheelchair came through the corridor from the plane. She was getting weaker and thinner and losing the will to fight. I remember telling my husband, Bob, that I needed to prepare myself to let her go. As Dad wheeled Mom out to the car, my two-year-old, Darcy, sat on her lap getting reacquainted with Grandma and asking questions about where they had been.

Somehow I had celebrated a lifetime worth of experiences with my mother in just twenty-two years. She was my friend, my teacher and a dependable listener. Most of what I knew and understood about God and the Bible came from my mom who had led me to the Lord at the age of five. She had lived to see me get married and was there at the hospital when we our first child arrived. Now as I was about to celebrate my twenty-third birthday, I was expecting our second baby. Sadly, mom passed on to glory a month before our second little girl was born.

The grieving was eased by knowing Mom's great faith was a testimony of her relationship with Jesus. It was sometime after her death that the Lord brought to mind something that had happened years earlier... another headline that read: "Quake Jolts Indiana, 19 Other States." I was a mere twelve years old when that headline landed on the doorstep. The day before the headline, I was at my mother's bedside and she was dying... and I was praying - when, suddenly, the room began to shake like God had grabbed our house and grabbed my attention. My prayer was a simple one: "Please let my mom live long enough to see my first child." Ultimately, my mom rose up from that death bed and recovered completely from her illness. God granted her another eleven years with us, and for that news, I'm very grateful.

Contrasts in Contentment

Every day on my way to work, I pass Fall Creek Baptist Church. In January the sign in front of their church posed a thought-provoking question, "Are you too content?" It made me ponder two types of contentment. There is a time when it’s good to be content such as Paul writes about in 1 Timothy 6:6, "Now godliness with contentment is great gain." and Philippians 4:11 "...I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content."

Maybe the contrasting question is, "Are you content enough?" To be content with our current circumstances, as far as wealth or position, is beneficial. If we can say, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." we have learned an important lesson in contentment. The "American Dream" has long influenced our society to believe the more we own, the happier we’ll be. Time and experience have proven otherwise. Some of the most miserable people in the world are the rich and famous. No wonder Jesus asked, "For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?" (Matthew 16:26). We also see people at the opposite end of the financial spectrum who have adopted an entitlement mindset and believe the government should provide everything we need. Whether we find ourselves with abundance or in need, as followers of Christ we should observe what Paul said "I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need." (Philippians 4:12). This is a worthy example - to trust in God for our needs and to thank Him for His provision. We grow in our faith when we learn to serve and to give in whatever circumstance we find ourselves.

But, back to the question on the church sign... I’m sure it was referring to a different kind of contentment - the kind that bids us rest on our laurels and say, "I used to..." We as Christians need to press on to greater things than our past has afforded us. God’s mercies are new every morning and He is mapping out a fresh course for each of us. Remember Paul’s mission statement in Philippians 3:12-14, "Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."

Pressing on through trial and through blessing, we have the opportunity to see God’s kingdom grow in our church, community, nation and world. Are you content? I hope your answer is yes and no.

A Settling Dream

The man’s face was gaunt with sunken eyes and a short, barely-there beard. He didn’t smile much and I soon learned he had little to count as joy. I had been sitting in a large open area of the mall watching my granddaughter climbing on a toy in the play area when the man approached and sat down. He was the first to speak, as though he needed a confessor. Listening has always come more easily than speaking for me, so I sat and listened to his story. He fumbled through words to express the weight of what the doctor delivered. Not much time left – a terminal diagnosis for a man who looked older than me but in reality was ten years younger. The urgency of his situation shook me out of my silence and I spoke out of compassion.

“Do you know where you’re going when you leave here?”

He knew I was referring to eternity, not the mall. For the first time in our conversation, he appeared agitated… annoyed. “How are things at the Baptist church?” He asked.

I was puzzled that he knew I was Baptist. I had barely introduced myself, let alone revealed my denomination. Are we so well known for our eagerness to talk about Heaven and Jesus? Is that really a flaw? Why was he so snide in the way he said it? What was it about Baptists that seized his mind and snatched away his civility?

