God's on Vacation in Idaho...and Can't Be Reached

My sister Tami has a way with words...in case you didn't notice. We recently sat on a beach, while on vacation at my mom's house this summer and were talking about life. Tami was feeling pretty down and somehow the Lord was mentioned. "Well He and I are not on speaking terms right now", she said. "He's on vacation in Idaho and can't be reached." I chuckled...Tami cracks me up. See, Tami has been saying stuff like this ever since I met her. It used to scare me cuz I wasn't used to Christians talking that way. But now...I just love it. I love it because it's real and it's raw. And honestly, I think the Lord loves it too. He'd rather have us coming to him in real anger, than having us put on a pretty face and pretending.

And let's face it...doesn't it sometimes feel like He's on vacation and not to be reached. I had a pretty crappy week this week. My son's reading ability has apparantly plummetted since last year, my husband got raked over the coals by the parent of student he taught two years ago, and we might be looking at a seriously financially tight year. Not to mention ending the week with a playdate from hell with 3 of my daughter's friends who could do nothing but fight, whine and manipulate each other for three hours...Carly being the queen of the "pains-in-the-butt". And to add insult to an injured psyche, we woke up Sunday morning to a bathroom drain clogged with hardened candle wax that Carly thought would be cool to pour out when it was a hot liquid...there goes another $200 that we don't have. Yeah...I can relate to the feeling that God is busy tending to and blessing another family somewhere else (which is how Tami placed God in Idaho. A friend of hers was sending her emails filled with praises to God for the many blessings He was pouring on her family...while Tami was feeling utterly alone)...and there are many times in my life when it felt like God wasn't available to take my call and was passing me over to tend to his other children.

Even King David and later on, Christ, using the same words, had moments of wondering where the Lord was and why wasn't he answering the phone. "My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?" I doubt that God the Father looked upon the two of them and tisked, "...Now, now, now,...you know I will never leave you nor forsake you...you really must not be that far along in your walk if you're saying that...where's your joy?" No...He was silent in those moments. And we can discuss all the theology that explains why the Lord is silent some times. Some say it's because there's some "unconfessed sin blocking our path of communication" or that our faith isn't strong enough. There's scripture that can back that up. But more often than not, I believe, when it feels like He's not hearing you or responding to you it's because...sometimes He is just silent. Now, do I believe that He really is on vacation? Of course not. But that's how it feels. And one of the things I've learned from my sweet, real, and raw sister is that we are absolutely allowed to and Biblically encouraged to crawl into our Daddy's lap and pound on his chest. We can get mad, we can cry out, we can beg him to pay attention to us. It's the nature of His relatiohsinp with His children...the word "Israel" itself means "to wrestle with God". And it's one of the most miraculous aspects of the gospel. Through Christ's death and resurrection, He gave us the opportunity to have the intimate relationship with His Daddy that he has. And that relatiohsip...is what it's all about. It's what the Creator of the universe wants more than anything and why He sent Christ on our behalf. He longs for a real relationship with us. He knows as soon as we get in His lap and pour it all out, we can't help but see Who He is compared to who we are....and we can bring him all our junk...not hide it away in pretty little "spiritual" packages deep within our heart...but get it all out and dealt with.

The morning after Tami's "vacation" comment, we were sitting at my mom's kitchen table for breakfast. "I read the coolest thing in this devotional your mom has, written by Tozer", Tami said sleepily as she sipped her coffee. "Oh..." I responded with a big sister smirk on my face, "Then you are on speaking terms with Him." "Well...", Tami cried, "I keep reading...hoping He's gonna send me a postcard." Brilliantly put, sistah!

"All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth to such as keep His covenant and His testimonies." Psalm 25:10.

Mercy and truth...it's what we always get from him...eventually. So keep crawling into that lap and pound away...and keep on the look out. You never know when He'll throw down a miracle, move a mountain or two...or at least...send you a postcard.

Forgiveness - Oh Yeah!

I’m doing a Bible Study this summer with three ladies from my BSF class. It’s on how to love people. Hmmm. Sounds easy, does hard. This week we are studying forgiveness, and they asked the question, who are you finding it difficult to forgive. Well, naturally, the first person that comes to mind is—my husband! Yes, that person you spend most of every day and night with. Yeah, that one. I guess it would beg credibility if you didn’t have a few ups and downs with the person you’re with practically 24/7.

Like for instance this morning—all I did was ask if before he left town for two days he could please take care of the stack of boxes and stuff that he has been “storing” directly in front of my washer and dryer for the past five days. Well, you would have thought I’d asked him to dig up the driveway and install a new sewer line. According to him, my world is so small and he has so many more important things on his mind, etc, etc, etc. After slamming out the back door because I didn’t really feel like kissing him good-bye, he roared off for the next two days. Probably just as well. I don’t know about him, but I’m over it and will forgive. He’ll come around sooner or later. Hope it’s by Friday night when he returns.

Okay, so God has me in a study about why it’s so important to forgive those who hurt or offend you. It’s one of those things that you know is right, but you don’t feel like doing right away. What you feel like doing is saying, “What a jerk!” Which of course I’ve already done and I’m over it. Yes, well, we are all jerks at some time or another, aren’t we? And God so inconveniently says, “If you do not forgive your brother who sins against you, your father in heaven will not forgive you for your sins.”

There’s a whole lot more to this in this study I’m doing, stuff about humbling yourself, not condemning others and freeing yourself from the garbage of resentment and bitterness. Yes, yes, the last thing I ever want to be is a bitter old woman. And there are a lot of them. And many of them are in churches. As my pastor would say—“Yes, they are.” So, okay, let’s take a big breath. Gary does have a lot on his mind, especially getting ready to leave for a big business trip, and yes my world is a bit smaller than his. Of course, that doesn’t give him the right to yell at me over a simple little reminder. But so what. How important is this—really?

There was a quote at the beginning of my lesson today, it said:

“Love is never letting a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved.”

Okay, God, I hear you, and I do love him—heart, soul, mind and body. Thank you, Lord for teaching me one more time how to be more like you. I’ll never get it right this side of heaven, but then you already know that, too, don’t you.

Neighbors! Gee Wiz!

Anybody else find it hard to love thy neighbor? Kids in Ethiopia, I'm all over that, the homeless guy down town, I'll give 'em a buck. Troubled teens, bring them on. But the lady who lives next door who hates kids and has a mean yappy dog...well, she's just plain unlovable.

"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?"
Jesus replied, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it, "Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

Gnarly. There's no loop hole...I've looked...but still all the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.

So earlier today when the "Mean Lady"(as she has been not-so-affectionately labeled by the neighborhood kids) approached me, wagging her finger and hollering complaints and annoyances, clearly I had not only a responsibility, but was actually commanded by the creator of the earth and skies…to love her.

I told her that if she didn’t like it here she should just move out.

She pointed her finger at my face and told me I was evil and my children were evil and that she didn’t know what sorts of things I was being taught at my so-called church but that I wasn’t a very good Christian.

She said that to me and stared me down with her beady little eyes…while over a dozen kids sat out in the driveway watching.

Well, this just made my Russian blood boil!

In my defense, for the past two years since the Mean Lady moved in, she’s done nothing but scream and yell and complain and alienate every neighbor on our street. And in all this time, I’ve never had so much as a single unkind word with her. But she’s been so unbearable for so many of my friends that I figured this time, she had it coming.

Or did she?

Two commandments, Love God, love your neighbor. The first is the greatest, but the second is like it? So you mean to tell me that loving this Mean Lady is like loving God?

Gee Wiz!

So the drama continued with just about half a dozen ticked off neighbors gathering to talk smack while she huffed and puffed and took pictures of the kid’s scattered toys and sidewalk chalk drawings. She said she was gonna get us all restraining orders. A few of us said we were gonna get em for her too.

