All posts by Jeff

Who here has seen the movie Amazing Grace?  Why didn’t anyone tell me to get out there and rent it immediately?!  Wow.  All I can say it Wow. 

Today was a great day because I learned a life lesson—throw efficiency to the wind.  Today Jeff had the privilege of once again teaching Theology in place of Dr. Lockwood.  I was marveling today, realizing what an amazing honor this is.  I had kind of gotten used to the idea because he’s done it quite a few times, so when Jeff left at 6:45 this morning I said I’d pray for him and see him at home later.  But wow, when I really thought about it—what an honor: A student getting to teach a 3-4 hour block of theology at a seminary.  I realized just how blessed I am that I have such a husband, that he is entrusted with that kind of responsibility.  Ok, I’m bragging—I’m just proud of my Jeffrey!

So, this morning as I was out walking with Dutch, it was a beautiful day already, the sun was out, and I was thanking God for the change He’s working in my heart—making me content.  It is truly remarkable – I’ve had more joy in the last two days than in the last two months combined … and that is the grace of God.  So in this Class of Contentment I’ve been asking God to show me ways to rejoice in Him, embrace life, and live in the moment.  As we were walking this morning, I had the wild hair idea of going into Portland and surprising Jeff by showing up at the end of his class and taking him out to lunch.  First major obstacle—we only have one car and Jeff had it.  But my parents were going into town so I thought perhaps they could take me.  Second obstacle—they weren’t going until later in the day.  Well, I thought, I could take the old Jeep Wrangler, even though it’s bouncy and squirly and the soft top makes it so loud to drive.  Fourth obstacle—I didn’t think Dutch’s carseat was here.  But then I discovered that the carseat was here, so while on my last lap on our walk, I battled the Kari that always seems to win out—the efficient Kari.  Efficient Kari was the Fifth and final obstacle.   Efficient Kari always says, “That’s a waste of time and a waste of money.  Stick to efficiency and routine.”  Efficient Kari thought, “We can’t afford to go out to lunch, and we can’t afford to put gas in the Jeep to take it out.”  But all of a sudden a new voice peeped up—the voice of embracing life and living in the moment.  This voice said, “Blessing your husband and making a memory of this glorious day is worth infinitely more than the measly few dollars it costs … pack a picnic lunch, and go for it!”  And, surprising myself, I turned the stroller around, broke into a run (I didn’t have much time) and went back to the house, leaving Dutch with Papa to play in the shop, then took the stairs two at a time and squeezed a shower, quick make-up job, and a picnic lunch packing into 20 minutes.  Thirty minutes later Dutch and I were bouncing along Dickey Prairie Rd. headed for Portland. 

Jeff’s was more than overjoyed—astonished, that I would take my day and drive that crazy Jeep and bring him a picnic lunch.  We walked around campus, enjoyed the sun, and sat in the courtyard and ate hastily made egg salad sandwiches on leftover dinner rolls.  We laughed, took pictures of Dutch, and showed him off to our professors and fellow students.  Jeff probably said at least a dozen times today, “Thank you so much for surprising me today, Sauce.”  I know this is a small thing, but it represents so much more.  In my striving for efficiency, practicality, and stewardship, I’ve perhaps attained a sterile soul.  How I need a little romance!  And that is linked to this quest for contentment (which I’ve already found, amazingly enough, but I want to go deeper!).  What does it mean to embrace the moment?  What does it mean to place people and memories above time-management and money?  Obviously this is a balance; I’m certainly not advocating willy-nilly living (anyone who knows me knows that is not a danger).  But I learned today that being just a little bit crazy, for my husband, for God, for the people I love … and for myself, will enrich life more than a million things crossed off my to-do list.  I enjoyed today. This is my lesson for today.

And, had I not made the trip into Portland to see Jeff, we would not have taken a stroll along campus (“wasting” time!), and we’d not gone into the library, and we’d not have looked through the movies there as Jeff suggested (And I fell back on my old ways saying we didn’t have time to watch movies).  But he won out, and we discovered Amazing Grace, and tonight we watched. 

Wow.  All I could do was watch this movie, engrossed in William Wilberforce’s passionate mission, and wonder, “What am I doing with my life?”  Yes, I know I’m called to serve the Lord and draw others to Him. But how am I doing that?  AM I doing that?  And specifically, how am I, like Wilberforce using the specific talents, privileges, resources, gifts, and influence for this end.  Not everyone is a William Wilberforce, but he was.  Not everyone is Karina Patterson, but I am.  What am I willing to lose my health, sleep, and life over?  How absolutely teeny, tiny, insignificant is my “sacrifice” for the sake of Christ!  But rather than feel bad about that, I can just simply rejoice in my circumstances, evaluate my attitude, serve my family, and seek God with all my heart for His glorious plan for my life.

And, to convince you that this is all related, this even pertains to my introduction—Jeff teaching at Multnomah.  What an honor.  God has given Jeff a mind and a heart and an ability to teach God’s Word.  He’s given me gifts and passions.  God has been so incredibly gracious to give us both the opportunities that He has.  How will I use them?  Not for me.  It’s not about me.  And, above all of this, God is far more interested in what I become than in what I do (Jeff read that out loud to me, sitting here in bed, at the precise moment I was pausing to write the next sentence).  What do You have for me, O God?  And how can I today embrace the life You’ve given me, live in the moment You’ve provided, and follow the path set before me.  These are my thoughts for today. 