Then I looked down at his lap and realized he was carrying a Bible. My expression most certainly betrayed my thoughts. Here is this stranger, a dying man who is offended at my concern for his destiny, carrying the very words of hope I count so dear. What wounds has he suffered that cause him to lash out like a dying beast.

Looking into his eyes, I realized he was no stranger. We were friends once, before he left like a thief, stealing the wind from our sails, forsaking everything sacred. For the first time now, I felt true pity on him that he can never return to former glory, choosing rather to be a vessel of dishonor. Was he ever truly one of us?

 “For it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding him up to contempt.” Hebrews 6:4-6 ESV

Screen Addiction

You would think that after 8 hours of staring at a screen in my office I would go home and find something different to do. But no, I find myself watching TV, checking Facebook, playing Words with Friends and looking for fun stuff on Pinterest.

My husband's addiction is even worse. I tried to get him to turn off the TV last night but he said, "I like to have it on in the background." (He was playing golf on his computer.)

There are good and bad things about these flickering screens in our lives.

Good things:

• I can keep up with my children who are across the country and friends who are halfway around the world. (I love Skype.)
• Last week I friended a woman on Facebook who found me by accident on Words with Friends. We may even meet face to face when I go on vacation in May.
• My daughter has started a writer's group on Facebook and that has inspired me to revive my blog and post something today.

Bad things:

• Men are the worst offenders at this one: interacting with a smart phone, ipad, computer or TV rather than having face to face conversation. Seriously, look around in a restaurant and you're bound to see people who are out to dinner with their families but staring at their phones.
• Wasting time.
• Negative images and talk on any screen.

Do you have a screen addiction? Feel free to share the good, bad and the ugly of how you deal with it.

It was 35 years ago today... 5:30 AM to be exact, when I jumped from bed with a jolt and a splat. I was 5 weeks shy of my due date and as a young, first-time mom, I wondered if this meant delivery was imminent. "My water broke" I said to my husband, who along with me had been up until 3 AM with our friends from church. (He immediately began to shake with fear.)

Every Sunday night was an after-church party for our young married group. I remember sitting on the couch holding our friend's little girl, April, who was only 10 days old. I had remarked to another young woman from our class, "If I had this baby tomorrow..." I said as I patted my belly "I would not be ready at all." I was looking forward to Tuesday evening when the ladies from church were planning to have a baby shower for our little one.

Now I'm wondering what is about to happen. I called my mom. She assured me I would be having my baby today. She and Dad got in the car and came right over. At the time, Bob and I were borrowing a truck from my brother - a very bouncy truck, so Mom and Dad drove me to the hospital while my nervous, young husband followed close behind.

Our sweet little 5-pound, 13-ounce baby girl arrived just a few hours later. I remember how relieved I felt to hear her cry and to see her face - such a beautiful child! I held her briefly before they whisked her away to the intensive care nursery where she would spend the first week of her life. She arrived on a Monday, fair of face. On Tuesday, the ladies wondered if they should still have the baby shower - they went ahead. On Wednesday, the doctor was ready to let me go home, but our little girl was fighting to breathe. So I went home, and then we went to church - Wednesday night prayer meeting where everyone prayed intently for baby Darcy to survive. She turned the corner that night, praise God!

She was finally released to our care when she was 3 weeks old. She has grown to become a Christian, a missionary, a world-traveler, a musician, writer, songwriter, poet, photographer and so many other amazing things. She is a wife and a mother of two beautiful children of her own. Happy birthday, Darcy. I'm so thankful to be your mom.

Swamp People

Speeding through the Everglades on an airboat was a new experience. We had driven more than an hour from our resort on the gulf coast of Florida to experience the swamps. At last, our family of six piled into the boat and launched into the wild to become spectators of the local flora and fauna. Blue crab caught in a trap, egrets feasting on fish, families of racoons posing for the camera - they were all part of the southern Florida extravaganza. But the greatest spectacle of all was our captain, a born-and-bred, middle-aged local with a peculiar accent. Signage in the boat reminded us that he was part of the entertainment... working only for tips. With his dissheveled clothes and well-worn cap, he could easily have made a home among the homeless without looking misfit.