Then she stormed into her house and we let off all the steam we could muster. We said, “Yeah, you’re right…she’s mean…she’s crazy… you don’t deserve that…”

Then a moment later, she came back. She was shaking with big-baby tears pooled in her eyes. “We should talk,” she says.

Now I reckoned that this was a divine appointment.

So me and two of the other Christian moms stood with our arms tightly folded across our chests. And then she hollered a bit more and then we hollered back…nobody really listened much. But somewhere in the messiness of all the “she said, she said”…the Gospel shone through.

She said, “I just feel like you all just hate me,” which wasn’t entirely untrue.

But then she said, “I just wish we could have a fresh start.”

Ahhh..so there it is…the loop hole…a fresh start. Loving God and loving your neighbor is in it’s very nature all about screwing up and having the graceful opportunity to try again. And somewhere in the messiness of it all, is truly where the magic of God’s love is glorified.

“Well,” I told her, “we are actually all about fresh starts.” Then we talked for a good while about the healing and restorative power of Jesus Christ of Nazereth and then we even prayed together …and like balm to a wound, things softened.

Eventually, we came to some compromises on her demands and we all promised to wave and be more friendly. Turns out, although her list of gripes was long, at the very top of that list was that she felt unloved.

I wonder if now would be a bad time to tell her that her yappy dog woke me up at the crack of dawn this morning?

The Day is His

I was reading in my daily devotional this morning, "Echos of Eternity" by Hal Helms, and felt compelled to share. I love when the Lord settles my soul with the knowledge of His utter control over this entire universe. Hope you enjoy.

April Sixteenth
"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? When the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" Job 38:4,7

The day is Mine. It is a gift of My love to My creation. The sun shines at My behest, and light goes forth according to My will. My creation does not understand, and takes it all for granted. But a few souls can see and know. Be one of them, My child, and enter into the secret joy of thankfulness. Take nothing for granted any more. Praise and gratitude carry their own reward. You cannot become what I created you to be by any other path.

The Wonderful Cross

I am especially thankful this Easter for the wonderful cross. Life is overwhelming, our country is in crisis, the world seems to be spinning off its axis and the future is unsure. I cannot describe the peace I find in the cross of Christ. I felt it flood my heart and soul last night as we sang the old hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, at church. I've said it before that hymns have a way of beautifully describing the truth of our faith. This one brings me to my knees in adoration of the One who holds the whole universe in His hands. I encourage you, as I have before, take time this Easter to meditate on the following words. Let your mind attempt to wrap itself around their meaning. Let your soul take a weary breath inward and be filled with peace.


When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ, my God
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to his blood

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
Bids me come and die
And find that I may truly live

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
All who gather here
By grace draw near and bless your name

See, from his head, his hands, his feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown.

Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were an offering far too small
Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
Bids me come and die
And find that I may truly live

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
All who gather near
By grace draw near and bless your name.



Colossians 1: 13, 16-17 says this:

"For He (the Father) delivered us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son...For by Him (Christ) all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities-all things have been created by Him and for Him. And He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together."

Our pastor pointed out last night that it's a little weird to sing, "oh the wonderful cross". You wouldn't hear people singing, "Oh the wonderful guillotine" or "the wonderful gas chamber". But the cross is so good because it did what no man could ever do. It reconciled us back to our creator. Christianity is different from any other religion in that no other object of worship took the penalty of sin on his own shoulders. Our savior did that. And because He did that, because He rose from the dead, is seated at the right-hand of his father, and still holds the whole world together, we can rejoice and rest in peace.

Oh the Wonderful Cross...bids me come and die, and find that I may truly live. I sure needed a reminder to lay down all the things in my life that occupy my mind and stress me out. Lay them at the wonderful cross...and find that you may truly live.

Thank Therapy

I‘ve been whining a lot lately. Sometimes it just feels like my life is harder than others'. My kids aren’t easy. My son has some mild developmental issues that make school and sports harder for him than for most kids. It also makes my life harder. My daughter is really strong, assertive, and at times volatile…not really easy for me, who hates conflict and just wants everyone happy, to parent. And so the conversation with God goes something like this: “Geez, wasn’t it enough that these kids were really hard get”, recalling in my mind the months and years of infertility, the difficult and lengthy process of adoption, the lost babies, the negative pregnancy tests… “But now these kids have to be so much work!?” So quick is the slope into self-pity and ingratitude…these thoughts lead to longing for what others seem to have…easier kids, lovelier homes, more money for vacations and clothes, an easier marriage…and the list can go on forever. Amazingly, the Lord quietly listens. There’s no strike of lightening, no condemning burning bush appearing in my bedroom, just the sense of a loving Father listening…patiently and gently.

Then I went to the dentist. As he was checking my teeth in a routine exam, he stopped and said, “Did you bite your lower lip or something?” For years, I have had this vein in my lower lip that seems just a little more pronounced and visible. “That….I’ve had that for years.", I answered. “Hmm…” He says. “I’ve never seen it this obvious…looks like it’s gotten bigger. I think we should have an oral surgeon look at it…just to be safe.” Safe from what…I am thinking. “He’ll check it out and decide if it should be biopsied.” Okay…I don’t know about you, but if a doctor uses the word ‘biopsy’ in any context referring to me, panic is quick to follow. “BIOPSY…are you serious?” I wanted to yell. “I don’t want you to lose sleep over this, but we should just get it checked out to be safe.”, he said, probably reading the horror in my face. “Uh huh…” I’m thinking, “Isn’t that how every sad story of someone dying of cancer starts out?”

Suddenly, the voices of all my little complaints became completely silent. My body began to float in the dark space of this thought: “It’s possible I may die before my kids stop needing me.” I love how one thought leads to another… “Let’s get it checked to be safe” leads to a cancer diagnosis which leads to: “What will Craig do without me? What if I’m not around to see my kids get married…or have babies…or fulfill their God-given purposes on this earth?”…all flooding my mind within seconds. Almost instantly, I went from just checking something to “be safe”, to my untimely death and its consequences. I found myself longing to just have the school/sports difficulty and the strong-willed child challenge again. “I love my life…really, Lord, I do. I pray you don’t have to kick me in the teeth to remind me of just how good I have it.” For two days, I had this worry hanging over me…it’s not fun. As I sat in the oral surgeon’s office, having him examine, measure, and take pictures of the crazy-lip-vein that might end up killing me, I thought…please just say, “I think it’s probably nothing” When he finally said the word, “benign”, possibly the best word in the English language, and tried to explain all the other harmless things he thought it was…I swear, the sky outside became more blue…I think I could even smell the beautiful flowers growing across the street. I danced to my car filled with life, with gratitude, with joy, and with an appreciation for this short, fragile, lovely and wonderful life I have.

In high school, my pastor taught us what he called, “Thank Therapy”: Every time you feel down, depressed, alone, or hopeless, stop and find 7 things you are thankful for. The first one is always the hardest to think of. There were times back then that the only thing I could think of was that the sun had come up that morning. But the thing is, as soon as you find that first thing, amazingly, all the other wonderful things…big and small… seem to flood your mind. Inevitably, you find yourself thanking God for far more than just 7 things. Afterward, you feel blessed and joyful…even in the darkest times of your life. I know “Thank Therapy” sounds a little too easy, juvenile, and maybe even corny, but actually it is a profound practice that does help remove the fixation we have on the hard stuff in our lives and our suffering. I have used this therapy many times in my life and it really works. It takes you from a place of depression to a place of peace and joy. But sometimes, when I forget or refuse to do this process, the Lord will drive me to the “thank therapist’s” office Himself. This time the therapist was the possibility of cancer. From my therapy session came a gentle reminder from my God: “You are blessed. You are healthy (at least for today). You have a man who adores you and comes home to you every night. Your kids are miracles and gifts to you…struggles, challenges and all. Stop comparing yourself to others for always there will be someone who has more and someone who has less. I love you, am with you, and you are blessed.”

