All posts by Jeff

Ahhhhh … it’s so good to be with you again!  Many of you probably didn’t even know I was gone, but Jeff and I just returned from a 3 day prayer retreat.  We’re now snuggled in over in Bend, visiting Jeff’s mom, and after a much-needed hot shower, a delicious dinner (Jeff’s mom is my favorite cook in the world), and a bit of a difficult time getting Dutch to sleep, I had this rush of anticipation as I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and sneaked away into our bedroom.  Finally–alone with … you!  Yes, it is true.  I love this blog that much.  And, I have learned in the last few days — that is wonderful!   John Piper’s son, who has a blog featuring only 22 words each day (some of you wish my blog were that brief!) boldly asserts that he blogs because he enjoys it, and we don’t take that pure sort of enjoyment seriously enough.  Well, that is true of me too.  I enjoy, deeply enjoy, writing and being with you.  And, as opened my laptop and scanned my emails, I found perhaps one of the most encouraging emails I have ever read … from you.  From you, a precious reader who I have never met, whose words have convinced me that sharing my thoughts and journey here, though ugly at times, is valuable.  Thank you for that letter.  You know who you are and you’ve blessed me profoundly.

So, we’re back!  Three days spent at a Christian Retreat Center with twenty other men and women from seminary who set aside this time to simply request, “Lord, teach us to pray.” 

I hesitate to even begin to try to express what God has done these past 3 days.  In some ways it feels too personal, like telling a stranger about making love with your spouse.  In some ways it feels too profound, too enormous to try to sum up in some neat little package to share.  But, perhaps some little nugget of it will be valuable.

First of all, God had me wrecked before I even went to the retreat, which proves that the key factor in transformation is not a retreat, it’s God. As I progressed through The Hawk and the Dove, I read a chapter with a story surrounding Holy Poverty, and what it truly meant for the Benedictine (I mispoke earlier, they are Benedictine monks) to practice the discipline of poverty, as a means of following Christ.  In the story, Abbot Peregrine (the main character) is having an ongoing conversation with a well-intentioned friend who is criticizing the Abbot’s insistence on such a brutally low standard of living for himself and his brothers.  The friend’s critique is that poverty simply means renouncing ownership, dressing in simplicity, and to say of nothing “this is mine.”  But, he insists, certain pleasures are simply the bounties of God’s immense kindliness, for there must be some pleasure in life!  The line that grabs me is this: 

—

His friend says, “Moderation! You ask too much! Your self-imposed penury is not holy poverty.  It is like the poverty of the world.  It is …” 

“Too must like the real thing, you mean?” Abbot Peregrine interjects wryly. 

—-

Too much like the real thing.  Too much like the real thing.  Am I bothered by believers who are too much like the real thing?  As I read the dialogue between these two men, I could identify with the friend much more than with the Abbot.  The Abbot was the real thing. Practiced the real thing.  Perhaps not all are called to poverty in following Christ.  But can we at least, if we are called to something, do it genuinely?  The friend’s plea was moderation!  Moderation.  Moderation.  While I believe all things in moderation is a great plan to follow in dietary habits, it is nowhere given as a prescribed manner of living for Christ.  In fact as I consider it, my stomach turns when I realize how much of my life is lived in the sickly bed of Christian moderation.  I want just enough of God, but not enough mean anything drastic for my life.

So this is the state of my heart before the retreat. I couldn’t sleep the night before.  All I wanted to do was repent of my sick state of selfish moderation. My heart that is honestly more concerned with having a nice house, enough money, people who admire and like me and think I’m godly but not too crazy, health insurance, and a successful comfortable life.  Even as I write those words it makes me feel sick in my stomach.  How on earth can I have those values, truly in my heart those values, and call myself a Christian–a follower of Christ.  How can I call myself a Christian if my life has no semblence whatsoever to His?  Please don’t get me wrong — this is not a sad depressing state to be in.  For the first time in a long time I felt alive.