So today as I was talking with a wise woman of God, she basically said … “Soo…what you really need is to learn to be content, right?”  Darn. I hate it when they say that.  I hate it when they’re right.  I’d rather just insist that my circumstances change.  I’d rather just pray that God will go –poof!- and hand me the life of my dreams.  So, in my mind I say to God, “But God, you can’t really expect me to be content right now right?  I mean, I’m almost 28 years old and I’m back living with my parents and I don’t have a car and so I’m trapped out in the boonies and we don’t have an income and it rains all the time so we can’t go outside and I’ve got mommyhood and wifehood and school and being a daughter and I don’t have any friends around here and it’s all just so messed up … I can’t be content now right?”  And of course … I look to God’s word and who do I have to compare myself to?  Yup. Paul (Phil. 4).  Of all guys, Paul.  Shipwrecked, stoned, beaten, put in jail, slandered, hungry, cold, tired.  Yeah—ok my little garden variety hardships would definitely fall somewhere in the Not-Very-Difficult column. 

So, I take her advice and my heart says, “Ok God.  Paul said we can learn to be content.  I’m all about learning, right? I mean, I’m in seminary.  I love to learn.  So, will you help me?”  So that’s what I prayed today, because I know I can’t be content without God’s help, although strangely enough even as I’m writing this somehow I’m finding myself more and more contented and my heart feels lighter already … is it supposed to begin working that fast? 

Well I know it’s no magic formula, but this is my first thought on contentment:  The key to contentment is … you guessed it, humility.  (Humility is the key to everything by the way – I’ve already learned that if the answer’s not “Jesus!” it’s “Humility!”)
But truly, Pride says, “I deserve better than this!”  Humility says, “Thank you God that I am even alive.”  Pride grabs.  Humility takes notice of every tiny blessing and offers prayers of gratitude to the Giver of Life.  Humility breeds thankfulness and thankfulness breeds contentment.  So my goal, at least until I can get a better handle on this stuff, is to focus on thankfulness and contentment for a while on this here blog.  I’m not trying to be any less “real” than before, I’m just trying to train my heart to see with eyes of love.

Tonight I’m truly, genuinely grateful for a delicious dinner that my mom made—the beef stroganoff was incredible, and I’m thankful for the four chocolate cookies that I sneaked from my dad’s snack cupboard (he sneaks my treats too so it’s fair!).  Neither the dinner nor the cookies would have been available to me unless we lived here!   I’m thankful for the rainless day that enabled me to take Dutch for a walk; we were able to see the river, a new little pony at the neighbor’s house, and a dead mouse on the road that provided fascination for Dutch.  I’m thankful for a great talk Jeff and I had tonight, where we were really able to connect and be in agreement on where God has us and determine together to rejoice and praise God for where he has us.  I’m so thankful for Foothills, a truly God-centered, God-loving church with leaders and staff who love us and welcome us accept us just as we are.  I’m thankful for Lorrie, who has met with me and counseled me and loved me and listened to me so much.  I’m thankful for her wisdom and insight, her truth and love and support.  I’m thankful for a week off school next week!  And I’m thankful that in one month SPRING will be here!  Ok, off for now … I’d love to hear from you if you have any insights or wisdom or advice on contentment.  Or if you’ve arrived and are the authority on the subject, let me know. 😉

I love my mom.  Today as I came home from class, I was (surprise!) discouraged beyond description.  Again.  Why is this?  Why can I not seem to shake this discouragement, this despondency?  I was told the secret today: contentment.  I know it is true.  But that is another topic and one I’m not brave enough to face yet.  For right now, let me tell you about my mom.

It occurred to me today, as I came in from class and found her sitting at the computer, working on something or other.  She had spent the morning at open prayer, a prayer time at our church where people are free to meet and pray for the needs of the body and city.  Then she ran errands, got groceries, and now was thawing meat for dinner (beef stroganoff which is what I overheard my dad requesting this morning).  She didn’t hear me come in, so it wasn’t until I had mixed up my hot chocolate, thrown a yam in the oven to bake, and sat down by the fire behind her that she turned and greeted me, as she always does, with a smile.  She could read my face immediately that I was discouraged and her face turned downward with mine.  “I’m ok,” I assured her and gave her a “thanks” smile, then sipped my hot drink.  “How was your morning?” I asked.  She said what she’d done.  “Who was at prayer?”  I asked, even though I didn’t have to because I already knew.   It was she, Muriel, and Dave.  The famous three, I call them.  Because, you see, they are always the ones at prayer.  Always.  And even though no one knows they pray, and even though hardly ever does anyone else join them, they always pray. 

The reason all this stands out today is that my mom would never write a blog about how she feels swallowed up.  Why?  She’s already been swallowed up.  My mom has been swallowed up in Christ.  Her life is hidden with Christ in God.  She’s not searching for herself because she’s already been found – once and for all. 

This plays out in very tangible ways.  My mom is the best listener I have ever met.  I have never heard her interrupt anyone—ever—in my entire life.  I have never heard her demand her rights, never heard her complain about her lot in life.  Not that she has no feelings or desires, that’s not it.  But she’s been swallowed up—my mom’s life is hidden with Christ in God. 

This amazing character trait of hers used to bother me. In high school I thought she was weak.  I thought a real woman would assert herself, stick up for herself, demand her rights, right?  I real woman would say, “Get your own darn sandwich!”  But no, she looks those real women in the eye and says, there’s a better way. 

This doesn’t mean she doesn’t get sad.  My mom is currently facing profound sorrow and grief.  She’s battling a debilitating disease (bravely I might add!).  She’s coping with the proximal “loss” of her son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter, which is magnified because of the physical limitations she’s facing.  And, on top of all that, she has to deal with her opinionated and profoundly emotional daughter living in her house, cluttering her countertops and criticizing her organizational skills.  (I know, the third trumps them all, huh?!)  But she has taken all three of these things in admirable stride.  She’s grieving, she’s weakened, she’s affected, but she is not shaken.  This is because she has been crucified with Christ, and the life she now lives in the body she lives by faith in the Son of God who loved her and gave Himself for her.  And she really does this, she doesn’t just spout off a verse about it.