Nothing like the word “biopsy” to thrust me into necessary thank therapy.

Divorce Line

“Is there anyone here who needs a new restraining order?” asked the portly lady from behind the counter. The sign dangling just above her head read “Family Law”.

A tall, black woman with exotic eyes painted up like a super model, timidly raised her hand. “I am,” she said softly. Her baby fussed in his stroller as she shuffled towards the counter.

Mayli looked over at me with her big blue eyes and shook her head in amazement. I knew what she was thinking, the way women who have been friends for twenty years just know.

My chest ached.

“Next!”

The man in front of us was tattooed from his elbows down to his wrists, and smelled of fresh cigarettes. His pants hung so low that they revealed his brown plaid boxers in their entirety. He stepped up to the counter, “Yeah I’m here about a divorce.”

I raised my eyebrows at Mayli.

A tired woman with bleach-fried hair opened up the partition at the end of the counter, pressed her palms up on the desk and leaned her body towards the line-up, her sagging breasts spilling out of her blouse. “What are you here for?” She asked the last woman in line.

The woman cleared her throat, “Um, a divorce…”

“K, you can stay in that line…what about you?” She asked as she pointed her bitten-down fingernail towards the Hispanic lady who was next in line.

The lady replied, “How you say…?” Her eyes darted towards the rest of us in the line.

I smiled back at her wanting to say, “It’s okay, you’re alright…this is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“How you say…” She bit her lip and shook her hand in front of her mouth, “Como se dice…uh…cusdideo… bambino?”

“Child custody dispute?” Bleach-fried asked.

“Si, si,” the woman nodded.

“Yeah all right, you need to get in that other line.”

“Okay, what about you?”

“Yeah, a divorce also,” the next man up answered. He was short and balding with thick glasses and yellowing teeth. He carried stacks of folders and loose papers under each arm.

“Alright, stay there…and you?”

“Yeah, uh…paternity.” A man in his mid-forties with a tattered baseball hat chomped on his gum and said, “She could never prove the kid was mine.”

Mayli’s eyes widened even more. “She’s gonna ask everybody in the line, she’s gonna ask me!” She turned her back towards the woman and faced the wall.

And like a shotgun, one by one, Bleach –fried fired her way up the line…divorce, restraining order, custody battle…the kid’s not mine. She sorted each of the torn-up lives into the correct lines.

“You…excuse me, Mam? I’m talking to you…”

Mayli slowly turned around. She didn’t lift her head, “Yeah, a divorce.”

I wanted to throw something. I wanted to throw something at Bleach-fried.

“Hey Lady,” I said under my breath, “how much time do ya got?”

Mayli smiled and shushed me.

“No seriously,” I continued. “You really want to know why she’s here? It all started about twenty years ago, she met this guy, she fell in love, she had dreams…”

The man behind us laughed. “Yeah, seriously!” He said.

And Mayli laughed too.

We stood there shaking our heads at the absurdity of it all.

“They better give you a sticker with a smiley face on it when you leave here,” I told Mayli, “like when you give blood… and a chocolate chip cookie too.”

Bleach –fried hollered out to Como Se Dice Lady, “Yeah, uh, now you’re gonna have to get back in that other line again!”

Como Se Dice fumbled around like someone had just smacked her in the head with a baseball bat. Then she settled back in the line, cutting, just in front of me and Mayli. She pressed the palm of her hand into her forehead and smoothed her wiry black hair from her face.

She spoke to Mayli, “How you say, muy difficult-a?” She stuttered for a minute, muttering words in Spanish.

I have heard Mayli talk to her gardener in hurried Spanish for years.

“She speaks Spanish,” I told Como Se Dice. “She comprehendo…”

Como se Dice smiled brightly. “Oh, bueno, bueno…” and off she launched into a series of blended words. I picked out dios and amiga and ninos. Como se Dice waved her arms and pointed to the sky and to her heart. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

Mayli nodded her head and said, “Si, si, oh, si…”

Both women wiped water from their eyes.

“What did she say? What did she say?” I asked.

“She said she got divorced a year ago and it was very difficult, now she’s back to fight for full custody because her X went loco.”

Como se Dice smiled at me and nodded for Mayli to continue.

“But she said if you have God you can get through it, if you have God you can get through anything and God will give you a friend too, to be your angel.”

And then Como se Dice pointed to me. “An-hell,” she said.

I smiled at Como se Dice wishing I knew her real name.

“Next!”

The line shuffled forward, Como Se Dice waved her papers in the air and scurried up to the counter squalling in broken English.

Mayli was next. I watched my dear friend, her hands tightly gripping a red folder. She has beautiful hands, long and slender. I always thought she could be a hand model.

When it was her turn, she took a deep breath and said, “Here we go.”

The portly lady behind the counter had gray eyes and gray skin. She didn’t smile. She sat beneath a blinking fluorescent light and a sign that read, “Please Don’t Leave Your Children Unattended.” There was a basket of candy on her desk just beyond our reach.



When Mayli and I were young moms we went for a girl’s night out. We walked around the mall and drank peppermint tea. We went into this one store that sold rubber stamps and rainbows of ink pads. It was wall to wall unicorn stamps, teddy bear stamps, flower stamps and stamps with little phrases on them like “I Love You” and “Thank-you”. We thought it terribly funny. I love you, but not enough to write it all the way out myself. Our favorite was one that read, “Praying For You.” We’ve laughed about it for years. I don’t actually have the time or energy to write it, but let me just use this handy-dandy stamp and I’ll be sure to remember to pray for you.

Mayli motioned me towards the pile of stamps on the counter. Divorce, Fee Waved, In Process, Sign Here.

“Praying For You,” she whispered to me with a weary smile.

Then she turned to the woman behind the counter and asked, “Now, I was told I could have the $350 waived if I don’t have a job, is that true?”

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes. “Well, did you fill out the Fee Waiver forms?”

“Uh… no.”

“Well, Mam, that’s a different line, see down at the end of the room where that counter is? You’ve got to get in that line to get the forms and then you’ll have to get back in this line to process them.”

“Do I have to get back at the end of this line?”

“Yeah, and you better hurry cause there’s about six pages to fill out and if you’re not back in line by 3:00, you’ll have to come back another day… Next!”



Damn Alex.

Yeah, yeah I know there’s always two sides to the story, but I’m on Mayli’s side. Truth be told, everyone who knows their story is on Mayli’s side.

Alex went loco. He said being married was too hard.

My ass Alex! Standing in this line all day is what’s hard. Dividing up pennies and debt and weekends with the kids, (if they’ll even go with you) that’s what’s hard. Emma so distraught by her daddy leaving that she cries until she throws up, that’s hard. The suffering you’re causing your wife and your daughters because you can’t man up and get through the “hard” times, well that’s just nasty, mean, selfish hard!

Jon and I met Alex and Mayli on a weekend marriage retreat twenty years ago. They had a minivan and a job with health benefits, which to us, back then, were the moon and the stars. Mayli and I were both pregnant. We giggled as we ran to the bathroom to throw up our pancakes.

The Monday after the retreat my baby died inside my belly. Mayli came to my side and that’s where she’s stayed ever since. She knew all too well the ugly pain of losing a child.

I got back in the line we had just spent the better part of the afternoon in, while Mayli ran to get in the line for the Fee Waiver forms.

“I need that three hundred and fifty bucks,” she said apologetically.

As I watched her move through the crowded room, I remembered her. I remembered her in her cut off Levi’s and peasant blouse, pregnant and in love.