So we arrived after a crazy day of attack.  The brakes went out on our car, Dutch got sick and was puking, and I almost got in a car wreck driving home from class.  But by 6pm Dutch was on the mend, we had new brakes in the car (and less money in the bank:-)), and we were driving to the retreat. 

The retreat itself was amazing.  I think I will save much of what happened to put upcoming posts.  But we opened with some prayer and worship, led out by whoever had a song on their heart.  Amazing Grace was sung by someone who’d been in a severe car accident that literally sliced off half of his body.  He now only has one arm and one leg, and is a walking (sort of walking) miracle.  After singing, we shared stories of amazing grace.  You know you think you know people, but you don’t.  For privacy I won’t share their stories, but Jeff and I sat back shaking our heads in amazement at God.  Amazing grace.

Thursday, we spent much time alone in prayer, then came together in the afternoon and watched Chris Tomlin’s How Great is our God tour video, featuring Louis Giglio speaking on the miracle of the universe and of human life.  Afterwards we all sang along with Chris Tomlin’s Amazing Grace (my chains are gone). 

My chains are gone, I’ve been set free.  My God, My Savior, has ransomed me.  And like a flood, His mercy reigns. Unending love, amazing grace.

Thursday night we had a communion table set up, and a “prayer chair” set up in front, open for anyone who wanted to come confess of sin or seek prayer from the group.  Within 5 seconds I was surprised to see Jeff, who’d been quiet and reserved for most of the retreat, get up and go sit in the chair.  He prayed and repented of being so anxious over our future, what we’re going to be doing, of buckling under the pressure of needing to be “successful”.  He poured out his heart expressing his desire to trust God and follow the path laid out for us, even without knowing what it is.  People began to surround Jeff, and I knelt down at his feet and could feel the tears flowing down my cheeks, the words of repentence feeling like they were being wrenched out of the very depths of my being.  I choked them out, “I repent here, with my husband, for my anxiety over the future, of being so scared and unsure.”  I shook as the tears poured down my cheeks.  Dozens of hands rested on our backs and shoulders as the group surrounded us.  In the next ten minutes of prayer, I think I have never felt so loved in all my life.  Every word, every prayer, was God’s loving and tender arms expressing his love, his approval, his pleasure in us.  One woman said, “God is so proud of you” over and over. That broke my heart, because I realized that I had felt for so long that somehow Jeff and I just didn’t quite measure up, compared to the success of others around us.  While others are off with directed, well-put-together lives, we were struggling to manage part-time jobs and seminary and parenthood, interning at a church where we don’t get paid.  That’s how it felt.  And all of a sudden I realized that this anxiety had me chained.  Chained by trying too hard. Chained by trying to be what I thought people wanted me to be or what I thought I should be. Chained by trying to make all the pieces fit into the life I somehow thought I was supposed to have.  I guess you could say God just turned my vision upside down. 