So, all this to say that I am touched and humbled and blessed by my mom.  The focus has been on me and poor me and oh how hard this season has been for me.   But the truth is that my mom is battling things far more difficult than I ever have, and she calmly, contently, and serenely goes about her day, grocery shopping for beef stroganoff and meeting with her faithful three prayer warriors, serving behind the scenes for the sake of others.  Thanks, Mom, for the way that you teach me so profoundly.  Thanks, Mom, for putting up with me.  You’re an inspiration.  Why can’t I be more like you?! J

Disclaimer:  I love my parents!  It is not THEM that is what is hard for me. I adore them.  Hopefully this conveys it is my own’s heart’s struggle with who I am.  They have been nothing but wonderful through the process.

——- 

I’ve been swallowed up.  This must be what it’s like to be my Grandma, or any really really old person who has to leave their home and take a puny boxful of their life’s belongings to a retirement home, where they are taken care of and treated like an child, patted on the head and told to do crossword puzzles or knit washcloths no one will use.  They must wonder what to do.  No wonder they watch TV all the time.  They must cry a lot and think about the years when they were young, valued, busy.  When they had the freedom to drive, to go out with friends, to clean their own homes or plant a garden.  It must feel frustrating to have nothing but a potted plant to water or at best a tomato plant on their allotted 2-foot square plot of garden in the retirement home courtyard.  No wonder they’re grumpy all the time.  Although the advantage they have is that at least maybe they’re so tired by that point in their life that they don’t care as much.  Their bones ache so much perhaps they’re happy, sometimes at least, to have their life taken care of for them.  It must still be hard.  So hard.

That’s how I feel right now.  I’ve been swallowed up.  Somewhere in the last year Kari was swallowed up and now she sits inside someone else’s life.  I still get glimpses of what it’s like to be me.  On Friday when we hung out with Aaron and Candi in Corvallis and I saw my friend Grace—I got to be me.  On Saturday when we went to McMinnville and saw precious friends and laughed and drove and played with Dutch—I got to be me.  Last week when I drove up to my friend Melissa’s and went for a hike around the lake by her house—I got to be me. 

But last July I drove away from me—at least that’s how it felt.  I really just drove away from our home, but we entered a new life.  We now live with my parents.  We eat off my parents’ plates.  We eat food from their refrigerator. We park in their garage.  We sit on their couch.  We also live in a new town.  It is their town.  The town is full of their friends.  We also attend a new church.  It is their church.  The church is full of their friends.  Jeff teaches a class on Tuesday nights.  The class is largely a group of my parents and their friends.  In July I went from being Kari Patterson, to being Bill & Karen’s daughter.  I went from being wife and mother to daughter … again.  Not that I have ever quit being a daughter, but I have, until this point, been a grown daughter.  Now I am not quite grown anymore. I am living with my parents again, surrounded by photos of my childhood, feeling as if I’m awkwardly suspended between two lives—one where I am wife and mom, one where I am still a child.  Dangling—that’s how I feel—dangling, never quite sure how to act and how to be because I am no longer me.  I’ve been swallowed up. 

And in this new church I have no fit.  There appears to be no Kari-shaped hole that I can discern.  There is a huge Jeff-shaped hole, which has been filled, and Bill and Karen shaped holes that have already been filled, and I am standing outside the front door, watching, pretending to be busy … but I’m really just watching and wondering where I went. 

Dutch provides great joy—but really my role of irreplaceable mommy isn’t that big anymore.  Oma and Papa provide a lot more fun, and since I leave him with them one day a week, somehow it feels that lifetimes go by while I’m away and I’ve missed a significant chunk.  “He’s dong such-and-such now,” they say.  “Oh, I see,” I reply, “I see I must have missed it.”  But this time, this one day away, is the one golden, glorious, beautifully crafted portion of my life where I get to be me—school!  At school I am wholly and completely Kari Patterson.  I have value, purpose, vision.  I have meaningful work to accomplish, goals to achieve, deadlines to meet.  At school I am not swallowed up! 

So if only, I tell myself, if only we could move out.  Somehow I could create a haven, a home for our family where we could be a family again. Somehow I could be me!  Somehow I could be all grown up again. I could cook meals for my family and we could eat off our own dishes!  I could decorate and clean and beautify our home, or I could make a mess and not clean it up for three days—because it’s home!  Home home home!  We could come home!  I could be ok not having a place to serve at church just yet, if only I had a place to rest my head where I could somehow just be myself.  It’s as if I’ve spent ten years developing into a woman and then all of a sudden I’ve been told that those ten years didn’t happen, and I need to forget everything that’s taken place during that time. 

But we can’t move out until we know if Jeff will have a job at the church.  We have no income; we can’t move out until we know if we will have an income.  So we wait.  “Soon,” they say.  “Soon.”  So every stupid Tuesday, as Jeff goes into the church office for his meetings, every stupid Tuesday, I tell myself to not get my hopes up. Every stupid Tuesday I wait for him to call—at 2:45—and tell me how his meetings went.  Every stupid Tuesday I hope they will give him an answer—that they will give him an answer that will give me my life back.  And I convince myself—every stupid Tuesday—that it doesn’t matter and that I’ll be ok no matter what.  And every stupid Tuesday he calls and I listen as he says, “Yeah, my meetings went great …” and he begins telling me the details of the staff meeting and then my stomach does that thing—that thing where I feel sick and where that stupid lump comes up in my throat and I realize I’ve done it again: I’ve gotten my hopes up.  And then I do what I know I will do. I ask, “Did he say anything about …?”  and Jeff knows what I mean and he gets quiet then says, “No, Sauce, no. I’m sorry.”  And then I get silent and cry, and I feel stupid all over again because I realize I’ve done it again—I’ve gotten my stupid hopes up that sometime, one of these times, we’re going to get some good news that someone will give him a job and we’ll get to move out and I can have my life back again.  And I do it every stupid Tuesday.  And every stupid Tuesday I chide myself and say “You’re supposed to wait on God, not on them.  Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint.”   And then I sit and wonder when the strength will come and why I’m weary and fainting.  Every stupid Tuesday. 