Off into the wild we went, having sunk $150 into the full-hour tour option. Here we were, halfway into the ride and a half hour from shore, when clouds began to gather and darken. I'm guessing this is a common occurrence because the captain was completely undaunted. Seeing the first few fat drops of precipitation, he pulled a large Visqueen "umbrella" from the rear of the boat and spread it like a blanket over our family. Seeking reassurance, our eldest daughter questioned the captain, "We're in the middle of a lake in a thunderstorm in a metal boat. If we get hit by lightning, will we all be killed?"

He paused to touch his chin, as he stood outside the tarp in the deluge. Without apology he replied simply, "I reckon."

Soon we were headed toward shore in a torrential downpour that we hoped wouldn't flood the boat and plunge us into alligator-infested water. The captain likely knew the way with his eyes closed, which is good because visibility was zero. We made it safely to the dock and he let us walk the tarp to our van. We must have looked like an alien centipede with our twelve legs and a body made of semi-transparent plastic. Piling into our van and slamming the doors, we bid farewell to the Everglades and our captain. About a half hour down the road we realized we didn't give him a tip.

On Blogging

I once heard it said about blogging, "Never has so much been written by so many and read by so few." When I was occasionally posting my thoughts out here for whoever might land on my page, I felt that sentiment. "Who is reading this?" So I stopped writing.

When I was in Junior High, I kept a diary of my inmost thoughts. Having a diary was a popular practice among girls my age. They always came with a key so you could protect your writings from the unwanted perusing by brothers or others. The key, of course, was meaningless. Diaries were easily opened with the flip-out file on nail clippers. (Ironically, such files are useless for filing nails.) It was always sort of a game to hide my diary from my brother, and to always write some tidbit he would find of interest if he ever looked upon its forbidden pages.

How ironic it is that forty years later I, by nature an introvert, write my thoughts for anyone to stumble upon.

Of late I've been hearing the value of blogging and have once again returned to this, my abandoned-and-left-for-dead blog site. My plan is to breathe some new life into it and (hopefully) write some words of wisdom welling up from my growing number of years of life on this planet.

So, welcome! No nail clippers required.

Charity

We recently watched Idol Gives Back on TV - it was American Idol's show that brought to light the needs of the poor people in the US and in Africa. I sometimes wonder if the US is the only country where the poor people have obesity problems. The needy in America, while I agree they are needy, are not nearly as bad off as the poor people in Africa who are facing things like genocide, malaria, starvation and whole generations wiped out by AIDS. Their situation is much more dire.

Much to Bob's dismay, I recently put two genocide movies on our Netflix list. One was a ficticious account based on a real situation in Rwanda in which a school was a shelter for refugees until the UN bailed out. The name of the movie was "Beyond the Gates." (Not to be confused with "Beyond the Gates of Splendor" which is an excellent documentary I've also seen.)

The other movie was "The Devil Came on Horseback." It was a documentary about a marine-turned-photographer who went on assignment in Darfur. The movie is named for the Janjaweed, a radical muslim group that sweeps through Sudan raping and killing entire villages. The government looks the other way. The photographer was certain that if the people in the US knew this was happening, we would do something about it. He brought his pictures back to America, but got very little support in comparison to the enormity of the situation.

I read Mike Huckabee's book "From Hope to Higher Ground" back when he was seeking the presidential nomination. I enjoyed reading the book and seeing his optimism. He's a crusader like me. The funny thing is, the line that stood out the most in the entire book was not anything Mike said, but what his daughter Sarah said. She was only eleven years old when her dad took her to the holocaust museum in Israel. He wasn't sure how she would handle all the gut-wrenching images. At the end of the day, she signed a guest book as they were leaving the museum. She wrote, "Why didn't somebody do something?"

The other day, I was filling my dog's water dish from our drinking water system and thinking, "There are people in this world who drink worse water than my dog." I took the thought a step further... "We have cleaner water in our toilets than some people have to drink."

It's frustrating to be an American sometimes. Modern technology can bring the images of people in need right into your living room. Then all you need to do is pick up the phone and pledge a few dollars to clear your conscience. It's just that easy.

One time, I mailed some money directly to a woman in Darfur. She had emailed me when I was webmaster for our church. We corresponded a little bit. I often wonder what became of her. Somehow it isn't very satisfying to just throw money at a problem. I'd like to do more - after all I am a crusader.