And I realized that at this retreat, I was free in a way that I’ve not been in along time.  I was my true, free, joyful self.  I was so free from self-consciousness there.  I played the djembe with my heart and soul, something I’ve neglected to do ever since leaving Corvallis.  I realized that I’ve neglected things, like playing the djembe, because I’m so afraid people will judge my motives or think that I’m just trying to get attention.  So instead of letting God use my passion for playing, I hide it away in fear.  As I contemplated this, I had let two encounters put that root in my heart.  Small things–but I had let the enemy use them to make me cower in fear. First, when I was pregnant, someone said to my mom, “You better tell Kari to beware because as soon as that baby’s born everything’s not going to be about her anymore.”  I know it was meant to be a joke, but it struck me as a slap in the face because all I could think was, “Do people really think that I want things to be all about me?”  Yuck.  Yes, as a human I am focused on myself, but as a pregnant mom the last thing in the entire world that I’m craving is for things to revolve around me. It made me sick, and the thought plagued me–do people see me as trying to get attention?  Then, last summer Jeff and I attended a certain church service where we love and know the pastor very well.  As he referred to something, he said, from the pulpit, “Jeff and Kari, it’s not all about you this time.”  I sat there in my seat stricken.  What?  Did he or people there think that we were somehow there for us?   We were attending to show support for our family.  Because I was already in a vulnerable place, the passing comment devestated me.  And I know these were such small little incidences, but the reason they’ve plagued me is that I DID used to be like that, and would continue to be like that but for the grace of God.  That’s why I absolutely cringe if someone jokes about how my friend Megan and I used to dance on tables at our high school dances.  It makes me want to run to my room and cry, because I WAS like that.  But I’m not anymore.  And I don’t take it lightly.  The idea of wanting to get glory and attention on myself literally makes my stomach turn, and so somehow, in the last year, because of this, I’ve let myself somehow believe that I shouldn’t do anything that would draw attention to myself or be “visible” in any way because people will think that I just want attention.  And oh how I’m so scared of being misunderstood!  I don’t want the glory, the attention. Yes, that is probably my sinful default mode, but I don’t live in that now.  I just want to be alive again.  When I think back to experiences with speaking, acting, playing the djembe, dancing.  I would no more do those things right now than fly, because somehow I’ve gotten in my mind that I’m just an “attention seeker.”  But this is a lie. Yes, of course I can fall prey to that sin, and it’s not an “all or nothing” type of thing, but just because something can make us vulnerable to sin doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it!  Pastors who preach the gospel are vulnerable, but they should preach! 

But at this retreat, something happened.  My chains were broken.  The first night, a student from Rwanda, pulled out a djembe and started playing.  Now our professor had told us that we should bring any instruments that we play so that we can use them for worship. So Jeff said, “make sure you take your djembe.” ANd what did I say?  Of course. “No, I don’t want to play.”  Of course I want to play!  Of course I want to play!  That was the stupidest lie of the century, but that is what I’d bought. So this student pulled out his drum the first night and I realized then what I’d been doing.  Chained up because of a fear that people would think I was seeking attention.  So afterwards, with sweaty palms and my heart racing, I casually started a conversation with him about how Africans and Brasilians play a different beat.  “You play?”  He asked.  “A little.” I said.  He broke into a huge grin–“You play next time!”  He insisted.  And I did. In fact I played the rest of the retreat. A little rusty, but I played with all my heart, I played with the passion that I had missed for so long. I could feel God’s Spirit resting on me.  I could sense Him letting me loose of the chains I’d had.  And as the retreat progressed I realized that Kari, the true Kari, the free and fun and true Kari was slowly coming alive again, slowly laying down chain link by chain link.  I realized that I am not an attention-seeker any more than someone who came out of a life of drugs is currently a drug addict.  Yes, I am suseptible to that the same way the past drug addict is.  Yes, they can fall into that sin, but that is not their current identity.  I love my Lord Jesus and want to be used in any way shape or form, whether that is in a spotlight, in the shadows, in the privacy of my home with my precious son, or in a public arena.  Either one, any way, and all of the above. I want whatever God has, without fearing what people think.

My chains are gone, I’ve been set free.  My God, My Savior, has ransomed me.  And like a flood, His mercy reigns. Unending love, amazing grace.

I’m free for what?  For a life of radical devotion to Christ.  Lord, change my dreams.  Pull me from the sickly bed of moderation.  Give me radical love, radical faith.  Help me to live here, in the trenches, away from mountaintop retreat experiences, with the same freedom that You gave me there.  Change us, God.  Help us to live as Christ-followers, freed from the chains that bind.  We love You, our precious Lord.  Thank You for Your amazing grace.

—

PS  I lay awake in bed last night thinking about this post, and realized, once again–that again the problem lies in pride. Humility, again, is the answer. A truly humble person would say, “Who cares of people think that I’m trying to get attention? My job is to please God alone and it’s not about me anyway.  My worth and identity is not based on what others think of me.”  But of course, I am not that truly humble person. I do still care what others think of me, far too much.  My plea is that God would let my heart be pure before Him and He’d give me the humility and grace to seek to please Him alone. Once again, the key is … humility. 