So, this is just me—raw and unedited, trying to sort through these thoughts and feelings.  I guess the question I have to wrestle with is this:  If it brought glory to God for me to never “have my life back” again would I embrace that?  If it glorified God for me to never again have my own home or niche or place to fly, would I obey?  Theoretically the answer’s always “Yes, God.”  But is it really?  I guess that’s the question for me today.   

In our prayer class, the last few weeks we have been talking about gratitude.  Prayer flows from thankful hearts.  I know this.  The last few weeks, however, I can’t say that my heart has been overflowing with thankfulness. But my professor made a good point in class. He pointed out that when we give thanks, we often quickly “run out” of things to be thankful about.  It would be easy to pause, give one more cursory glance through my mind’s eye and decide that I’m done. But he insisted that we stop, take a breath, and think of more, pushing past the roadblock.  We do this in other areas of life, but somehow think that prayers of thanksgiving should be so spontaneous that we shouldn’t work at it.  So, right now I’m going to work at it.  I have a miserable cold and I’m sitting here with a hot water bottle on my neck and a box of Kleenex at my side.  My nose is red and raw and my head is throbbing, but I know that I can be thankful.  Why not now?

SO, here goes. I am thankful for:

1. Life.  I am alive!  2. Salvation. Christ has set me free.  I will spend eternity with Him.  3. My son who is hilarious and makes me laugh everyday. 4. My husband who is so incredibly thoughtful, he went and got my chapstick for my dry lips and filled up the hot water bottle without me even asking, and just told me I was stunningly beautiful and … let me tell you, the only thing stunning about me right now is how big the bags under my eyes have gotten—it’s pretty stunning!  5. Soft toilet paper that is gentle on my nose.  6. A beautiful warm sunny day with brilliant blue sky.  7. Going walking with Dutch, even though I was exhausted afterwards.  8. Spicy hot and sour soup from Lam’s Chinese kitchen for dinner—clears the sinuses!  9. My incredibly conversation with Lorrie Fulton this past week and how she ministered so much to me.  10.  A super precious card from my sister-in-law this week that meant the world to me.  11. Getting to have our dearest friends, Aaron and Candi, back in Oregon!  12.  Getting to join their families for a special dinner last weekend-we felt so honored.  13. Getting to see my friend Grace this past weekend.  14.  A fun birthday party for Moriah Kamph, who is one year old now!  15. A perfectly timed visit with Tyson and Tracy and Kai Smith … and the dream that maybe they’ll move to Molalla someday! J  16.  These yummy Christmas tree cookie things that have been in the freezer since … well, it’s obvious.  I thought they’d be gross, but they were super yummy!  17. This great all-natural muffin recipe from a friend that I make for Dutch and he loves them!  18.  That Dutch can walk like a big boy!  19.  Bathtubs.  20. Hot tea  21. Hot showers (pretty much thankful for hot water in any form.)  22. A car that runs and gets good gas mileage.  23. Our realtor, Carole Sawyer, who is the best.  24. A super comfortable bed where I can sleep in approximately 9 minutes (I’m supposed to spend an hour on this exercise).  25. Books! Love them.  Right now I’m reading Love Walked In by Maria de los Santos.  26. Getting ahead in school so that all my reading’s done and now I just get to write the papers and enjoy the classes.  27. My dear Multnomah girlfriends Liz and Lyndi.  28.  My amazing professors who challenge me. 29.  A great conversation I got to have with my mom last night.  30. Emailing with Janae almost every day.  31. A fabulous catch-up session mall walking with Megan the heart-breaker last week. J  32.  Email.  33. My own laptop that is tiny and fits anywhere.  34. The extra-life battery that Jeff bought me that lasts all day.  35. Water.  36.  Honey and lemon in my tea (I already said tea but I didn’t specify the honey and lemon).  37.  The Bible. I love it.  38. That fact that I can talk to God and He listens.  39. The fact that someday God is going to bless us with a home.  40.  The beautiful refridgerator and furniture that are sitting outside in the garage.  41.  My parents – they are amazing.  42.  Our church home, Foothills.  43.  The opportunity to maybe speak at a women’s retreat—SO exciting!  44.  Next week we have off of school.  45. It’s almost March which equals SPRING!  46.  Nyquil.  47. Dayquil.  48.  The river outside my bedroom window.  49. Vinegar and salt water gargle (I’m actually not thankful for it at all but my mom says that it helps so I’m thankful for that).  50. Vitamin C.

Today in class we read an excerpt from Larry Crabb’s book Changing from the Inside Out (an excellent book worth reading).   In it he hits on a key component of what it means to be affected by the fall as men and women.  We were created male and female, the only human distinction verbalized by God as part of His original plan.  Race, personality, hair, eye, height, intellect, and emotional distinctions would arise with time but in the very beginning this distinction stood.  And it was good.  Very good.

