Category Archives: Sacred Mundane

At church our pastor is teaching a series called Restoring Christmas.  We’ve only received the first message, but I’m already challenged and spurred on to see this season reflect the one whom we’re celebrating: Jesus!  I wanted to include here, on my blog, some of the thoughts and reflections both from these messages and just from embracing this season fully. 

 Last year, as I prepared for Christmas, I was also preparing to give birth to our firstborn, a son.  I felt so incredibly blessed to be able to feel what Mary must have felt as the days approached her due date.  (Ok, I know Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas day, but it represents when he was born.)  The emotions, the impatience, the discomfort, the joy at times, and sorrow at times, the preparation and anxiety about the birth, the myriad of feelings that every mom experiences in the final weeks and days of pregnancy. 

During those final days and weeks, I was also in seminary full-time (!) which meant driving 1.5 hours each day several days a week for class.  Jeff bought me Mercy Me’s Christmas CD, so I filled my drive time with Christmas tunes redone by one of my favorite bands.  One particular song will stick with me forever: Joseph’s Lullaby.  I would play that song, over and over and over, singing and crying.  I know that Dutch is not the Son of God, so of course the words don’t directly apply to Him, but He is a son of God, and I sensed, throughout my whole pregnancy that this little boy was somehow destined for greatness, that God already had His hand on Him for a special use, to spread the gospel and further God’s Kingdom. 

The song is sung by Joseph, and the power of the Words reflect a feeling every parent who desires their child to be used of God, can relate to.  I can only imagine what both Mary and Joseph must have felt, and the joy and the anguish, the honor and the sacrifice.  I taste only a tiny portion of it, and still feel engulfed by that same feeling.  The song goes like this …

 Go to sleep my Son
This manger for your bed
You have a long road before You
Rest Your little head

Can You feel the weight of Your glory?
Do You understand the price?
Does the Father guard Your heart for now
So You can sleep tonight?

Go to sleep my Son
Go and chase Your dreams
This world can wait for one more moment
Go and sleep in peace

I believe the glory of Heaven
Is lying in my arms tonight
Lord, I ask that He for just this moment
Simply be my child

Go to sleep my Son
Baby, close Your eyes
Soon enough You’ll save the day
But for now, dear Child of mine
Oh my Jesus, Sleep tight

This past weekend Jeff pulled out the Mercy Me CD.  Now, my precious son is hardly a baby anymore, and certainly doesn’t want to be cuddled and held still.  But as this song played, I held him close to me and danced with him, singing the song that same way I sang it to him as a newborn, the same way I sang it to him before he was born.  I do know that the glory of Heaven lies in my arms–my son.  I do know that our children have a destiny, a calling, from God, and we as parents are to shepherd, train, and nurture our children to discover that destiny and fulfull that calling.  Even as I consider the shootings over the weekend, it’s scary to know that our precious children will be the ones standing up for Christ in a hostile world tomorrow.  Can we feel the weight of the glory of God?  Do we understand the price?  We must consider these questions.  But for today I’m so thankful that he’s just my child, my blond-haired blue-eyed baby boy who points and claps and dances whenever music comes on.  I’m so thankful for his round cheeks and pundgy feet and the way his thick lashes look laying down against his cheeks when he sleeps.  For now, dear child, sleep tight. 

Sorry! My site has been down for 4-5 days … but we got the problems all fixed and I’m back in action.  This was written last week but never got to post it so here goes.  More to come later …

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No, don’t worry.  I am NOT writing about Billy Ray Cyrus OR his millionaire 14-year-old daughter.  But I do want to write about hearts, and how they do ache.  Do you know the feeling where you long for something so much it aches inside you?  I don’t just mean you want a new car or you want a better job or something, I mean a longing that just feels like it’s boring a hole in your soul?  Yeah, I thought you did. 

I think the thing I battle with is feeling like I’m never quite sure what to do with that ache.  In the past, usually when I’ve had that sort of intense longing, it’s been for something that God does indeed want to do.  We are told in Proverbs that when we delight ourselves in God He will give us the desires of our heart.  However, I think that that speaks more of implanting His desires into our heart (gives us) rather than just giving us the things we want.  So, my prayer is constantly that God would implant His desires into my heart, so that my thoughts and motives and desires are in line with His.  Sometimes it’s easy to know whether things are from Him or not.  An aching to see a loved one saved is obviously a desire from God, we know that God desires that everyone would come to faith in Him.  On the other hand, sinful desires are obviously not from God and we can be safe in refuting those thoughts and desires and setting our minds on things above.  But what about the rest—the world of gray area in the middle?  That’s where we acknowledge that ache, and turn it to God.