I don’t pray, “Lord, give me a home.” I pray, “Lord, be my home.” 

I’m sitting down here because it’s the only thing I know to do.  For the first time in … I can’t remember how long, I’m at home with myself.  I mean, my mom’s here, but she’s quiet as a mouse sitting downstairs engrossed in her Bible Study.  See, Dad had OSU basketball tickets for today and asked Jeff is he wanted to go along.  Of course he did, and Jeff thought it’d be a grand adventure to take Dutch too–for a man’s day out.  At first I dragged my heels. Did they know what they were getting themselves into?  Our son does not sleep in the car–ever–so in essence they were braving a 7-hour adventure with a napless fourteen month old little boy who never sits still.  But I could tell Jeff was excited about it–and of course it would be a memory for all time.  The day the boys all went to watch the Beavers, Dutch’s first OSU athletics experience.

So, after packing Dutch’s food, sippy cup, extra diaper and wipes, I gave him an early nap, then nursed him and put on his shoes and hat and jacket … he was ready to go. After clicking the straps on the car seat, I stood back and waved goodbye as they drove off. And now…what?  I walked back inside, not sure what to do next.  Lunch. We’ll that’s easy enough.  A roasted yam, a plate of roasted carrots, and a plate of potstickers and my tummy’s happy.  Then a big cup of tea with lemon.  But where should I snuggle up with my tea?  What should I do? 

I don’t remember the last time I had an afternoon alone at home.  Not since Dutch was born.  Even when he’s napping there’s still that sense that he is here, and I quickly do what I can before he wakes back up, staying quiet lest he hear me.  But today, he’s not here.  Back in my old home, I would have a dozen projects just waiting to be tackled … but here I don’t. I suppose I could clean my closet, but it’s not really that bad. I feel like I should do something really significant, I mean–7 hours all to myself!  I’m caught up on homework, the laundry is done, and the fridge is full of food.  The house is clean, I’ve already walked.  Wow.  In a way it’s a great feeling, but it’s kind of strange too. A part of me wants to go shopping, since it’s so rare that I can do that alone. But my practical side reminds me that we have no money and that I don’t need anything … so what’s the point?

So, I’ve narrowed it down to either reading a book, writing a book, or organizing every inch of our little upstairs abode.   I’ll probably do all three, knowing me.  Oh, and I’ve already decided that I’m having chocolate chip cookies for dinner.  If that sounds heavenly to you too, come on over. 🙂

Higher education is higher than ever … cost-wise that is.  Tonight Jeff and I received an email from Multnomah’s president that tuition rates will be raised 4% next year to $423 per credit hour.  That means that one semester of classes (16 credits) will be $6,768 or more than $13,500 for the year.  Jeff’s is a 3-year degree and mine is a 2-year degree. Yeah, do the math.  Seminary totals around $65,000 for the Patterson family and that’s before books and transportation and regular living expenses.  Ouch.  Now, obviously this is a choice, I’m not complaining here.  We consider ourselves incredibly privileged to even have the opportunity to set foot on Multnomah’s campus.  We love it there.  We wouldn’t trade it for anything. But it definitely has a cost. 

We have also been blessed by generous scholarships.  My dad asked me the other day what he thought I’d received in total academic scholarships through my undergraduate and graduate studies.  I’d guess it’s around $52,000 total.  Now THAT is something to be thankful for!!!  Thank you God for generous Foundations like the Ford Family.  Jeff has also received scholarship dollars.  We both graduated from OSU absolutely debt free.  Thank you, God!

So anyway, I bring all this up because rising tuition costs and the rising inability of students to obtain education loans is a hot topic right now. (Click here for an interesting article on this topic) Tonight the news ran stories of Ivy League schools offering free tuition to students holding 4.0gpas who come from families making 100K/year or less and free tuition AND free room and board to students with the same average from familys under 65K/year.  Wow!  Many state schools offer free tuition to students with certain academic standing within that state.  But more and more the cost of higher education is prohibitive for a larger number of students.  When my dad was in college, he worked part time and was able to pay for school with that income.  To do that today is impossible.  The cost of school continues to skyrocket while salaries stay the same. 