But how has this been corrupted through the fall.  While men were destined to enter into the world strongly, providing for their families with servant leadership, they’ve been tainted by weakness, a deep sense of inadequacy and impotence.  The man will now battle forever the unspoken fear that he does not measure up. 

While women were destined to enter the world courageously giving of themselves vulnerably through talents, wisdom, kindness, warmth, and support, she now has a deep sense of disappointment—for her man has failed her.  As a result, she no longer has the confidence to be vulnerable.  She is threatened and now feels, as Crabb says, “compelled to defensively control her relationships.”  The woman will now battle forever the unspoken fear that to be vulnerable is to be hurt. 

Who has not experienced this? Who has not witnessed it in our marred world?  Women want me to step up and be strong, but men don’t know how to do that because they’re so afraid of admitting that they don’t know how, so instead they respond by overcompensating—through harshness or lording over or gruff, hard exterior.  On the contrary, others just give up and give in to passivity, to steer clear of the danger of failure.

Men want women who will praise, love, and support them.  But we’ve swallowed the lie that to be vulnerable is to be hurt, so we protect ourselves.  When we’re not led, we’ll do it ourselves.  We’ll do our best to attract men because that makes us feel secure, but we won’t truly let our guard down because then our worst fear may be realized—that we’re not truly beautiful and will therefore be rejected. 

How can we right this? Crabb would say, I believe, that we do this by repenting of our fear of self-protection.  Men, quit being stupid and admit that you don’t have a clue!  That’s ok!  Women, admit that you’re scared to death to let all your defenses down because people might see that you’re not that pretty after all.  Women, let men fail and praise them still.  Men, let women be imperfect and praise them still. 

This is why pornography is such a sick, twisted temptation from the pit of hell.  Men are able to engage sexually without any fear of failure—there is no one there to criticize them!  They can satisfy themselves with no vulnerability.   In the process, women are demoralized and objectified and can no longer function as vulnerable beings because they are so afraid of not being as beautiful or skilled as the covergirl. This is obviously only one repercussion of the fall, but it is a telling one.  Our male-female relationships have suffered.  Can we restore them?  …  Can we try? … We can, and we should. 

You may have noticed there have been no posts in February.  It’s been a rough month and it’s only day 6!  Suffice it to say it’s just been discouraging.  Last week, we followed what we both felt strongly was a leading from God and it looked fairly certain that we would be moving out — my dream come true.  Over and over and over it seemed that God was leading us this direction–in fact, last week I just kept describing the feeling as “the wind at my back”–it was thrilled, exilerating, faith-inspiring.  Then, Thursday I was hit with a horrid 24-hour stomach flu that left me physically depleted.  That same day we discovered that the deal with moving out was a no-go.  So, stomach wrenching tears, vomiting, and a debilitating migraine characterized the end of the week.  Friday night I scraped myself off the floor and went to a Wycliffe Dinner Theater that stirred my heart immensely.  Interestingly, the part that stirred me the most was the fact that the translator missionaries were a married couple, very talented and gifted, who partnered as a team.  She struggled with feeling torn between her God-given gifts and the demands of caring for their small children.  They experienced pain, disappointments, and not a few marital conflicts, but also saw God do wondrous works through their forfeited lives. 

 The weekend and beginning of this week continued to be discouraging.  Basically we realized that not only were we not moving out right now, we’re not moving out any time soon.  This, after I — feeling strongly that I was following God’s leading — bought a fridge, table, and coffee table (we sold everything we owned when we moved out here from McMinnville) for our home … that we’re not moving into.  However, yesterday God impressed on both of our hearts that the purchases were not mistakes.  Not only were they incredible deals, at 1/2 off a normal price, but they’re God’s promise ring.  Let me illustrate.  For any of you who have read my story When God Broke My Heart (listed under “featured” on the top right corner), you know that I sensed very strongly that Jeff was to be my husband, then he proceeded to tell me that we would never be together because God told him.  Then, an entire year went by before Jeff came back and asked me to date him and eventually be his wife.  During the initial time when I liked him, my mom had found this kitchen towel, the last one left on a clearance rack, that was embroidered with a “P”.  When Jeff broke my heart, I threw the towel in the trash, never to be seen again.  I threw away the list of “Ten Reasons I want to Marry Jeff” as well.  I did this as a sign of obedience, signifying that I wasn’t “holding on” to that dream anymore. But I’ve often wondered if perhaps it wouldn’t have been even more amazing if I’d kept the towel, believing that somehow God hadn’t tricked me or deceived me, but kept it by faith that somehow God was going to work out His Word and His promises to me even if I didn’t understand how.  How amazing would it have been to hang that towel in our kitchen after marrying Jeff.  As I lay in bed crying, asking God why He’d “tricked me”–why He’d brought this fridge and furniture to us (the story is really remarkable how we came upon it), and then closed the door on moving out, I saw a picture of that towel in my mind.  Perhaps it was a promise ring from God.  Perhaps He wasn’t tricking me, but He was providing a little sign that He’s come through–even if I had no idea what that “coming through” would look like.  So, the reason that I can say I don’t feel foolish for having a refrigerator in Mom and Dad’s garage is that God has a plan for all of this–He doesn’t trick us or deceive us.  That is not His character.  But He will do things in mysterious ways.  My job is simply to trust Him, to trust in His goodness and His character and trust that He’s working all things together for my good–that I would be conformed to the likeness of His Son (Rom 8:28-29). 