His Story

“Tell me a story, Bobbie, please, please,” my little sister would beg, after we had been tucked into our twin beds and the lights were out. Telling stories had been my idea in the first place, but it was starting to wear thin, usually because I was too tired to think of anything very exciting and would rather have had someone tell me a story instead. A lot of times, our mom would let us listen to “Fibber McGee and Molly” or “The Great Gildersleeve” on the radio after the lights were out which gave us the captivating stories we both seemed to crave. (For those of you born after 1948, I’m sure you have no idea what I am talking about, but believe me when I tell you there is nothing like lying in the dark imagining the people in those radio plays, with the sound effects of footsteps and doors opening and closing.) Well, now that I’ve dated myself, I’ll go on with today’s story.

One of our first family stories had to do with my sister, Pam, calling me Bobbie. We really don’t know how or why she started doing that, but she did it until we were about 7 and 10. One time my grandfather bought a new plant for his yard called the Rose of Sharon. Pam ran into the house to inform everyone that Popsy had just planted the Rose of Bobbie.

Our family was big on nicknames, especially the southern branch who hailed from Tennessee. My mother’s parents were Mutts and Popsy. Her twin sister, Jane, was dubbed Nane Nane. These were all my doing as the first grandchild. But there were some doosies that came before me. When my mother and her twin were about seven, they went to the train station with their parents to welcome their aunt, Kate, arriving from Memphis. As the train pulled into the station, the parents said, “Look twinnies, here comes the choo choo. Well, you guessed it, Aunt Kate was known forever after as Choo Choo.

I could go on like this for many more pages, but the point is, every family has stories, stories that give meaning to their lives, past, present and future. These stories are passed down through generations and become traditions and part of the fabric of their family’s life. We need stories. Stories help us make sense of the world. They help us make sense of our lives. We all have our own stories, some of which we’re probably not particularly proud of, but we all sense that our life is telling a story, and we sincerely hope for a good outcome.

I remember when I was going through a particularly difficult time in my life , I would say to people, “I feel like I am living in a novel, and I can hardly wait to see how it’s going to turn out.” Have you ever lived that way? Interesting, isn’t it. And that’s the best light I can put on it

One of the things that has happened in these modern and post-modern years is that the world has lost its story. If there is no story, there is no meaning to hang your hat on. If there is no right or wrong, if everyone is allowed to have his own opinion on what is good and what is not, if everything can be figured out through our enlightened minds and managed through technology and science, then where do we find the meaning behind the universe? What is the meaning of our existence? How do we explain the devastation and degradation we see around us and the seeming futility of our efforts to make things better?

We say each man can decide what is right in his own mind, yet everyone knows what is wrong when it happens to him—when he is the injured party. So, even though we like to say it’s all relative, ultimately we do have to admit that there is a standard by which we all measure good and evil.

What would you think if I told you that God has told us a story? Of course, he used people to write it down in language so that we could understand it. What is this story? It is His story. It’s called The Bible. Now before you think, ”Oh that,” and discard this as another religious ramble, let me just tell you a little bit about this story.

First of all, it’s made up of many stories, stories about people and God’s efforts to reach out to them and love and guide them as his children. But as you can imagine, this is not easy. These pesky creatures keep insisting on doing things their own way and they get themselves into all manner of troubles. Hmmm. Sound familiar, so far?

He tries everything, first of all, he gives them a beautiful garden-like setting in which to live, and what do they do but mess it up. He gives them everything they need, and all he asks is that they not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. You see, he wanted to protect them from knowing evil, but oh no, they decide they want to know everything God knows and be “like God,” so they eat away. Right away they are sorry, but unfortunately, it’s too late. They know what they know and there’s no going back, so now they have to hide their nakedness, and guilt has entered the picture. And you can be sure, it’s not going to get any better after this.

Later, their oldest son tries to show off before God and gives a sacrifice out of pride, while the younger gives a true sacrifice of love, and so because God favors the second sacrifice over the first, the first son kills the second. Okay, so far we only have four people in all creation, two have disobeyed and are living with guilt and the third has killed the fourth. We’re not off to a good start.

The reason this story is important is that it tells us how and why bad stuff entered the world. It tells a story that gives meaning to what we see around us today. And what we see today is a world that should be perfect in every way. We can see that perfection in nature, in the workings of the cellular structure of plants and animals, in the workings of our own bodies. But it is perfection that has gone bad. Something happened. The architect created a beautiful building but it has been bombed, and now even in its damaged state, we can see the perfect beauty that was intended.

The Bible then goes on to tell many other stories, settling finally on a family descended from a man named Abraham. Many times in the Bible we see God searching the earth for a faithful, honest man, a man he can trust, a man who will trust him. He decided he had found that man in Abraham and decided to guide and direct him and, in the process, bless him and his descendants forever. This is the beginning of Judeo-Christian history.

In succeeding generations, God found other men, not perfect men, but men who remained loyal and tried to do his will. These were people he could use, and did use to make himself known to the world, because that was what he was really after—the world—all of us, Jews, Gentiles, everybody. He finally did it through the perfect man, Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Now, how was it Jesus was able to be the perfect man you might ask, well, it’s because it was God himself in disguise.

That’s the really amazing part of the story. God realized the only way he could truly reach human beings was to become one, and so he did. He allowed himself to be born as a helpless baby and to live in the world as a human being in order to talk to people on a level they could understand, about who he is and who he created them to be. This is almost an unbelievable story, but it’s the story Christians believe. They believe it because it makes sense in light of the whole story. It makes sense on every level, psychologically, spiritually, intellectually, even physically.

Now you might say, “But why did Jesus have to die? Couldn’t God have brought people into a relationship with him without that?” No, he couldn’t. If God is a just God, then there had to be some payment for the evil that had occurred. Not only that, there had to be a way to pay for the future evil that would occur. How could a pure and perfect God just say, “Well, that doesn’t matter.” It matters a lot. What if someone purposely injures you or someone you love. Do you just brush it off? There is a standard of justice in the universe that says, no that’s not right. So, basically, for justice to be served, someone had to pay. And because God knew that the only person who could pay perfectly was the perfect person, He paid the price himself.

How does this story give meaning to our lives today? First of all, it describes us and those we see around us. It tells us why we sense that the world isn’t as it should be. It also explains why we find this rebellious spirit within ourselves. We all want to be the God of our lives, and it explains why our efforts are often so futile. But it also gives us a way to get past the sin and guilt that we know we harbor—a way to start fresh every day, recognizing and confessing our failures and receiving God’s loving forgiveness because of his son who died for us.

There’s also, for those who have managed to read this far, a really terrific ending to this story. It doesn’t end. We live forever with our creator and savior in a really beautiful place, where we finally are able to become all that we were created to be and to do.

I must tell you, I really like this story. I like living in it and knowing it applies to me. If you’re interested in learning more about this story, I would highly recommend reading C.S. Lewis book, Mere Christianity. It’s a delightful read. And if you’re really serious, you might just open a Bible and start reading God’s story. It’s fascinating. You could also join a Bible Study or go to a church. They tell parts of this story every Sunday and you never know what you might learn.

Solid Ground

Have you been feeling weary today? There's a lot we carry on our shoulders . Lots of things to worry about, very little we find we can trust. Take a deep breath...in and out...and soak in the following words from scripture. Maybe you'll feel the weight lifted a bit.

Psalm 62:5-8 "My soul, wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him. He only is my rock and my salvation, My stronghold; I shall not be shaken. On God my salvation and my glory rest; The rock of my strength, my refuge is in God. Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us."

Now, I am going to share with you a favorite hymn of mine. One thing I love about hymns is their rich theology and timelessness. I can examine one song written a century or more ago and reach new depths of understanding about my God that are completely pertinent to my life today. I invite you to take another breath...in and out...and slowly read, ponder, examine, and mull over the words of this sweet song.

"My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus' name.

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand."

In these crazy, unsure times... in the midst of heartaches and confusion...if there's one thing I've learned and know for sure, it's this: Christ is the solid ground...everything the world has to offer is just sinking sand.

Rest in Him today.

What's the Deal About Prayer?