I just finished reading Brent and Deanna Higgins' book about their son BJ, "I Would Die for You." It's very challenging and inspiring. God really got ahold of him and used him. Maybe God is ready to move this generation away from their living rooms and out to the mission field. Time is getting short and people are dying both physically and spiritually.

Will the next generation look back at ours and ask, "Why didn't somebody do something?"

God Who Made the Stars

Psalm 19:1-3

The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork.

Day unto day utters speech,

And night unto night reveals knowledge.

There is no speech nor language

Where their voice is not heard.

Last Saturday night, I had dinner with my big brother, Danny, and he began to tell me a story from childhood. He remembers going with Mom and Dad to Michigan to visit Aunt Doris when he was about 12 years old (a couple of years before I was born). It was very memorable for him because our family didn't travel much. While they were there, Aunt Doris gave them a set of World Book encyclopedias. (I remember those very clearly. I used them for every paper I wrote in elementary school.) Danny began to study things about the universe... The Milky Way, Andromeda, the distance between the Earth, the Sun, the planets and other things. He was fascinated by what he read. One clear night he went out onto the porch and sat gazing up at the stars and he realized there had to be a Creator. He prayed a simple prayer, "God Who made the stars, reveal Yourself to me." There was no immediate answer. In fact, it wasn't until Danny was sixteen that our family began to understand Who God is. After Danny asked Jesus to be his Savior, he remembered his prayer on the front porch on that starry night. God had finally revealed Himself. I'm very grateful for my big brother that he invited God into our lives.

The Compass in My Soul

Every kid needs guidance. They don't always get it from their parents, but in my case I did. I think I was two years old when my family started going to church, so I don't have a memory outside of that culture. Some of my earliest memories are of things like my dad teaching me to pray, my mom teaching Sunday School and Bible Clubs in our home, and my dad gathering the family to read from the Bible before bedtime. I learned how to read by reading the Bible.

My family wasn't perfect. We were kinda weird in a lot of ways. My mom became sick and bedridden when I started first grade, so dad cooked our meals and took us all to church during that time. Mom remained ill with one affliction or another up until I was a teenager. I was the youngest of five children and very close to my mom. I would often stay home with her while the rest of the family went to Sunday or Wednesday evening church services. I was always afraid she would die, so I asked God to let my mom live to see my first child.

One November, I had just turned 12, my mom was laying in her bed and I was sitting with her. She told me she thought this was it - that she was going to die. I began to pray for her and the room started shaking violently. After a few minutes, Mom said she felt like she would be okay. The newspaper headlines the next day said there had been an earthquake centered in Illinois. To me, the timing was supernatural. Mom didn't have an instantaneous healing, but she soon started on some new medication that really helped. By the time I started high school, mom started to go back to church and even teach children again. Eventually, we started teaching together.

Mom was able to be at our wedding. A couple of years later, she and dad were at the hospital with us when Darcy was born 5 weeks early and nearly didn't survive. Mom went with me to the hospital every day for 3 weeks until Darcy was well enough to be released. Then she spoiled her as much as we would allow.

Mom had several battles with cancer that began in 1978 and she passed away in November of 1979 - just a month before Mandy was born. It took me a while to recall what I had asked God to do for me... to let my mom live to see my first child. It made a little easier to let her go when I realized he had loaned her more time.

My parents, especially my mom, helped shape my lifelong relationship with God. I could easily sing the Compass in My Soul song Darcy wrote...

You have raised up this child
In the way she should go
And I will not depart
There's a Compass in my soul

Rusty's Last Day

Today my church celebrated the end of an era. Rusty Kennedy is moving on literally to "God knows what." Maybe it's the litmus test for a calling of God. If it doesn't fit any logic, it's most likely the real thing. That's exactly what happened to Rusty and he describes it in his new blog, www.leavener.com.

Rusty was the youth minister for all four of my children (though Jeff was the only one to experience all seven years of Jr. High and High School under Rusty). I've always admired his creative, outside-the-lines ideas. He is a true leader and an excellent delegater. I've never seen anyone so skilled at assembling a team to take on a monumental task. The Ultimate Youth Camp each summer has always been true to its name. Everything about it was over the top.