That’s how I feel right now.  Jeff and I had a crazy week.  Basically I’ve had a dream in my heart, one of those that aches so bad.  And this week we unexpectedly experienced a glimmer of hope that this might come to pass.  But now is the scary part.  Do I hope in this possibility?  Do I tell myself it’ll never happen so that I guard my heart and don’t get disappointed?  Do I “have faith” and believe that God will do this thing, but then at the same time risk having my heart break in half (or so it feels) if He doesn’t.  What do I do with my emotions?  It keeps me from sleeping.  The possibility of things gets me so excited I can see how God could possibly work some miraculous thing.  But I am so afraid of getting kicked in the gut, that it makes me fearful, especially because of our experience in San Jose (See The Road to Santa Clara under Featured Posts).  So much of what happened there has made me so scared and leery.

Ok, so there are my honest heart questions.  The answer?  I know it in my head.  Surrender my desires to God and say not my will but yours be done, Lord.  Surrender my emotions and thoughts to God, acknowledging them as valid but not letting them carry me away.  Surrender our future to God—He is God and He is good. Have faith in GOD, not in the hope of some certain event happening or event coming true.  Wait on GOD, not on a person or something specific happening. And then pray, being honest with God about my desires and longings and achings, while recognizing that He alone is the best and greatest desire of my life.  It looks so easy on paper, huh?

Oh our hearts are such remarkable things!  So complicated and easily swayed, so powerful and yet so tender.  What I take from this whole discussion is that I long for my heart to ache for God.  I pray that His aches would be our aches.  I pray that we would ache for His glory, for His gospel to be spread, for reconciliation and peace in families, for nations to be saved.  God, help us know how to handle the aches in our hearts, and let us ache for the things of You.  Amen.

Here’s a sneak peak into a side of me that might surprise you and/or you might think is cheesy:  I love the movie Sweet Home Alabama.  As a whole I’m not a huge “chick flick” fan, and I don’t like to cry so watching tear-jerkers is not my idea of a good time.  I think perhaps growing up in Podunkville I rebelled by distancing myself from anything that had to do with twangy country music, rodeos, and Wrangler jeans.  But, there is some mysterious place in my heart that comes alive when I watch Sweet Home Alabama or when I listen to certain country music, or when I daydream about raising my kids in the country and teaching them to catch crawdads and skip rocks.  And what moving back to Molalla has taught me about myself is that I’ve just been plain old prideful.  Somehow I thought that I was too good for this place and that real success meant living in a city and having fashionable things.  Coming back here meant I’d somehow failed. 

I think that’s why I love watching Sweet Home Alabama. Now obviously I am not Melanie Carmichael.  I didn’t go and become a fashion designer and I certainly did not come back home to my high school boyfriend.  I’ve got the man of my dreams right next to me, and wonder of wonders, he loves Molalla too.  What I love about it is that it reminds me that there are some really precious things about living in a small town where everybody knows everybody and you have a history together.  That is so rare these days because we are such a mobile society.  We move so often that nobody has a history with anybody.  But as I look back, I cherish the fact that I lived in the same town my whole life.  Some of my best friends have been my best friends longer than I can remember.  And that history is irreplacable.  Since Jeff and I have moved seven times since we’ve been married (!) I think that longing to stay is extra strong in my heart.  As I contemplate Dutch’s growing up years, I desire that he would have that continuity, that security, that consistency.  In the movie Jake tells Melanie, “You can have roots and wings.”  I pray that Dutch would have both.

I also learned to appreciate the people here.  As we attend and minister at Foothills, our home church, and get to know people, sometimes I feel like our world’s clash.  At times I’ve felt conspicuous, at times awkward, but as I’ve been slow to speak and quick to listen (not always) I’ve come to cherish these precious people.  We may have different educational experiences, different views on certain issues, and different dreams for our life, but we love Jesus all the same and we can learn from each other’s perspectives.  In fact, one of the reasons why I’m thrilled that we’re here is that I feel like the church has so much to offer us and we might, perhaps, hopefully, have something to offer them as well.  We’re certainly not in a sea of clones–but that is what makes it special. 

Lastly, I love watching Sweet Home Alabama because what Melanie discovers is that home is where the man of her dreams is.  Today I was having a rough day, just feeling like that ache for wanting a place of our own, to actually call home, was so strong it burned in my gut.  For whatever reason it just made me so sad today.  On top of that, something else happened that caused me to feel like perhaps our stay here, without a home of our own, would be longer than we’d realized.  At any rate, I felt discouraged.  Mom and Dad were gone, so Jeff and I were just sitting playing with Dutch, and Jeff went over and turned on the stereo and stuck in a CD we’d gottten from a friend’s wedding.   The first song was one he loves to dance with Dutch to, so they danced around the living room while I sat and watched, soaking up the sweetness of the sight.  Then came on the song, You’re Like Comin’ Home by Lonestar, a good ‘ole twangy country song that goes:

Ridin’ restless under broken sky,
Weary traveller, somethin’ missin’ inside,
Always lookin’ for a reason to turn around.
Desperate for a little peace of mind.
Just a little piece of what I left behind:
Well, I found it now: you’re like coming home.