So Tuesday night Jeff asked me to share for a few minutes about spiritual disciplines with his Foundations class that he teaches at church.  I didn’t want to–in fact, I almost didn’t go to the class because I was so discouraged. But I dragged my tear-stained face to church and told God I’d speak if He told me what to say.  He did.  So shared, and even though I knew I was sharing from His heart, I felt so stupid–I’m the youngest person in the class and I could just feel everyone in there thinking, “What does she know? SHe’s young enough to be my daughter!  Who does she think she is telling me about spiritual disciplines.”  In fact, I was so discouraged by it that the next morning I wrote this in my prayer journal (unedited!):  I just feel totally depressed.  I feel rejected, hopeless, hurt, useless, like I have nothing to offer and no one to offer it to.  I hate talking in front of people, I have nothing valuable to say.  Please just help me to put one foot in front of the other today, God.

That night, I was shocked when I received an email from a girl who had attended seminary with me. She’s the Women’s Director at her church and she asked if I’d consider being their retreat speaker at their upcoming Spring Retreat.  What?!  All of a sudden all the pieces fell together in my mind–the specific discouragment about never wanting to speak, having nothing valuable to say, feeling useless with nothing to offer anyone.  That was a specific attack from the evil one who wants to convince me I have no destiny, no purpose.  How clear!  This, coupled with the feeling that it’s impossible to balance being a mom with being a minister of God and a seminary student, was a direct attack from the enemy. But praise God it made me realize the truth of it and realize that I have to fight against that and move forward in the destiny GOd has for me! 

This morning, I woke up with another horrendous headache.  Jeff is gone all day in Corvallis, and all I could think was that I just did not want to do that day.  But while Dutch was playing, I thumbed through a Real Simple magazine, a gift subsription from my sister-in-law.  A feature story, Love Letters from a Marriage in Progress, caught my eye (if you have the magazine, read that story!)  As I read, everything around me faded away.  Obviously our story is different, but the couple, both authors, shared their journey of ups and downs of 20 years of marriage, following after their double dream of writing novels, raising children, working from home, etc.  Partly because I’m a writer, everything in me was drawn to their story.  It is worth it, I realized!  Our dream, our vision, our goal for serving God is going to have costs, but what a tremendous adventure to be one together!  Rather than resenting the fact that we’re both so busy and it’s hard to balance jobs, seminary, parenthood, and ministry, we can grab hands and leap, realizing there will be bumps along the way but determining that it’s worth it.

So, this morning I wrote my husband this letter.  I guess this whole post is for him, but I thought I’d share the letter too.  It’s just as much for me as it is for him.  I guess it’s a committment of sorts, to follow God and stand by Jeff along the way.  In my sloppy, slanty handwriting it goes like this:

——-

Love of my life,

I’m handwriting this because reading your letter made me realize how meaningful it is to receive a hand-written letter. To see your writing made your presence nearer … and I realized how much I miss the days when we used to write notes to each other.

I read this story today and it stuck me as literally life-changing … funny how God can use anything to speak to us.  In fact, as I read it it was as if everything else around me faded away and it almost brought me to tears.  Though our story is very different, in many ways it is the same.

We’re unique.  As Adam Poole has said, we are a team.  We are an Aquila and Priscilla team and we’re unique because in some ways we have the same vision, destiny, and dream for our life.  We are like Jonathan and Doreen Banks from Wycliffe.  By the grace of God we’ve both been given tremendous gifting.  Scholarships and opportunities have abounded in our lives.  We’ve both been told we have what it takes to do doctoral work.  We’ve both been called to speak, writer, teach, mentor, lead, train.  It does us no good to pretend that we aren’t called to these things.  It does no good to pretend that God’s not gifted and equipped us for them.  It’s about Him, not us. 

 And in that, there’ll be sacrifices.  Not having a place to live on our own is just one of those sacrifices.  There will be more.  But this story I read inspired me that we’re a team — and it’s worth it to follow hard after God’s dreams and destiny for our lives. I want to do this with you.  We are altogether one and two.  We must sacrifice for each other’s destiny, all the while recognizing that as one flesh our destinies are wholly wrapped up in each other’s.  Your strengths are my weaknesses and my strengths are your weaknesses.  We complement each other. ANd so, I guess, by writing this letter, I’m just affirming to myeslf and to you, that I’m in this crazy adventure with you. I’m committed. I’m in.  I’ve wagered it all and hold nothing back.  I’mok with sacrificing for you the same way you sacrifice for me so often.  I’m ok living here as it enables us to pursue this dream of seminary with less financial stress.  I’m ok balancing term papers with poopy diapers and hermeneutics with getting dinner on the table.  And, I’mok if it’s not all picture perfect.  The bonus room is a chaotic mess of books, papers and Dutch’s toys–what does it matter?  As long as we can clear off space to cuddle on the couch we’ll be ok.

I’m reminded again of “our song”–New Day by Robbie Seay Band.  It is a new day, and it’s not beautiful right now, but it’s “you and me, baby, everything’s gonna be alright.” 

I love you. God fashioned me especially for you. I’ll be next to you through this adventure.

Love,

Your sexy sidekick.

What does it mean to belong?  How do I belong?  Or, more accurately to whom do I belong?  You know the answer:  God.  Of course.  God is always the right answer, right?  But what does that mean and how does it play out in my life? 