One year on Memorial Day weekend, which is also 500 race weekend in Indy, Rusty turned the church gym into a racetrack. Teams of people were racing their radio-controlled cars around the edges of the gym. The infield was complete with lawn chairs, old sofas and trash. Steve McNeil sang Back Home Again in Indiana just like Jim Nabors. What a fun time! We were new to the church back then, so that really made an impression.

I'm thankful for the fun and Christ-centered ministry Rusty provided for our kids in their school years, but I'm also indebted to him for spiritual insights he has brought us in just the past couple of years. When Rusty changed from being youth minister to being minister of evangelism, we saw a new side of him. One of my favorite sermons was when he drop-kicked a box of doughnuts into the parking lot. That's not why it was my favorite sermon, though that was very memorable. The message he was trying to get across is that the church building today is not the temple. WE are the temple! So quit bickering about doughnuts and other minutae. That stuff is not important. We need to be reaching people instead of getting bogged down in material things.

I know God has something great in store for Rusty and his family, otherwise he would not have awakened them at 3:00 in the morning to call them to leave Northside.

In the words of Jim Elliot, "God always gives his best to those who leave the choice with him."

God bless you, Rusty and family!

Boxing God

Layton Howerton wrote a song a few years ago called Boxing God. The root thought in his lyrics was the battle of wills we often face when we want our way and God wants His. God always wins.

I've been thinking lately about a different type of Boxing God. The one where we all want to put God in a box that fits our own finite imaginations. Admit it. You do it, too.

My small group started studying the Gospel of John this week. It has made me ponder more about how Israel boxed God. No one had heard a word from God in 400 years when Jesus showed up on the scene. No wonder they didn't recognize God when they saw Him. During those centuries they had the old testament, but they had scrutinized, organized, legalized and institutionalized their religious system. Jesus came along and turned the tables.

God never changes. He outlined everything we need to know about Him in the Scriptures. He came to earth in Person. But just when you think you have Him figured out, He does something to turn you on your head.

There's a big difference between someone who has religion and one who is led by the Spirit. There's an abundance of religious institutions, but only one universal organism that is the Church. Even the creed that speaks of the "Holy Catholic Church" means the latter not the former.

When Jesus spoke to the woman at the well, he told her "an hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for such people the Father seeks to be His worshipers. God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth."

I can't box God and what I know about him is just the tip of the iceberg. When I sit down with someone and try to explain in five minutes how they can have a relationship with God through Jesus, it reminds me very much of a scene from The Matrix. "You can take the blue pill and everything will be just as it was, or you can take the red pill and understand things the way they really are." Becoming a Christian is very much like being born. It's like the first step in a journey of a thousand miles. One amazing thing I know about God is that he relates to each of His children personally. There are no six degrees of separation. No priest is necessary because that is Who Jesus is. He is the Door. He is the Way, the Truth and the Life.

"Experiencing God" (by Henry Blackaby) holds some sound advice for Christians. Look to see where God is working, then join Him. (Don't try to get Him to join you.) It's a little like Abe Lincoln's response, "It is not 'is God on my side,' but 'am I on God's side?'"

Divine Appointment

My husband Bob and I went out to dinner on Friday. For some reason, he suggested going to a steakhouse near our old neighborhood. When we were seated, the waitress came by to get our drink order. As she was going to get the drinks, Bob commented that she looked really familiar. When she returned, I took a better look at her face and realized she was our old neighbor - our children were playmates in grade school.

After we got caught up on what all our kids are doing now, her face suddenly became serious. "I remember that I came to talk to you when I got pregnant and the baby's father insisted I have an abortion."

My mind flashed back to a vivid memory. A friend from church, who was also a neighbor, had persuaded her to come to my house and talk about her crisis. After talking, she decided to keep the baby, but a few days later, she had a miscarriage. Then she was very upset about losing the baby. Shortly afterward, she started coming to our church.

Now, face to face with her on Friday, she knew exactly how long it had been - 25 years. It was as if she knew how old the baby would be, had it survived. She said, "Do you remember what you said to me? You told me God had helped me raise four children and he would help me with this one too." That was the turning point for her. She went home determined to go through with the pregnancy. Her boyfriend, who was whacked out on drugs, came home and found out she hadn't had the abortion. He beat her so badly that she miscarried three days later. (That was a detail I never knew till now).