Go head an’ let your hair fall down.
This wanderlust: it’s gone now.
I’m here in your arms; I’m safe from the road again.
These are the days that can’t be erased:
Baby, there isn’t a better place;
You’re like heaven: you’re like coming home.

You’re like a Sunday mornin’, pleasin’ my eyes;
You’re a midsummer’s dream under a star-soaked sky.
That peaceful easy feelin’ at the end of a long, long road.
You’re like coming home;
You’re like coming home, all right.
As the song played, Dutch was happily busying himself with toys, and I went over and curled up on Jeff’s lap, eveloped by his arms, with my head resting on his chest, my face in his neck.  His familiar smell, the sound of his heart, prickle of his face stubble–it all was like coming home.  I just inhaled and lost myself and forgot my silly self-pitying over wanting a place of our own.  He is my home.  Where Jeff and Dutch are–they are my home.  When Dutch was first born, I used to play the Dawson’s Creek song, It feels like Home to Me and sing along while I slow-danced with Dutch in my arms.  I loved singing that song to him while I changed his diaper or got him ready for bed.  Somehow it just seemed right–having Dutch was like home, so perfect and right that it just set my heart at rest.   So yes, it might be cheesy–gleaning life insights from Reese Witherspoon movies and country western songs, but you go ahead and laugh.  I’m going to savor the sound of the river, the cool, clean, country air, the peals of delighted laughter from my son as he plays, and the warmth of Jeff’s arms around me as I sleep tonight.  It’s like comin’ home. 

Falling boys: Well, I am not a mom who overreacts when Dutch gets a little bump or bruise.  He’s already had his share of trips, bumps, and scrapes.  To date he’s fallen off the bed three times, all occuring under (of course) my watch.  Each were in a split second, a quick look away, and whoop! there he went off the bed.  Of course as a mom you feel horrible, but seasoned mothers reasurre that every baby falls off the bed at some point.   In May we were at Lake Shasta and Dutch fell over off the little seat where he was propped and landed on his head on the linoleum.  I wanted to die and I think I was more upset than he was, but thankfully Darcy was there, a mom of two who immediately began telling me when she accidently dropped her son on the tile floor in their home and cut his head open.  Somehow this story made me feel better and less like a negligent mom. 

Well, now that Dutch can crawl around and handle himself just fine, I thought maybe the days of falling down off things were over.  Wrong.  Today, he crawled out of his crib.  Yes.  He crawled up over the edge of his crib and landed on the floor.  We had the edge down just slightly (it was still up to his armpits!) and somehow he managed to get up over the top.  I had friends over and all of a sudden I hear this super loud cry and it sounds like Dutch’s door is open because I can hear him so clearly.  I ran upstairs and I could hear the clicking off the little wooden letters of his name on his door, as if the door was open.  Since I knew I’d shut it I couldn’t figure out why it’d be open unless Jeff was in there, but he wasn’t.  As I got closer, my jaw dropped as I saw that our little boy had apparently gotten out of his crib (by falling!) then crawled over to the door, pushed on it (it doesn’t latch well so it pops open easily) and opened the door and was trying to get out of the door while still crying from his fall.  As I realized what had happened I could not even believe what he had done–and of course I scooped him up and comforted his little sobs and wiped the tears from his face. 

Amazingly enough, there was no damage.  Minutes later he was laughing.  Falling this far for an adult would be like falling off the roof.  But he is just fine, thank You Lord, and we put some wooden wedges in the side so that the side-rail stays up farther.  Goodness gracious. 

Besides that I am just savoring the fact that we have a weekend at home.  Did you hear that?  Home.  Yes, I am at home.  It isn’t my home, but it is home all the same and I’m so happy to be here.  Today there was the tiniest bit of snow fluttering outside, and I watched it fall above the icy cold white water of the river.  This morning Jeff and I took our long walk with Dutch, breathing deeply the fresh country air and thanking God for the beauty of the country.  Tonight I’m making a yummy dinner and maybe even cookies–a Friday night at home deserves a treat!  I’m thankful for a warm house and a fireplace a curious and adventurous little boy who can climb anything.  He must take after his uncle Kris, the rock climber. 

Enjoy your evening too, wherever and whoever you are.  Remember to breathe, laugh, and thank God for life. 