This summer, when we were still new to the area and new to our church, Jeff was involved with the leadership because of his internship, and was already meeting with staff and developing relationships.  I was primarily at home, out in the wilderness (or so it felt) and severed from friendships in our previous hometown.  During the Fall Kick-Off service, we filled the bleachers at the high school football stadium.  The music was rockin’, people were clapping, and the energy was high.  Spirits were soaring.  I stood holding my son, standing next to my parents, alone.  I was surrounded by hundreds of people, family even, my son even.  But I was alone.  As the sermon began, Dutch woke up (he’d been asleep on my lap) and began to cry, so I took him out behind the bleachers.  He was tired and hungry, but I couldn’t get into the car because Jeff had the keys and I couldn’t go and get them because I didn’t want to distract people by walking in front of them (another illogical fear—being an inappropriate distraction to people).  So I paced behind the stadium for the entire service.  You don’t belong here.  Echoed hauntingly through my mind.  You don’t belong here.  Whispered so quietly into my soul.  You don’t belong.  I stood facing a corner for a few minutes to release a little of the built up pressure through tears, but brushed them away briskly as someone walked by.  As they sang the final song, Jeff came out and checked on me.  I got the keys and went to the car to feed Dutch.  As I sat, holding my squirming boy close to my chest, tears streamed down my face.  I don’t belong here.  I turned my face down to avoid being seen, as I peered at the sea of faces now flooding out of the stadium and out past our car.  I don’t belong here.  Groups of people formed, talking, laughing.  I don’t belong here.  Jeff and Dad had to stay for a leadership meeting, so Mom and I drove their car home.  Mom climbed in the back with Dutch and I drove home, silently.  I don’t belong here. 

Now looking back, I can see clearly that that was a lie from the evil one.  But why that?  Why that particular lie?  Why is it so important for us to belong?  We long to belong.  As little girls, we want that best friend.  As we grow older we dream of who we will marry, whose name we will take, who we will belong to.  We have a circle of friends, perhaps a family, perhaps a club or hobby group to whom we belong.  We surround ourselves with ways to belong, and yet—do we really understand to whom we belong?  Do we have that sense, that if all other things were stripped away, that with God we would belong? 

The truth of the matter is that we do belong.  When we were born again, we became part of this family of God—we now belong.  We belong whether we feel it or not.  We belong whether she snubs us or ignores us, whether he dislikes our opinions or the way we raise our children.  We belong despite our differences and we belong despite others’.  We belong. 

When we understand that we belong to God, there is a freedom that allows us to savor solitude.  Solitude is not the same as loneliness.  Loneliness is a state of the heart when we fail to recognize our belonging to God.  Solitude is a blessed state of the heart (and sometimes body) that savors our union and communion with God and is free to enjoy silence or sound, company or quiet.  Solitude is primarily a state of the heart.  Blessed belonging, blessed solitude, produces a peace, a rest, a ceasing of striving that produces a beautiful stillness in our lives that cannot be explained.  In the midst of bills and deadlines and dirty diapers, there can be a peace and tranquility about us that defies logic. In a world where we frantically move from one distraction to another, desperate to not be alone with ourselves, solitude bravely faces the danger of stillness and is at peace with what the quiet heart may find.  Solitude refuses the clutter of a busy heart and freely opens itself up to God’s piercing light. 

This solitude is available.  But first, I must understand that I belong.  I am not alone.  I am not forsaken.  I am not unloved.  I am valued beyond measure.  I am begotten of God.  I am made in His likeness.  I am crafted in His image.  I reflect His beauty and glory.  He beckons me to dine with Him.  He longs for my embrace.  He craves the recesses of my heart and no thing about me does He despise.  In this I can rest.  In this I can be still and embrace the beauty of solitude, where my striving ceases and my heart finds its home.  In God’s presence I belong.  I belong to Him. 

The Adventures in Prayer series is done–so now the real work begins, praying! It’s been an awesome journey already. Now I’d like to share with you other insights from some of the books I’m reading for seminary. Hopefully these things can connect with your minds and hearts even if you haven’t read the material.  I’ll admit I’m strapped for “extra” time now that I’m in seminary and have a busy little boy, so I’m “cheating” by sharing with you things from my classes.  I hope you enjoy! 

—-

The title of Quick-to-Listen Leaders intrigued me from the start because this term God is repeatedly impressing upon my heart that listening is the key character trait that he wants to develop in me.  From my counseling class to my prayer class to this class, I sense that this theme is surfacing time and again, and I believe this is something that most leaders are weak at, to say the least.

 When I first began thinking about listening, I thought through the qualities of those people I knew who were good listeners, and those I knew who were poor listeners.  In my mind I “interviewed” those people, as Ping & Clippard encourage us to do.  What was sad that that I realized that the pastors and spiritual leaders in my life are among the poorest listeners I have ever met. (My husband, upon reading this, reminded me that our current pastor is an excellent listener, so he doesn’t count!  I haven’t spent enough time with him to know.)  The connection I discovered was that the “higher up” the person was in spiritual leadership the worse that person was at authentic listening skills, generally speaking.  The people I know who are the best listeners are lay people who genuinely love others and who have a miraculous ability to “enter in” to another’s world, pushing aside all other distractions and zeroing in on the speaker, even asking engaging questions, as active and not passive listeners.  Karen Zyp (my mom), Mindy Haidle, and Tom Jones top my list as listening heroes.  

There were also several key things that highlighted my own listening weaknesses.  The line, “Keep the conversation spotlight on the other person’s agenda without pushing for your own” (90) really struck me.  I can easily feel that the conversation is out of control unless I have some input or some way to relate to what the person is saying, especially if the person is relating something that I feel is not an accurate representation of reality.  But I need to be careful not to try to correct their thinking before the time. If a person just needs to share how they feel it is not my job to correct their feelings. 

 The two parts of the book that I found most helpful were the list of helpful and unhelpful questions and the discussion of personality types.  The connecting questions, clarifying questions, and wondering questions were all excellent. When I think of my friend Mindy, I am always amazed at how she asks such perfectly crafted questions to really get at the heart of what I’m talking about.  My questions always seem shallow or contrived. 