Somehow it seemed worth it to her - to be beaten rather than to willingly take her baby's life. Her conscience was clear.

On the way to work today, I heard on the radio that this is the 34th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, the Supreme Court's decision to legalize abortion on demand. During those 34 years, 48,000,000 babies have been aborted.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Six-year-olds have a great perspective on life. They're too young to have the inhibitions that have been programmed into the rest of us. There is one particular little six-year-old I especially admire. Rather than publishing her real name on the internet, I'll call her Penelope. Yesterday morning, I was discussing the Christmas story with my Sunday morning group of first-graders in our "Power Cell" session. There are details we adults tend to skim over, forgetting that young ones need a little explanation. I asked the kids if they knew what a "manger" is. In the assortment of guesses and blank looks, I realized they didn't know, so I told them, "It's like a trough for feeding animals...cows and donkeys eat hay out of a manger." Penelope had a sudden epiphany, "Do you mean they laid Baby Jesus in animal spit?" She was outraged! It was a good teaching moment though - to illustrate the humility of His birth.

The previous week when we first started talking about the birth of Jesus, I tried to explain to the kids that He existed before he was born on earth. I told them that Jesus is God and that he chose to come and be born as a man. Penelope, who always asks the best questions, inquired, "When was God born?" To which I responded, "God has no beginning and no end. He made everything there is and He has always existed." Penelope smacked both her palms on her forehead in amazement. "No wonder my friend at school doesn't believe in Him - that's pretty hard to believe!"

Several weeks ago, in the large group session, the teacher was using a recipe as an illustration of how the Body of Christ (the Church) has many members, doing different things, but with a common purpose. Penelope, who was sitting next to me, looked up at me and asked, "What the heck does baking brownies have to do with Jesus?" I promised her I'd explain it when we went to our group session.

Penelope is a young Christian. Not long ago, one of our pastors was visiting her home to talk to her about accepting Christ as her Savior. After he had explained everything, he asked, "Is that something you would like to do?" She was incredulous, "Why wouldn't I?" she asked. Penelope is a smart girl. She knows only a fool would decline such an invitation.

I always get such a kick out of Penelope's comment, I think I'll make them a regular feature on my blog. I would hate to let them go to waste.

Happy Birthday, Rhys!

Happy Birthday, Rhys!

My sweet little grandson is two years old today. I just can't wait to see him on Saturday. He is so cute and so smart and just bubbling over with personality. Rhys has the most beautiful eyes. Everywhere he goes, people notice them. They are a beautiful blue with long dark eyelashes. He has a cute little voice and I love to hear the few words he mispronounces like watie (water) and Hoovie (Hoover). Rhys can say the alphabet and can count to about 20. I think he's a genius, especially in his communication ability. He was able to talk in sign language before he could communicate verbally. Great-Grandpa was very proud of that accomplishment. Rhys is a talker and he loves people. That may be a problem someday when he starts school, but for now he is cute, loveable and outgoing.

Happy birthday, Rhys! See you soon.

Love,

Grandma

The Tallest Man in the World

I think I was in the fifth or sixth grade when Dad picked me up from school one day. He was on his way to the Indiana School for the Deaf where he taught a weekly Religious Education class. Dad had been working in the deaf ministry at our church since I was 8 years old. I didn't usually go with him to the Deaf School, but today was a special occasion. Crammed into the passenger seat of Dad's car was Max Palmer, the tallest man in the world. Max was a Christian who liked to use his physical appearance to get others to listen to his testimony about Christ. Our church loved to have unusual people like Max come and help us attract a crowd. Sometimes it seemed like a circus - 3,000 people coming to see Jesus Freaks. My dad was not above taking the sideshow to the deaf kids.