I’m convinced that most people pray. Even people who do not consider themselves religious or even believe in God, given a certain situation, 99.9% of them will call out to God, which is what we call prayer. Now why is this? I mean, if there’s no one up there, why do we do it? I think it’s because it’s built into us. We just somehow think there has got to be somebody, somewhere higher than ourselves that can help us. And it stands to reason to me, that if this instinct, that is such a basic part of our nature, exists in us, there must be a somebody, somewhere available to fill this need. We have a strong instinct to eat, and what do you know, we find food on this earth available for eating. The same with water. We have an instinct for sex and relationships, and here we are with people around us who can fill those needs.

Now, this certainly isn’t the last word on prayer, nor does it even begin to touch on the problems people have with prayer. I think there are a lot of misconceptions about prayer. Like, what about all those times God doesn’t answer your prayer? First of all, maybe he did and the answer was no. But beyond that, is the idea that somehow God is that magic genie in the sky that when you put in your request, presto, out comes what you want, just like a gum-ball machine.

As you can imagine, the Bible has a lot to say about prayer. And it does say, “Let your requests be made known to God.” But there are also a lot of other reasons for prayer. First of all, if you would like to have a relationship with someone, you have to talk to them once in awhile. As women, this shouldn’t be hard for us.

Secondly, prayer is a wonderful way to let God know what we think of him—that we honor him and lift him up. He likes that. Is that because he is prideful and egocentric? No, he likes to hear us say nice things about him, just like we do, when our children say nice things about us. Does that make us prideful and egocentric? No, it just makes us love our children more.

And thirdly, and this is the hard one, God wants us to pray, so that we can align ourselves with HIS will for us. Now, here again, we have to go back to who do you think is smarter, you or God. If you think you are smarter and know better what you want than He does, fine—go ahead and do it. Just be prepared for the worst or at the very least, less than the best. I have a friend who used to say “You don’t break God’s laws, you break yourself against them.”

In my life, I have spent years praying for something and refusing to hear God’s “No.” I thought I knew best, so I acted on my desires and not on God’s good advice. The day I finally accepted his “No,” was the day I found freedom and peace. The next most important day was the day I surrendered to his will for my life. This sounds life-changing and dramatic, and it was, but it occurred on an ordinary night, sitting up in my bed, and saying, “Okay, Lord, from now on, I want only what you want for me, show me what you have planned for the rest of my life.” One month later he began the process of giving me the desires of my heart.

Many years ago, when I was a new Christian, I heard a lady tell a story that has stuck with me ever since. Perhaps this will be meaningful to you. She and her husband had promised their two young sons that they would take them on the train to the San Diego Zoo. They lived in Orange County, and there was a train that traveled to the zoo on a regular basis. At that time, where they lived, there were long stretches of farms growing produce of various kinds.  Each day, as she drove her sons to school they would pass by the fields and off in the distance was a large packing shed near a railroad spur line, on which sat a couple of boxcars being loaded for market.

And each day, as they went by the field and saw the the shed and the boxcars, the boys would cry out, “Look, Mommy, there’s the train to San Diego!” And she would explain, “No, Honey, that’s not the train.” But everyday they would cry again and again, “Yes, Mommy, that’s the train, that’s the train we want. Please, please, let us go on that train.”

She couldn’t seem to make them understand. But one day, she and her husband loaded them into the car and took them to the Santa Ana train station, where they all got on the train that took them to San Diego.

Now if this mother had answered the prayers and pleadings of her boys the way they wanted them answered, they would have been sitting in a boxcar in the middle of a field going nowhere. But because she and her husband loved their children and understood more than they did, they knew how to truly give them the desires of their hearts.

For many years I had on my refrigerator a picture of a rainbow, drawn by my then-teen-aged daughter, and underneath it she had written this verse. It still speaks to me today:

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
Psalm 37:4

Sharon

A Few Words About Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day is coming. Is there anyone on the planet that doesn’t know that? And I’ve got to say, I’m not particularly happy about it. Now before you think I’m really strange, let me also say, I don’t think I’m alone in this. What is it about these so-called special days that makes us edgy and uncomfortable? First of all, every newspaper, magazine, store, TV commercial and any other thing that can speak, is hammering about it night and day. So, why should this make us uncomfortable? Well, here is what I’ve decided is the problem. What if that no-good, obtuse, or slightly forgetful husband or boyfriend of yours forgets to do something about it? Or maybe he doesn’t do enough? Or not what you were hoping? What do you do? Do you get mad? Do you get sad? Do you remind him ahead of time with little hints? Or just, for heavens’ sake, let it go by with nary a word? Do you do what some women have been known to do--go out and buy yourself a piece of jewelry and call it good?

This feeling also happens on all those other days that men are supposed to remember, like your birthday, your anniversary, or Mother’s Day? And what about your kids? Will they do anything? Should they? Will you care?

Actually, to tell you the truth, I think I’ve pretty much gotten over these confusing feelings and the freedom I feel is exhilarating. The latest sign that I’ve passed this milestone is that year before last, both Gary and I forgot our anniversary. Yes, we actually did! I only remembered after my good friend, Carol, called to wish me a happy anniversary, and was aghast that she’d been the one to tell me about it. Later that evening, as I was sitting at the kitchen counter watching my husband cook dinner, I relished my sneak attack.

“Gary, do you know what day today is?” The look on his face was priceless when, after a long pause, I said, “Our anniversary.”

To spare him more agony I quickly said, “Don’t worry, I forgot, too.” And we both burst out laughing.

Now lest you think we have completely lost our senses, we had been having a very busy week, and I think we were planning a trip of some kind, and it was on a Thursday night, and, well, there you have it. It just got by us. We’ve laughed about it many times since, and this year Carol called me early, just to make sure I wouldn’t forget.

But back to Valentine’s Day. The hype on this day is so bad, you almost feel like saying, “Enough already. Let’s not do anything about it and have our own special day later on.” The only problem with that is that you probably won’t have that special day later on because it will just get lost in the whole schemata of life. So what do you do?

I took a big step forward in my growth on this issue when my friend, Mary, came by my office one day after having attended a ladies Bible Study at church. Mary was a divorced mother of two, working free-lance so as to spend more time with her girls, but had dutifully followed my “helpful” suggestion and gone to this group today for the very first time.

“Well, how was the study?” I asked brightly as she walked in.

“Humph,” she said, slapping her bag on the floor and slumping into a chair. “I am so sick of hearing prayer requests from women whose biggest problem in life is their husbands forgetting their birthday or--Valentine’s Day. Like we’re supposed to pray about THAT? I would just be happy to have a guy that came home every night!”

“Hmmmmm!” Chalk up another notch on my learning curve.

Ladies, I think we need to get over ourselves. Whatever the guy is doing, odds are he’s got a lot on his mind. And Valentine’s Day is not at the top of his list. How about this? How about you plan a nice evening for him? Make him his favorite dinner, add a cute card, and if you can get the kids out of the house, light some candles and give him a really special evening. I guarantee you, he will be a happy man. And you know what, you will be happier, too. Forget about what he does or doesn’t do. You do something. Choose to be happy and you will be.

Years ago I read a book called Happiness is An Inside Job. I don’t know if it is even still in print, but its basic message was that WE are in charge of our own happiness. We can decide whether to be happy or sad, loving or mad.

My last thought on this comes from a scripture you’ve probably heard many times. It’s the love passage from I Corinthians 13, and you’ve heard it read at weddings and seen it written on cards, but there is one part of it that always strikes me right in the heart. It starts out “Love is patient, love is kind…” and goes on to say a lot of other good things about love. But then it says, “(Love) does not take into account a wrong suffered …but rejoices with the truth;”

Wow, a wrong suffered. You mean I can let him off the hook and still be okay? Yes, because I can rejoice in the truth that he loves me and is working hard for me, and that making him happy will give me more happiness than I deserve and bless me in ways I could never imagine.