So, Jeff and I went ahead and took the plunge and took out school loans this past year to pay for seminary.  Before that, we had both worked full time and paid as we went, with the help of scholarships.  But adding a son to the mix, as well as the desire to finish seminary before we retire (!), means finding other means.  But now, as we listen to the news, consider the catastrophic housing market (the money we plan to pay for school with is invested in houses), we’re considering that perhaps school debt is not the wisest decision … especially for a degree that will place us in a lower paying vocation than we’ve ever had before!  (When Jeff left his engineering job to go to seminary the guys asked him, “Wait, you’re paying how much money to go to school so that you can get a career where you make less money than you do now?!”  I don’t blame them; it doesn’t make much sense.)  But I will say this, even if we decide that we have to go back to the slow route–and Jeff has to plod through seminary at a snail’s pace in order to pay the bills, it is still the most lifechanging experience we have ever had.  School is not the same as experience, and I know that much of ministry is learned through the hard knocks of rubbing shoulders with the dirty greasy realities of life, but the practical, wise, humble, biblical instruction and mentoring that we’re receiving is invaluable–no dollar sign could ever describe its worth.  

So, while I am sad about the rising cost of seminary, and sad to know that it may mean that we can’t continue on for as long as our heart desires (I would LOVE to go back and get an Mdiv which would mean that perhaps someday I could teach at such an institution and Jeff would LOVE to go back someday and get a DMin which would do the same), I am thankful for every ounce of wisdom, every prayer at the beginning of every class, every class discussion, every conversation with professors and students, and every moment I’ve walked hand in hand with my husband across campus.  I’m thankful for the godly, humble men and women who have gotten their hands dirty and waded into life’s messes with us.  I guess what I’m really grateful for is God.  Thank you God, for my college and seminary experience.  It’s been anything but merely cerebral … it’s been devotional and formational.  Thank you God for it. Wherever you take us and whatever you have for us, I’m thankful.  Help Jeff and me and our fellow students take what You’ve given us and distribute it to a lost world with loving and healing hands.  Thanks, God.  Amen.

…Dutch that is.  My life is complete. My son now gives kisses.  Real kisses.

 So today I just had to marvel to myself about how blessed I am.  Each morning, at 8:00am on the dot (I know, I’m spoiled, my son sleeps 12-13 hours at night!), I pause outside Dutch’s door and listen.  From within I can hear his little voice, singing songs to himself or talking, “Dah Dah Dah Dah, Dis, Dat, Dah Dis.”  When I crack open the door and peak inside I can usually find him on his back, with his feet propped up against the side of the crib.  I creep over to the crib, and surprisingly he doesn’t jump up right away. He sees me walk in, and then starts to point to things and talk–telling me about all the adventures he’s had in the night and the stories he’s dreamed up and the marvelous discoveries he’s made.  He always points to the window, where the air vent makes the curtains flutter, and waves his hand back and forth while making a blowing sound.  Then he points at the smoke detector, “Dis!” he shouts at the little green light.  Then he sees the opened door and the glory of the hallway, signalling to this little brave adventurer that the day has begun.  “Dat!”  After he’s filled me in on the morning’s news, I hold out my arms and get the highlight of my day, a great big grin that scrunches up his face and makes his eyes twinkle, accompanied by outstretched arms up to me.  I pick him up and burrow my face into his neck, then kiss his face all over, inhaling his amazingly precious sweet morning breath and the smell of his skin and hair.  He tries to wiggle away from my onslaught of kisses and continues pointing out all the wondrous things he’s discovered in his room during the night. 