So here I was, walking out to the curb to get in the car with Dad and Max. I had to get in the seat behind Dad because the seat behind Max was maxed out. We drove the few blocks from School 66 on 38th Street to the Deaf School on 42nd Street. We entered the building and everyone we passed gawked at Max who was about 8 feet tall. Dad smiled and began signing an explanation, "I told the kids I had a BIG surprise for them today..." We went to the room where they had their weekly meeting. It was fun to hear the shrieks of glee from the deaf kids who were about my age or younger. They were so excited to have Max there and to be able to ask him questions. I know it was as memorable for them as it is for me. In the longrun, they realized that Dad cared very much about them. He wanted them to learn about God and have fun in the process. So many of them lived away from family in order to receive an education. I was happy to share my very special dad with them. To me, he was the tallest man in the world.

Happy Birthday, Craig!

Hey, Craig. You are really getting old!

Seriously, folks, let me tell you about my son-in-law, Craig. He's a great guy- very impressive. He is really talented, smart, cute and funny - you know, the total package. That is why I wondered for six years why Darcy just wanted to be "friends." Maybe she thought he was too good to be true. Now they've been married for almost three years and she knows Craig is the real deal.

Thank you, Craig, for loving my daughter. You are a wonderful man and exemplary Christian. We are proud and often amazed at your accomplishments. Happy birthday and may God bless you with many more!

Darcy's Birthday

Twenty-nine years ago, she was a 5-pound, 13-ounce preemie. Today, Darcy is a creative, sensitive and loving young woman.

"Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." -Proverbs 31:30

Darcy is and always has been a beauty, and I think there have been times when she, like most girls, dreamed of being a model . She could be one, but she heard a different and stronger call. "This life is transient" she told me just yesterday. Darcy has often chosen to ignore the temporal and focus on the eternal. Though the two are often intertwined for all of us and the temporal plays a louder song, Darcy has listened for the drumbeat of Heaven.

As her mother, I'm very pleased that Darcy has traveled to many countries to tell others about Jesus. She has looked for opportunities near and far to further the cause of Christ. She writes and sings deep and meaningful song lyrics to communicate the Christian journey to others. She is an encourager.

Happy birthday, Darcy. I'm so blessed to be your mother.

Style Over Substance

People in general and especially Americans seem to prefer style over substance. I hope my stream-of-consciousness blather on the subject won't come across as too negative. I like to be entertained as much as anyone. Perhaps my favorite form of "entertainment" - Christian music - comes from an "industry" that is the worst offender in the style-over-substance problem.

One time when our family went on vacation to Orlando, we took our kids to two different theme venues on a Sunday. In the morning we went to the House of Blues for their Gospel Brunch. It was very entertaining and my family loved it. The singers were talented and they really put on a show. There was just one thing I found disturbing. As we were sitting there eating and being entertained with gospel songs (they even mentioned Jesus by name) I looked up high above the stage to see symbols from all the religions of the world surrounding the phrase, "All are one." A feeling of dread came over me. It seemed as though the whole program was designed to mimic a church worship service but the Holy Spirit was missing. Something else was substituted. Maybe the substitute ingredient was human talent - lots of it. It's difficult to verbalize exactly what I felt and still feel about that experience.

Later that day, we visited the Holy Land Experience. It is sort of a theme park in Orlando built around the idea of experiencing the Bible in a live, hands-on setting. We went into one of the auditoriums where a musical group was singing Christian songs. It wasn't very entertaining and didn't have the wow-factor talent that we had seen that morning at the House of Blues. I knew, though, that the people on the stage genuinely had the Spirit in their hearts. In a way, it made me sad that it's so hard to find style AND substance. As we sat there listening (and nearly falling asleep from the long day), I looked up above the stage. There were no religious symbols, only a verse, "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father but by Me."

Somehow, true spirituality is found in some sort of Bizarro world. The first will be last; the last will be first. To be the greatest, you must be a servant. Love your enemies... It is a world of opposites.

How could I express my thoughts any better than Paul, who wrote this in 1 Corinthians 1:17-31 speaking of the irony of God's wisdom? (as translated in The Message)

"God didn't send me out to collect a following for myself, but to preach the Message of what he has done, collecting a following for him. And he didn't send me to do it with a lot of fancy rhetoric of my own, lest the powerful action at the center—Christ on the Cross—be trivialized into mere words.

