Category Archives: Sacred Mundane

I know, I ended the title with a preposition.  The titles name themselves, and they’re totally unruly and refuse to give me any say whatsoever, so they are what they are.  Anybody else ever feel like that with writing? I’m telling you, words are crazy and they stomp their feet and do what they want, despite me.  Anyway, back to where I’m at…

Do you ever just feel profoundly inadequate? I don’t mean the little like, “Oh I’ll need to trust God a little bit here.” I mean, “Oh Lord what on earth were you thinking by putting me here making me feel this weak? You outta your mind?!”  And of course he’s not because Scripture tells us, ^“We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.”  I’ve been calling this to mind tonight, and decided to go ahead and lean right back into the whole chapter, laying my head back into its truth, resting in the comfort of the assurance of God’s power.  Will you rest here with me?

2 Corinthians 4

¹Therefore, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. ²Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God. ³And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. ⁴The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. ⁵For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. ⁶For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,”^[a]made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.⁷But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. ⁸We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; ⁹persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹⁰We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. ¹¹For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. ¹²So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

¹³It is written: “I believed; therefore I have spoken.”^[b]With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, ¹⁴because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in his presence. ¹⁵All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

¹⁶Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. ¹⁸So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Rest in that tonight.  That’s where I’m at.

What is the last thing you think about as you lie in bed at night?  What do you think about and pray about as you lie there, closed eyes? As you drift to sleep…

I’m curious.

I wrote last about God’s seemingly special attention to me lately in the area of humility–specifically in my desperate need for it.  The Message’s rendition of Proverbs 14 summed up this lesson so well, “Nor is glory piled on glory good for you.”  Some failures apparently are good, the verse is saying, and in an abstract cerebral sort of way I believed that.  But now I believe it experientially.  I know it.

Friday and Saturday were, for me, one long frustration.  I have another blog post that arose out of Friday’s frustration (What’s In Your Hand?), but suffice it to say that for some reason Friday and Saturday, nothing was going right.  You know those days where you just feel like no matter what step you take, it was the wrong one?  You go one direction just to then realize you “should” have gone the other direction.  You make a huge effort to do one thing, just to have it fall apart?  The story is too long to tell, but suffice it to say I managed to get stuck in every traffic jam there was between North Portland and Corvallis, and ended up traveling 2 1/2 hours Saturday afternoon only to arrive in Corvallis at a wedding and realize I had gotten the time wrong…and missed the entire thing.  Oh yes. It was one of those days. But this was only after I’d been lost multiple times, stuck in a traffic jam, my phone battery died, I missed a doctor’s appointment, missed a date with a friend, then arrived to find Heidi having pooped all the way through her dress, all over her carseat (and me)…By the time we got home at 9pm (I even got stuck in a traffic jam at 8:00 at night! What?!), I was shaking my head wondering what was going on.  As I recounted my adventure to Jeff last night I said, “Something has got to be wrong in my life because this is ridiculous.”

I was half-joking. I know that traffic jams happen.  I know that people get times mixed up and miss things. Babies poop. I know.  But for some reason, there was an exceeding amount of frustration in my life and it was just enough to make me stop.

Frustration stops us.

So I made some tea, put Heidi to bed, and sat with God.  One of my favorite psalms (139) ran through my head:

²³ Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.

²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

This is a prayer I often pray but seldom like to see answered.  I mean, who really wants God to seek out an offensive way in us? This is like welcoming a guest into your seemingly spotless house and saying, “Would you mind coming upstairs with me? I’d really like you come see the disgusting filth in the toilet of our master bedroom.”  Who wants to see that stuff?  It’s offensive!  And yet the psalmist is asking God to see it.  See the offensive stuff.  Why?  Because then, we can be led in the way everlasting.  Because, as 1 Tim 1:9 says, ^9″If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”  Because He purifies it! Because, unlike your houseguest you will be grossed out by your filth and probably leave, God reaches down and cleans the filth for you.  And He’s the only one powerful enough to do it completely.

So I did pray it.  And He did answer it.  And He did it like only He can do.  Where my heart was grieved. Where today, during communion, I almost didn’t take the bread and juice–like I knew exactly how the tax collector felt in Luke 18, praying and beating his chest in the temple, saying “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”  Do you ever feel like that?  Like all along you had this yuckiness in your life and you didn’t even know?!  And then God moves things around and it shows and it’s like, “What?! Really?  Ugh!”  I remember Dutch had this sippy cup he used all the time. And because he never drank juice or milk, only water, I always just rinsed it out and kept using it. Then finally I took out the little stopper thing inside the lid and was horrified to realize that it was all moldly inside the stopper.  Sick! All this time it had been there and I didn’t even know it! And all this time it’d be affecting my dear little son and I didn’t even know!  That’s how I felt.  All this time I have a yucky moldy area on my heart.  And I’m thankful for God to reveal the “offensive way in me” but it sure is offensive!

By the way, in case you’re afraid that I’m a secret serial killer or something, I’m not. It’s just pride.  God was showing me the pride that’s in my heart in the way that I tell stories, the way that I portray things.  Maybe that seems small, but there’s so much more to it–it’s so sad to realize the way that even my writing, my wanting to glorify God through stories and lessons, how it’s tainted with wanting to glorify myself.  I’ll share more in a post The Way We Paint, but just to set your mind at rest, that’s what God was showing me.

So all this to say that I do think that glory piled on glory is not good for me.  Frustration is good because it makes me stop. When things are gliding along perfectly I rarely stop long enough to pray the scary prayer of Psalm 139.  And while the prayer may be scary, I’m thankful that God leads us in the way everlasting. He’s good, gentle, faithful.  “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”  1 John 1:9  Thank you, God, for the blessing of frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I bought a hat.

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

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