So, ladies, instead of fretting our little hearts out this year, let’s have a happy Valentine’s Day by giving a big bunch of love to that love of our lives—or if there isn’t that one love right now, to all those we love in our lives. I’m betting we won’t regret it.

Hi, My name is Jennifer and I am Not a Perfect Parent

I know we all, with a sense of humility and grace, will confess to one another that we know we aren’t perfect parents. But let’s face it, we really want everyone to think we are…or at least be on the top 10 “Best Parents we Know” list. And we all have a picture of who we want our children to be as adults. I was a perfect parent until I had kids…then they ruined me. I have now been driven to this desperate plea: “Please Lord, don’t let me screw them up!”

We feel the perfect-parent-pressure every time we’re in Target and our toddler throws themselves on the floor screaming their head off because we won’t buy them a toy. We feel it when the teacher says, “Your son (immediately making it my fault) is very easily distracted in class.” She says it with her mouth, but her eyes are saying, “Are you sure your son isn’t from another planet?” My favorite was when we took our two year old daughter to the ER because we thought she might be dehydrated from vomiting all day. The place was packed, of course, and we had to wait forever. After about 3 hours, our dear sweet daughter, whose fever had come down and who had perked up by then, ran to the opposite end of the crowded waiting room, turned around and at the top of her verbal-beyond-her-years voice yelled, “I AM NOT GOING TO THE DOCTOR….EVER!!!!!” I saw all the shocked faces looking at me and tried desperately to say, “I’ve never seen that child before in my life!”

We’ve all laid awake at night reading the parenting books and studying the latest philosophy. We pray about today and look toward the teenage years with terror. We are inundated with the latest parenting “must-do”. And we wonder and doubt. I loved the one that made it critical to your child’s character and life’s outcome that you put him on a feeding schedule. I actually had a woman ask me on first glance of my long awaited miracle, “So do you have him on a schedule? Or is this a demand-feed baby?” (said with noticeable disdain) I was shocked that this was her first question and a little afraid that maybe I didn’t have the right answer. Or how about the one that says the baby should sleep in your bed with you, and won’t bond with you unless they do. What? I can barely sleep in the same bed with my husband and you want me to put a baby in there too?

It seems to me that every time I turn around there’s some critical parenting technique, philosophy, or task at which I have already failed. For example: Potty Training. I am officially a failure. I know you’re thinking that’s not possible…everyone conquers that one. But my six year old, strong-willed, fight to the death daughter is still wetting her panties regularly because she can’t be bothered to go to the bathroom. I can hear you all now thinking, somewhere in cyberspace: “Have you tried a sticker chart?” or “You should spank her!” “Why don’t you have her earn tokens every time she does it right?” “That is ridiculous and you should really…” Believe me when I say: I HAVE TRIED EVERYTHING! I am now at the point of just hoping peer pressure will do what it should and she’ll be humiliated enough to stop peeing her pants! But it sure makes me feel like I’ve reached a new level of incompetence.

Let’s face it. There are a million different parenting philosophies out there. And for every one of them, you could find really wise people who’ll argue the opposite. With every rule or philosophy comes another opportunity to fail as a parent. “Spank your kids.” “Don’t spank your kids, reason with them with love and logic.” “Learn their love language.” “Shove scripture down their throat.” “Don’t exasperate them to anger.” “Spank or don’t spank, but whatever you do…don’t immunize them!” It’s enough to drive us to drink.

The reality, I am learning, is that every child is his/her own person. They have a DNA makeup that is totally unique to them. Modern psychology has taught us that they’re handed to us at birth like little blobs of clay…ready for us to mold into who we want them to be. The church is just as bad at this as society. We’re taught that if we follow the “correct” spiritual steps, our children will grow up to be passionate about the Lord. Yet statistically, kids who are raised going to church very often walk away as adults. I think we’ve put way too much pressure on ourselves, way too much power in our own hands, and frankly, think way too highly of ourselves. Aren’t we ultra-quick to judge that poor mom in Target? I know parents who did everything “right” and their children are not exactly who they’d hoped they would be as adults. I also know parents who did a lot of things “wrong” and have adult children who have wildly surpassed all their hopes for them.

Here’s the good news…and really our only hope. Our children have a creator who has knit them together exactly the way He wanted and is weaving a tapestry of their life even while I type. He has a plan for them and is leading them on a journey of His making. He uses my successes and even my failures as a parent, but ultimately who they become is between them and their creator. I, as a mom, really have much less to do with it than I like to think. This is really good news for me, since I am hopelessly flawed.

“And He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’” 2 Corinthians 12: 9a He’s constantly wanting me to let go of the reigns and let Him to do what He does best.

Bottom line: I am called to be a faithful parent, not a perfect one. I am called to continue on the path laid before me, brushing myself off when I fall. I need to give my kids love and safety...and lots of opportunity to overcome suffering. I am compelled to teach my children about the Lord “…when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up”. Deuteronomy 6:7 . But mostly, it is utterly imperative for me to continually lay my children before the Lord and ask Him to do the job.

He reminded me of this yesterday morning in the car ride to school. My sweet and fiesty panty-wetter said sweetly, “Mama, can we hear that song again?” “Sure, baby.” She then began to sing with her breathy voice words that flooded my eyes with tears and my heart with peace:

“I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in His hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He’ll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call”

Whew! What a relief!

Welcome to This Good Day!

Is today a good day for you? It is for me. Oh, it’s not perfect. I would like it to be a little sunnier with no grey skies, maybe a touch warmer. What else—oh yeah, I wish I were a few pounds lighter. What happened to the scales this morning? They jumped up about three pounds! And two days ago I was praising myself for being down two. And then, after I was all showered and dressed, my literacy student called to say she couldn’t make it. Oh well, no problem, I just changed into my warm-ups and went for my 3-mile walk. And I had a great time talking with God.

It’s amazing how much can go on in your head while you’re walking that familiar route. First I talk to God, and then I try to be quiet and let Him talk to me (not easy), but oh, the amazing things he talks to me about. Today he was reminding me of the things he’s taught me over the years—usually the hard way, through pain and lots of it. But it’s amazing what I’ve learned—me, who thought I knew it all as a UCLA graduate. Oh boy, what a lot I had to learn.

One of the reasons for this blog is that all of us can learn from each other, and I hope to impart to whoever cares to listen, some of the things I’ve learned so that a) you won’t feel that you’re the dumbest person who ever lived and b) you’ll know that someone’s been through something before you, and that you WILL come out the other side.

Actually, this blog was my daughter, Jennifer’s idea (about a year ago—we haven’t exactly jumped into this), and we both said, we absolutely must have Tami do this with us. She’s my daughter-in-law and Jiffer’s sister-in-law, and we know she’s the best writer of the bunch. How do we know this? Well, she’s the only one of us who writes. She’s been sharing her personal missives with us and some other close friends for quite awhile now and she always brings me to tears.

So, here we are: Sharon, Jennifer, and Tami, ready to blog for whoever’s out there that might read and be lifted in some way.

But you’ve got to know up front, we three love the Lord, and will be mentioning Him from time to time. Because without Him our lives would just be worthless—honestly. I’ve got to say, the smartest thing I ever did was give Him control of my life. It’s nice to have someone more intelligent than you are in charge. Have you ever made a tree?? Well, I rest my case.
So, welcome to our blog, welcome to our lives. You will find us messy, stupid, happy, sad, frustrated and joyful. Welcome to the real world, cuz that’s where Jesus lives, right down here in the dirt with us.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
John 1:14

Because of this, we can say “this good day.”