"The Message that points to Christ on the Cross seems like sheer silliness to those hellbent on destruction, but for those on the way of salvation it makes perfect sense. This is the way God works, and most powerfully as it turns out. It's written,

I'll turn conventional wisdom on its head,
I'll expose so-called experts as crackpots.

"So where can you find someone truly wise, truly educated, truly intelligent in this day and age? Hasn't God exposed it all as pretentious nonsense? Since the world in all its fancy wisdom never had a clue when it came to knowing God, God in his wisdom took delight in using what the world considered dumb—preaching, of all things!—to bring those who trust him into the way of salvation.

"While Jews clamor for miraculous demonstrations and Greeks go in for philosophical wisdom, we go right on proclaiming Christ, the Crucified. Jews treat this like an anti-miracle—and Greeks pass it off as absurd. But to us who are personally called by God himself—both Jews and Greeks—Christ is God's ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one. Human wisdom is so tinny, so impotent, next to the seeming absurdity of God. Human strength can't begin to compete with God's 'weakness.'

"Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don't see many of "the brightest and the best" among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn't it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these "nobodies" to expose the hollow pretensions of the 'somebodies'? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have—right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ. That's why we have the saying, 'If you're going to blow a horn, blow a trumpet for God.'"

Another favorite passage on the subject is 1 Kings 19:11-12:

"Then [Elijah] was told, 'Go, stand on the mountain at attention before God. God will pass by.'

"A hurricane wind ripped through the mountains and shattered the rocks before God, but God wasn't to be found in the wind; after the wind an earthquake, but God wasn't in the earthquake; and after the earthquake fire, but God wasn't in the fire; and after the fire a gentle and quiet whisper."

For the small audience reading my blog, I hope your takeaway from this is that you'll start exercising your spiritual radar. Learn to ignore the hurricanes, earthquakes and fires when God is trying to whisper something in your ear. Given a choice between style and substance, choose substance.

2 Corinthians 4:3-4 "If our Message is obscure to anyone, it's not because we're holding back in any way. No, it's because these other people are looking or going the wrong way and refuse to give it serious attention. All they have eyes for is the fashionable god of darkness. They think he can give them what they want, and that they won't have to bother believing a Truth they can't see. They're stone-blind to the dayspring brightness of the Message that shines with Christ, who gives us the best picture of God we'll ever get. "

Mom's High Heels

Do you ever have random memories pop in your head and then you have to figure out what triggered them? The other day I was thinking about how much I loved playing with my mom's high heels when I was 4 years old. She had long, skinny feet - size 10 quadruple A. My little feet would fit into the toe section, so it was a very dangerous proposition to walk in them as the heels flapped behind me. I had practiced and become coordinated with the technique, but maybe got a little over-confident. One night, Mom and Dad arrived home from the grocery store. Along with all the bulging brown paper bags, they carried in a carton of Mason's root beer. What a treat. Back then we always got soft drinks in 16-ounce bottles in a cardboard carton that held eight. We returned the empty bottles to the store for a deposit refund.

As soon as they had carried in all the groceries, they paused to fix me a glass of root beer. It was a pleasant summer night in Indianapolis, so I decided to carry my drink out to the back yard. This would have been a much easier task if I weren't wearing my mother's high heels down a flight of four concrete steps. No one was paying attention, probably because I was the youngest of five children. I took a nose dive from the second step from the top. The glass shattered on the concrete and my face went right into it.

Dad scooped me up and carried me into the kitchen, quickly grabbing a washcloth to dab the blood off my face. I don't even recall the process of picking out the glass, but I do remember lying on the davenport with an ice pack on my face for the rest of the evening. I even remember the ice pack. It was made of a red rubbery material - like a whoopee cushion. It was used as either a hot water bottle or an ice pack, according to what you put in it.

My parents' friend Ronnie stopped by later that evening. He was always really sweet to me. I still have the mental picture of Ronnie lifting the ice pack to see how I was. He felt sorry for my condition - so he gave me a piece of gum. I laid in the living room, chewing gum with my face covered up and fell asleep. I remember waking up with the gum still in my mouth. It's a wonder I survived to my fifth birthday.

I don't have any permanent scars from the incident - at least physical ones. To this day, I still love root beer and I still wear high heels, but every time I walk down a flight of stairs, I think I'm going to fall and kill myself.