But this morning — oh this glorious morning — I said, “Give Mama a kiss?”  He was too busy pointing things out at the moment, so I turned to the door, but then he surprised me and leaned up, firmly planting a perfect, direct, wet kiss on my cheek.  “Dutch! You gave Mama a kiss!” I exclaimed!  I leaned down toward his face, and he gave me another kiss, planted right on my lips.  I squealed in delight and he broke into a proud grin–he knew he’d made Mama’s day.

Today we played on he slide (Click here for pics), and read books, walked around the lawn and played with baby Brendan and Janae.  Dutch mopped the garage (he thought the concrete was dirty), vacuumed the floor (really, not just pretending), and rolled a croquet ball around the driveway.  It was a full day. 

So today I just had to marvel at how blessed I am.  I live in a beautiful home where I pay neither taxes nor electricity, and the diaper pail  is always miraculously emptied every week.  Every morning I get to walk under the canopy of the beautiful trees and show my son the icy white water of the river.  My supply of Go Lean and green tea never runs dry, thanks to Winco, and during naptimes I curl up in my “office”, otherwise known as my bed, and do seminary homework which I genuinely love.  My husband lies beside me right now, reading his Bible, the man who daily exemplifies selflessness and genuine Christlike love.  And to top it all off, my son gives me kisses.

The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places . . . Psalm 16:6

Today.  So much, today.  Today we celebrate my mom’s birthday.  Read “Dear Mom” to learn more about how amazing my mom is.  She is truly remarkable and today I celebrate her life.

This afternoon, we drove down to Corvallis.  Our dear friends, Aaron and Candi, the main characters from The Road to Santa Clara (right under Featured), have moved back to Oregon!  Jeff and I couldn’t be happier to have them home!  As an adventurous business venture, they have bought Big Town Hero in Corvallis, a sandwich shop in a prime location right off the OSU Campus on Monroe.  A major univerisity hotspot that’s gone to pot because of some absent-owners.  But now, under the stellar management of Aaron and Candi Seifer, this sandwich shop will be the best!  If you live in Corvallis (or even if you don’t!), stop by the store and have a sandwich on their fresh-baked-homemade-from-scratch-every-morning bread.  We devoured the first batch he made!  So, since the store has been somewhat abandoned, there was some major cleaning to be done.  As you may recall, Aaron and Candi are the faithful ones who scrubbed the absolutely nasty kitchen and entire apartment of the ghetto window-less cave we moved into in San Jose.  Ever since that day almost 3 1/2 years ago, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to get my hands on something dirty to help them clean–not for paybacks, but just to show them a tiny bit of how much it meant to me how they served us. So today, Aaron, Candi, Candi’s parents, Candi’s sister and we donned our grubby clothes, pulled on the gloves and got dirty–literally.  We scrubbed floors, walls, nasty bread pans.  They shampooed carpets, scoured bathrooms, and scraped the cooked on goop on the oven.  We made the new storesigns with the new hours and I even got to put the napkins and sandwich tissue paper in the bottom of the newly washed sandwich baskets.  We all devoured Candi’s homemade chile for lunch then attacked the fresh baked bread with our hands like hungry bears.  It was a sweet time with our friends.

Then, as we drive home, we receive word about Ron.  Ron, son, husband, father, and grandfather.  Ron who came to know Jesus just in the last year, who now loves Jesus with all his heart.  Ron and Holly who come to the Foundations Bible Study class that Jeff teaches. Ron who has had multiple heart surgeries and suffered terribly from a serious heart condition.  Ron who came down with the flu this weekend … Ron who is now home with Jesus.  For about three hours now, he’s been home with Jesus.  Of course my first thoughts and prayers are for Holly, his precious darling bubbly wife, who must be absolutely stricken.  With his kids, with his little toddler grandbabies. 

Just this past Tuesday, in our Bible study, Jeff taught on Heaven.  The timing of it all is just so miraculous to me.  Ron sat there, absolutely engrossed in the study, nodding as he understood and swallowed and digested what Jeff was teaching.  Though I tried not to, I couldn’t help but look at him, watch him, during the study.  Something in me realized that he would be there sooner than the rest of us.  Something told me he was ready. 