Sharon

This Good Day

Sometimes it’s hard to say that. Some days are really hard. Some days you think you won’t make it through. How can we say “This good day” when there’s so much pain out there? When you know some mom is sitting in the hospital wondering if this will be the day her baby dies. When some wife is wondering if she’ll be able to endure her marriage one more day, or if this is the day she’ll run and never look back. Or a daughter who has lost her mom thinks if she lies in her bed to cry…she’ll never get up again. So much pain, so much bondage, so much brokenness.

Yet I know that this is a good day. How do I know that? Because I know that God is real and He is with me:

“Who is God except the Lord? Who but our God is a solid rock? God arms me with strength, and he makes my way perfect.” Psalm 18:31-32

This verse has proven true in my life more times than I can count. When I thought my parents divorce would shatter my life irreparably, God took care of it; When I thought after 4 years of infertility that I’d never be called, “Mommy”, God took care of it; In times of loss, anxiety, and confusion, He was with me. On days of gray and dreariness, He has always turned me to the sun. My God has always been with me and always taken care of it…ALWAYS.

So now I know, every day is a good day. I can look at the rain and the hardship, the sickness and the confusion, take some courage from my God and say: This good day.

Jennifer

The Mountain

I am afraid of just about everything. Some people say I am just a worrier, skittish even. But I am afraid and I like to blame it on my troubled childhood. The average day feels like a roller coaster to me…and I hate roller coasters. My stomach drops and I feel woozy and my brain rattles around from side to side. I really try to fight my fears, sometimes, actually often, I even yell at them out loud. But still, on any given day, I am very afraid and I worry. I worry about money and this ever-so-exhausting recession. I worry about my health and the health of the people I love. I worry that what I am doing isn’t enough and that I should be doing more or maybe something different. I worry about the state of the universe, the decline in America’s moral baseline, the desensitization TV and video games have brought us and the influx of the internet piping porn into our homes. I worry about crime and poverty, earthquakes and fires and floods, the general selfishness and evil of humanity and the imbalance of justice in the cosmos. And the most worrisome of all…I worry that my parenting will screw up my girls forever. Woe to the parent who doesn’t lay awake at night searching for the answers on how to raise today’s teenager with the daily, almost hourly… advances in technology. Oh, so sly is the devil these days seeping himself in through Facebook and the ever-present texting. It worries me, it all worries me.

It’s definitely gotten worse since I had my kids. When they were little, I was daily haunted by an image of them running in the street and getting hit by a car and I was completely terrified… maybe even just a wee bit paranoid… that they would be stolen. I used to say to them when we went to the park, “Now you watch out, Sweetie,” not for bullies or bumble bees, but…“because someone at this park may have come here today just to steal you!” Maybe that sounds crazy and okay, maybe it is crazy, but a mamas gotta do what a mamas gotta do and they’re still with me, so who’s to say?

But now that they are bigger, stronger and they know not to run into the street and are pretty much able to fight off any number of child abductors, I have a new fear. I am afraid that I will make them worriers. I am afraid that when they grow up they will get stuck in their fears and overwhelmed with their worry, that they won’t take chances, won’t try new things and that they will miss out on opportunities… and that they’ll miss out on a lot of fun…and then that they’ll have regrets…like I have.

So when the opportunity arose for me to take my two younger daughters skiing in the mountains just a short ways from our house, I signed us up. And for a month straight, I was woozy and my brain rattled from side to side even more than usual. What was I thinking? I wasn’t even so sure I could drive up the mountain, all those tight roads on the edge of a cliff, truckers speeding up behind me trying to run me and my children off the road. And what if the roads were icy? I’m not a very good driver in the best of circumstances, let alone winter conditions that I am not accustomed to. Even now my hands sweat just to think about it. And that doesn’t even include the actual skiing part. The last time I had gone skiing was over twenty years ago… I did love it though… the smooth ride on the glittering snow through the deep green, majestic pines, that sweet surrender to the speed carrying me down the mountain, the coolness of the air filling my chest… but my body is so much older now; I thought for sure I’d break something. And what about my girls, what if they broke something? Their arm… or goodness, what if they broke their neck? All my friends kept telling me how you have to wear helmets now, because of that actress that hit her head and died last year. This story was not helpful.

And I kept having nightmares about falling off the chairlift. Not surprising, but heights are one of my worst fears. I was also terrified we wouldn’t be warm enough. I’m a beach girl, what do I know about the snow? How could I keep my children from getting frost bite and possibly losing a finger or a toe?

But something inside me felt like I had to do it, that it was a matter of life and death and that if I didn’t try, that if I didn’t brave the mountain drive, if I didn’t risk the possible broken neck, the frostbite… that a part of me would surely die forever.

So in spite of it all, I gathered snow clothes and helpful hints from neighbors and friends. I studied the map and the road conditions and the weather forecast. I stocked the car with bottled water and non-perishable snacks, I asked people to pray for me and I took a little pill to help me sleep the night before.

I downloaded the soundtrack from Moulin Rouge to surprise Summer for our early morning drive. It’s mine and Summer’s favorite movie. It’s so fun that my girls and I share a love for cheesy musicals. And just as the sun was rising behind the mountain, we sang out, “We could be heroes, just for one day…” And we both swooned as Ewan McGregor professed his undying love to Nicole Kidman. In the backseat, Jazi rubbed sleep from her eyes and asked the timeless question, “Are we there yet?”

The roads were perfectly clear, although my sweaty hands still fiercely gripped the stirring wheel as we crawled our way up the mountain. I’m sure I used every turn-out to let the trailing cars pass, but there was simply no reason to rush me. Why does everyone have to be in such a hurry? Even if the people in those cars lived on that mountain and new those roads, it is still a dangerous drive and there is no reason not to take things just a little bit slower. I mean really.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the resort, I breathed a deep sigh. In the same moment that I reveled in my accomplishment, I worried about how I would make the drive back down.

The girls cheered, “Mama, look at all the snow! Can we get out, can we get out?” Other skiers peppered the parking lot applying sunscreen and sipping hot chocolate, with a casualness that made me think that this wasn’t their first time back on the mountain in twenty years. And so I began the cumbersome process of dressing my girls and myself for the cold day ahead. We had worn long sleeves and leggings on the drive up and brought several layers to add. We buttoned up baggy ski pants, slipped on sweaters, zipped up goose feather jackets, and using our teeth, wiggled our fingers into our gloves. As we waddled over to the ski rentals we giggled at the swishing made by our clothing as we moved. Summer said, “I feel like a big, fat snowman.”

After we were fitted for boots and skis, we headed towards the slopes. I had forgotten how awkward it is to walk in those heavy boots. Jazi kept dropping her skis and poles and I kept looking around for a man to help us carry everything. But all by ourselves, carrying all that gear and crunching through the snow, we made our way up to where the ski class was being held. The morning sun was warm on our backs, almost too warm. Lugging up the hill, I began to sweat under all those layers, which actually helped to alleviate some of my frostbite fears. Summer had rented a snowboard, which is all-the-rave with the youngsters nowadays. She spent a weekend last year on the slopes with the youth group, and with a joyful wave, she headed towards the chairlift. Jazi and I went towards a sign that read “Beginners”. A woman in a bright yellow jacket with “Ski Patrol” written on the back announced, “I am Stacy and I will be your instructor for today. The most important thing you need to know about skiing is to have fun.” She had kind eyes and spoke sweetly, like a kindergarten teacher. She tapped her forehead and went on to say, “Ninety-nine percent of skiing is in your head, now let’s put on some big smiles and get started.”

First she told us to take a deep breath and breathe in the mountain air. And when I did, my heart swelled and tears pooled in my eyes. I couldn’t believe I was there, on this snowy mountain top. Stacy then showed us how to put our skis on and how to pop them off when we fell. The warm sun had melted the top of the snow into a thin layer of ice and the skis were unstable and slippery. I felt like a newborn fawn testing out my legs for the first time. Next Stacy had us side step up a small hill. She told us to slide down a few feet and then point the tips of our skis together in the shape of a slice of pizza and come safely to a stop. It seemed simple enough. But the first man up stumbled and flailed his arms and the lady after that fell right on her butt. Jazi was up next and she looked back at me with worried eyes. I gave her a thumbs-up and said, “You got this Jaz, make a pizza and if you fall, what do you do, baby?”