 The timing of this book was perfect.  The night that I finished the book we were hosting a casual dinner get together for 8 young couples from our church, all with young children.  Since we are relatively new there, but actively involved in leadership, we saw it as an opportunity to both connect and meet people in our same stage of life, and promote a young-marrieds ministry, of which there is none.  The Search to Belong provided an excellent guide for us as we prayed through what the group should look like.  Then Quick-to-Listen Leaders provided the guide to help us prepare to be listeners throughout the whole evening.  We both agreed that the goal of the evening was to listen to these people, to get to know them without seeking to be understood or known ourselves (as our primary objective).  Rather than telling them our ideas of for a ministry, we committed to listening to their ideas.  We committed to being slow to speak and quick to listen.
 So the questions and ideas from this book were invaluable!  We sat down and discussed what kind of “connecting” questions we could ask each couple. We knew several people as mere acquaintances, but had never had a very significant conversation with any of them, and are very dissimilar from many in terms of life experience and vocation.  So, discussing connecting questions was fabulous.  My husband was blessed when he initiated conversation with one guy whom he had always had trouble connecting with.  He always sensed the guy was disinterested and we were amazed that they even showed up to our event.  But Jeff began asking connecting questions about his job, and they discovered that the guy was working on a project with the company that Jeff just left (in a town over an hour away!).  It was an amazing “small world” situation, which opened a door to talk about construction and utilities that created a bridge between these two seemingly dissimilar men. 

 When it came time to come together and all share, Jeff asked the connecting question, “How did you and your spouse meet and marry?”  It was the perfect way for all of us to connect.  The stories were infinitely varied and had us laughing and even crying.  Everyone had their own chance to share and be heard, and we sought to model good listening skills by focusing on the person speaking, asking clarifying and wondering questions, and giving listening cues. 

 When the time came to listen to their ideas and needs for a ministry we were amazed.  Our gifting and passion is to teach the Bible, but we’d been very careful not to push people toward needing to study the Bible more, since we thought most everyone was interested only at a social level.  So, we determined not to give any ideas or even suggestions to start but just to listen.  What we heard was amazing!  We figured many couples wouldn’t want to commit to meeting regularly.  Some couples there are not even regular attenders of church so we didn’t have high hopes. But each couple, every single couple, articulated that what they really want is to meet regularly to study the Bible in depth, and to have occasional times (like that) of dinner and fellowship with our kids.  Our eyes were like saucers—they were basically articulating our exact  same desire for the ministry, but they’d said it, not us!  We couldn’t have orchestrated the thing any better if we’d tried, but what was remarkable was that by listening instead of telling them, we let go of control and were able to not only let God move, but let the people in the group have a sense of leadership and ownership and value because listened to them. 
 By the time people left, every single couple said, “please call us and let us know when we can do this again!”  We thought we wouldn’t get any sort of commitment, but they all committed!  Again, we were amazed at the results when, like the two books said, we allowed people to be free and when we let go of control and listened.  Talk about two well-timed books!  Thank you, Lord.

In my Prayer class, we are reading a book entitled Space for God. This highly unconventional book includes everything from Scripture to Van Gogh paintings, all designed to help transition our souls into communion with God and contemplation of the deeper realities of life. This may sound like fluff. It is not. The book is not fluff. The idea is that we have become so frantically busy that we have no space for God. As Robert Louis Stevenson says, “There is a sort of dead-alive people about, who are scarcely conscious of living except in the exercise of some conventional occupation .. They have dwarfed and narrowed their soul by a life of work, until here they are at forty, with a listless attention, a mind vacant of all material for amusement, and not one thought to rub against another while waiting for the train.” I do not want to be that person. But often I am. Often I cannot stand the thought of just stopping, just stopping and sitting with my son or watching him play with a toy or gazing in his eyes or smelling his cheeks or tasting his kisses. I’m not content doing nothing with him the same way I’m not content doing nothing with God. I don’t think I’m alone in this. We are a people who cannot stop. We don’t slow down enough to see. We don’t see into the spiritual realm, we don’t have communion with God, we don’t drink of the depths of God’s amazing presence. We have become bored with life and too afraid to sit still, for fear of what we may discover. We dull our minds with entertainment, afraid to be alone with ourselves.

Hence, this class. This class is an attempt to cultivate a prayerful, meditative, deep, reflective, contemplative life that steeps in the presence of God. The assignment, for this book, is to spend one hour each week interacting with the book and soaking in God’s presence. One hour. Not a lot. But that’s one hour more than before, and one hour more than the norm.

Coming to this task, I am more than aware of my being a beginner. In prayer I am a beginner. In the spiritual disciplines I am a beginner. In this attempt at living a contemplative, deep inner life I am a beginner. I am aware of my need for some structure, (i.e. one hour block of time with a book to read) in order to aid my attempts. As I was reminded at a leadership retreat this weekend, some people are naturally structured and some aren’t. I am. Tell me to sit quietly and meditate for one hour and I will run the other direction. But the book provides me with some structure, a springboard, if you will, for diving into the depths of God’s presence. So as I came to this book, painfully aware of my status as beginner, I read Postema’s thoughts on this very topic: “One cannot begin to face the real difficulties of the life of prayer and meditation unless one is perfectly content to be a beginner and really experience oneself as one who knows little or nothing, and has a desperate need to learn the bare rudiments. Those who think they “know” from the beginning never, in fact, come to know anything … We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners, all of our life.”

How glorious! My status as a beginner in the life of contemplative prayer and meditation is nothing to be scorned or ashamed of! I am beginning. I am gloriously beginning, which means I have much in front of me. Just as it glorious to be at the beginning of a delicious meal, I am at the beginning of a delicious journey. I have much to anticipate … in fact, I’m beginning to drool.