One of my thoughts this evening is, I wonder if Ron is thinking, “Wow–Jeff was really wrong about this heaven thing–it’s way better than he even described!”  I have no idea.  But I know he’s there.  I love Ron loved Jesus, and I know he’s with Jesus. 

So much today.  Today.  My mom’s life continues.  Aaron and Candi birth a new beginning in their life — a new baby girl in their arms and new sandwich shop–a crazy adventure for the two of them to embark upon together.  And an end, an end to life here on earth for Ron Hordichok–a dear father, husband, friend.  ANd in that end, a new beginning too–a new life for him with Jesus.

In all this, God is good.  It’s strange how things so good and perfect and so devestating and tragic can be taking place at exactly the same time.  In it all, God is good. 

Father, please surround this hurting family with Your grace and love that works in miraculous ways.  I cannot even begin to fathom the pain.  The shock and sorrow and confusion and pain and even anger.  Please make it ok for them to feel those things. Please be near to them, God.  Somehow, in Your power, please comfort them.  Thank You that Ron is with you.  Thank you, God. Amen.

Dear Mom, (of course others may read this and celebrate her with me!)

 Happy Birthday!  Today, even though we will spend most of the day apart (because you so generously gave up your birthday plans so that we can help our friends clean their new business!), I will be celebrating you.  What can I say to the woman who has devoted her entire life to my good?  How on earth can “thank you” even begin to scratch the surface of the enormity of how you have loved me, trained me, forgiven me, cherished and nurtured me?  I’m only finally beginning to understand your love for me now that I have a little one, toddling around and capturing my heart all over again every second.  Well, I cannot begin to cover all that I want to thank you for, but let me start …

Thank you for loving Christ.  I remember always having worship songs on when we were little and me dancing around to the music while you watched from the kitchen.  I remember dad listened to Elvis and I used to cry because somehow I thought he would go to hell because he listened to Elvis (where do kids get these ideas?!).  But you always reassured me that it was ok for him to listen to Elvis and that he wouldn’t go to hell.  Thank you for doing all your Bible studies and letting me witness you reading your BIble and praying and gathering with other women to do the same. 

Thank you for loving Dad.  Your witness as a wife is perhaps the most amazing way you have impacted my life.  I cannot name a better wife.  You are the epitome of selfless love.  I love how you love Dad.  I love watching you two, after 37 years, still loving each other and better friends now that ever.  Thank you for demonstrating, silently and faithfully, what it means to love and respect and serve your husband.  You have never criticized Dad to me. That is astounding.  What a witness.  And in return he has been such a loving faithful husband to you as well.  You two make marriage look like what it’s supposed to be!

Thank you for loving us.  Kris and me.  Thank you. You sacrificed your career to stay at home and be with us, even to homeschool us when most moms couldn’t wait for their kids to get school-aged so they could get out of the house.  Thank you for field trips in the woods behind our house, collecting leaves and bugs and flowers for our plant books.  Thank you for the preschool you taught, where we got to play with other kids.  Thank you for letting us experiment with what we loved.  Piano, soccer, basketball, ballet, tap, tumbling, t-ball, football–goodness!  We did it all.  Thank you for your faithfulness to give up your car-vanity and drive a mini-van (you’re worlds ahead of me in that department!) to tote us and all our stuff around.  THank you for taking us in when Daddy was work and letting us go in his office and visit.

Thank you for becoming a friend.  I’ve read that you can’t be your child’s friend until you first become their parent.  You definitely did it the right way. You were my parent, training and nurturing and disciplining me while I was young, so that now you can be my friend.  And that you truly are. You’re my best friend (other than that guy I married! :-)).  I’d rather sit and talk to you than anyone else.  You are the most amazing listener, totally compassionate, loving, sympathetic and wise. I value what you say.  I value your insights, thoughts, perceptions.  You are truly wise.  I pray someday I can be half the woman that you are.