“I get back up, Mama.” She said with a wide smile. Whether it was roller skates or a bicycle, I have always told my girls that when they fall, they need to get right back up. It’s a little mantra I have tried to instill in them, even though I am not so sure I have learned it yet myself.

But she didn’t fall, she glided freely a few feet, then pointed the tips of her skies in and came gently to a complete stop. “Wonderful, Jasmine!” Stacy said clapping her ski poles together. “You are a natural.” Jasmine’s sweet face beamed proudly.

“Now, you go Mama!” Okay, so I had psyched myself up for this, I was prepared. If, when…I fell, no matter how much pain I was in, I would smile…and I would get back up. I positioned myself at the top of the hill and bent my knees. Jazi grinned and gave me a thumbs-up. Pressing my poles snuggly into the snow, I wiggled a little and gave myself a hearty push and glided smoothly down the hill…and guess what…I didn’t fall either. I made myself a big slice of pizza with my skis and I too came gently to a complete stop. And again Stacy exclaimed, “Wonderful! You are a natural too, Tami!” And again she clapped her ski poles together, like a happy walrus. And inside my heart I felt warm and proud and triumphant.

Then she said, “Okay guys, I think we are ready for the chairlift!” Was she kidding? I really thought she was kidding… especially because the other two people in our class hadn’t really mastered the whole slice-of-pizza-stopping-part as well as Jazi and I had and I was pretty sure we could all use a little more practice. “Deep breath, class!” She said, “Let’s see those big smiles, now follow me…” And off she glided towards the lift.

The lift was rickety and daunting. Stacy skied smoothly up to a red line at the base of the lift and yelled back, “When the chair comes underneath you, just grab on and sit down…like this…” and with that the chair scooped her up and off she went, up…up…up and away, skis dangling in the open air beneath her.

Jazi looked up at me with very…very…big eyes.

Oh…goodness, I thought… I’m the Mama. I have to lead here, I have to be brave. What’s the worst that could happen? Well, we could die…or seriously break something…Panic quickly set in and the outside world went quiet; I could hear only two things…the squealing of the lift’s motor and my heart thumping against my chest.

“Okay Jaz, our turn…,”I managed to mumble, “let’s go, deep breath, honey…scoot forward, now watch the chair…grab on…now sit down…” And like a perfectly choreographed ballet, the seat rose gently underneath us as we sat and carried us swiftly into the air.

“Woohooo!” Jazi hollered as we began our ascent up the mountain.

“Hold on tight, Sweetie!” My neck stiffened and I clenched my teeth. I could feel sweat dripping inside my gloves as I gripped the edge of the chair. The fact that there are no seatbelts on those things is beyond baffling. I entertained the very real possibility of this whole thing ending rather badly and I prepared myself to jump if Jazi slipped. High up in the air we rose, through the tall pines, to a place that was quiet. The chair swayed gracefully in the cool morning breeze as skiers far below us swooshed through the snow.

“Oh, Mama, we’re getting pretty high now… I am kind of scared…” Jazi said with a growing tremble in her voice.

Yes, and you should be… I thought. It is really scary, one jolt forward and down we’d plunge, surely to our death…we should go back…we should get off this damn lift and stay on the ground where we belong! Had God intended us to fly, we would have wings to flap…but there are no wings here…no wings at all! What kind of mother thrusts her child steep into the air on the side of a mountain, with no safety belt, no safety measures of any kind and all for the sake of so-called…fun? Fun? This is not fun! Oh, I definitely felt my stomach drop, my head rattle and a wooziness like never before…

But the words I said were, “You’re alright Love, we’re safe and we’re almost there, just don’t look down, look up, look forward…look at the beautiful trees and the beautiful snow… the mountain that God has made! Isn’t it lovely?”

Jazi looked around for a few moments and then sighed and settled back into her seat, “Oh, yes…you’re right…it is beautiful, Mama.” Her face softened and she smiled up at me. We floated through the rest of our ride in silence, soaking in the magic of the mountain.

Stacy was waiting for us at the top of the lift. “Okay girls,” she said, “just stand up, glide over to me and make a slice of pizza and your skis will stop.”

“Oh, Mama, I don’t know if I can!” Jazi said, whimpering just a bit.

From where we sat, the exit looked really steep, somewhat treacherous even. There was a really good chance that she could slip and fall, just to be followed by me tumbling off behind her… the odds of that were pretty good. Stacy smiled over at us, our eyes met and she tapped her forehead. Ninety-nine percent of skiing is in your head…oh goodness…my fearful, worried little head…

I cleared my throat. “You got this Jaz,” I said firmly, “just remember, stand up slowly and make a big slice of pizza!” And with that, together we stood… and together we glided… and together we stopped, without even a slight stumble.

“Great job!” Stacy shouted. “Yes, you two are absolutely naturals!”

Jazi’s face burst with pride.

For a moment, I just stood there at the top of that run, breathing in…then breathing out… the crisp scent of pine filling my lungs. The snow glistened, like opalescent glitter, in the morning light. The sky was wide and open and beckoning me to be a part of this good day.

“I’m ready now, let’s go, Mama!” Jazi said and then she fearlessly headed down the mountain.

I followed close behind, and as I glided smoothly through the snow I shouted, “Wooooohooooo!” from deep down in my belly.

From above us on the lift, Summer hollered down, “Good job, Mama, good job Jaz!”

And again I cried out, “WooooHoooo… WoooHoooo!” I shook my poles high in the air, shaking my fist at fear and worry all at once. I could hardly contain myself, howling and crying out all the way down the mountainside… God’s mountainside…so full of beauty, so full of life, down I went, in complete surrender to that sweet speed beneath me. Snow sprayed high into the air as I stopped at the end of the run, where Jazi was waiting for me, her face all aglow.

“Did you see me Mama? I was going so fast and I didn’t even fall!”

“I did see you Jaz! You did great! Did you see me? I didn’t fall either!”

“I did see you, Mama and you did great too!”

I did great, and my daughters were watching. I took a chance and they saw me. The amount of pride I felt in that small moment is nearly indescribable. I’m sure from the outside, it didn’t look like much and maybe it is silly to think that such small steps are such a great victory, but for my little afraid spirit, my brain that rattles around and entertains all the potential dangers, and so often gets stuck in the “what ifs”…this was a truly important event and a great battle won. And I felt alive and awake and completely exhilarated.

On our next chairlift ride Jazi said, “Mama, remember before when we were so scared? But look at us now!” She leaned her head back on the seat and with a peaceful sigh said, “This is just such a blessing, Mama. This is even better than Disneyland.”

I am reminded of the quote about courage not being the absence of fear but rather the ability to see that something is bigger than fear and that the brave person is not one who does not feel afraid, but one who conquers that fear. I did that. I felt afraid, very afraid, of the drive, of the mountain, of the cold, of the chairlift, of possible broken bones and lost toes… but I also saw that there was something much bigger going on here, much bigger than just a simple day in the snow, something worth fighting for, fears that needed conquering… daughters that needed to see their Mama be adventurous and brave. It was a gift, an opportunity to live, an opportunity to live life to the fullest…to live the abundant life, the life Jesus talked about.

I didn’t fall even once that entire day and even though I know that not everyday will be that way, I’ll go back to that mountain. I’ll make the drive, I’ll brave the cold and the chairlift. And I’ll bring my girls and if they get scared, I’ll tell them that they are almost there…and to look up… and to look forward… to look at all the beautiful things God has made. And if, or I guess…when… I fall…I’ll get back up.

Tami