So today I just wanted to say that Mom, I’m proud of you.  I’m proud of how you’re handling the difficult things in your life. I’m proud of your courage, your joy, your perspective on life. I’m proud to be called your daughter. Yesterday, someone at the retreat suddenly made a connection and said, “Oh! You’re a Zyp!” ANd I had to smile and proudly say, “Yes I am.”  ANd I am proud, Mom.  Proud to be your daughter.  I love you so much.  Thank you for being my Momma.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

me

The Shack. Have you read it? It’s all the rage up here in the Northwest. I actually attended a book review with the author, William P. Young, a few months ago (before I’d even read the book!) because Jeff was invited to intend, so I joined him. In the process I got a free signed copy. I was definitely drawn to the author, who spoke humbly and authentically about how God had led the writing of the book (as a gift to his children with no intent of publishing it!). As a full-time seminary student, I’d convinced myself that I should only read my seminary books right now … but I finally decided that was silly and tore through a fabulous novel called Love Walked In by Marisa de los Santos. For me, reading a good book is like eating a doughy chocolate chip cookie–it’s delicious and makes you want more! So, with my reading-appetite as voracious as ever, I decided on Sunday that I was taking a Sabbath and instead of working on homework, I’d settle down with The Shack and see what all the commotion was about. Well, I read the whole thing that day. Yeah, that’s how I am–it’s a sickness. I couldn’t stop.

So, all that to say–have you read it? I’d love to hear your thoughts. I would say that it’s certainly not gospel-truth … and it’s not meant to be. It’s an interesting Theodicy and a creative method of understanding the Father Son and Holy Spirit in a startling and paradigm-shifting manner. The book made me uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to sleep last night, mostly because of its bold ability to stare evil, pain, and death in the face. It surfaces your greatest fears and lets them hang out like raw, bleeding wounds.

As far as its ability to stand as a Theodicy, or a way of justifying God in the presence of evil, it seems that (and I’m using my husband’s words here) there are three legs to the stool–God’s omnipotence, His omniscience, and His Goodness (or Love). A solid theodicy must uphold all three. The book majors on the Goodness or Love of God, but doesn’t address much about his omniscience or omnipotence, which could make it fall prey to Open Theism. But, the book accomplishes what it’s meant to–demonstrating the love of God, the incredible mystery of the trinity, and the absurdity of our demanding our rights and judging others and ultimately God.

With all that said, I do have some reservations about the underlying themes in the book. I would encourage you to read the reviews (click on The Shack above). Not all of what The Shack teaches lines up with orthodox Christianity, and with Scripture, but that can be argued. But I think what saddens me the most is this–the Shack represents an entire movement that seems to greatly degrade and discount the value of the local church and of seminary training. Now, please hear me: I think the book is phenomenal. I was moved. Deeply moved. I find myself already praying to my Father in a different and more intimate manner than before. I am not judging the book, but seeking to discern truth. I think Mr. Young is a sincere, incredibibly gifted man of God who genuinely wants to see people love God like never before. And I know that the local Church, as we know her, is pretty messed up. And I know that seminary education, as many know it, can be so cerebral and void of intimacy with the Father. But let’s not give up on them! I for one have had a life-changing seminary experience. Just because I’m learning theology doesn’t mean I’m drifting from my Savior! The opposite! THe more I learn of Him the more I love Him! And His Church, His bride, yes our attempts at organizing local congregations to be His hands and feet is greatly lacking, but let us continue to try! Let us continue to gather together and reach the nations and our neighbors with His love.

All in all–it’s worth a read. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it to a young believer, or one who is trying to newly construct a theology about God (although, aren’t we all?). But it’s a fabulous book for addressing evil and for enabling us to take an honest look at how we view God. And William P. Young is a genius, even though he swears he’s not.

So, let me know what you thought of the book–I’d love to hear from you who have read it. And you who haven’t: Read it, and let me know.