I believe CS Lewis coined the phrase “surprised by joy.”  I love that.  Have you ever been surprised by joy?  I mean, have you ever been caught off guard realizing that your heart has changed and the things which bothered or grieved you before have actually been a source of happiness or at least that your sorrow has been replaced with joy much to your own surprise? 

So many feelings are actually decisions first.  Love is certainly a feeling, but it is first a decision.  Respect is a feeling, but it is first a decision.  Though I love and respsect my husband, often I love and respect him as a decision first, then my feelings follow.  If I choose to not love and respect him, my feelings will dwindle soon thereafter.  But when I choose to love and respect him by my thoughts, words, and actions, my emotions and feelings usually trail along not too far behind.  The same is true of thankfulness and contentment.  At times, I feel thankful and content, and often I don’t.  But the amount of time that I feel thankfulness and contentment is directly proportionate to the amount of time I spent deciding to be those things.  This deciding includes praying for these qualities, taking negative thoughts captive and replacing them with thankful ones, and choosing to look and dwell on the things that I have and love. 

Several recently things have got me thinking along this vein.  The first is obvious: we just celebrate Thanksgiving.  It is unfortunate so it is so often referred to as Turkey Day because the giving of thanks is so much ore worthy of celebration than some oversized bird.  At any rate–I began to think of how thankful I was.  Secondly, my friend Caila (check out her blog on my blogroll) wrote a post about perspective, and how we need the right perspective in order to be thankful.  Third, I was marveling to Jeff on Saturday because I told him that I was thoroughly and honestly loving living here with my parents.  I was, as I said, surprised by joy.  Lastly, my brother shared a message at his church about humility, and so I’ve been pondering that characteristic and exploring facets of it in my mind.  Thankfulness the trademark of humility.  Thankfulness and pride cannot co-exist.  I suppose you could say, “Wow–I am so thankful to myself for being such a wonderful person!” but that seems a little absurd.  When we are thankful and contnent, we are recognizing that we have more than we deserve and all that we need.  Pride is the voice that says we don’t have enough or don’t have what we want.  Humility manifests itself in a thankful heart, and a thankful heart manifests itself through joy. 

So, I have to say, I am surprised by joy.  I am so thankful for my life.  In fact, I want to share with you 10 reasons why I love my life. I could go on forever, but you’d probably get bored.  Perhaps you should write your own list on why you love your life.

1. I have been set free from the power of sin and death and am right with my Heavenly Father, who loves me!

2. I will spend forever with Him in eternal glory in Heaven.

3. I have a husband who loves God and adores me, who is funny, hard-working, intelligent, humble, respectful, and honest.

4. We get to look outside at God’s glorious creation and can’t even see another house–only forest, river, and wildlife.

5. I have a healthy body and am able to walk, run, exericse, and play with Dutch.

6. I have the most beautiful, funny, hilarious, curious little boy who I absolutely adore.

7. We have all that we need in life–clothes, a beautiful home here with my parents, food in the fridge, a car to drive.

8. I live in Oregon, the most beautiful place in the world. 

9. I have the privilege of going to seminary, a rare and amazing experience.

10. I have both my parents and they are still happily married to each other.

Oh. . . and I have this really fun blog and some people actually read it! 🙂

I used to think that walking was not worthy to be called exercise.  Exercise was running, or taking stadium stairs two at a time or doing push-ups.  It really wasn’t until I got pregnant with Dutch that I was forced to swallow my exercise pride and then discovered this free, glorious activity that is a simple walk.  Now, I am addicted to walking.

At our home in McMinnville, we lived in the perfect walking neighborhood. Rolling hills, beautiful homes, and hardly any traffic.  I could do any number of loops or hills depending upon my energy level or time available.  When we moved (just one mile away), it was even better.  We were still connected to the same neighborhood but then was able to extend my walks to include new subdivisions and a path along the golf course.  I walked throughout my whole pregnancy and felt great.  The last four days of pregnancy (in December) it was freezing cold and raining, but I was bound and determined to keep walking.  Those last days I can’t say walking was fun, with an aching back and sharp pains in my abdomen and a seven-pound baby resting and bouncing on my bladder.  Walks had to be kept to forty-minutes or less because that’s the longest stretch I could go between pee breaks.  But really, walking kept me sane.  I loved the time to pray, think, or just dream.  In silence.  A walk alone must be in silence.  The thought of listening to an i-pod while walking is like talking on a cell phone during a prayer meeting–it’s just wrong.  For me, the silence is 1/2 of the beauty of the walk. 

Of course I love walking with people too.  For some reason it’s always easier to talk when you’re walking.  Jeff and I can sit down and stare at each other for 15 minutes but the minute we zip up our jackets, strap Dutch in the stroller, and head out into the cool air, we seem to wake up and carry on forever.  The same is true with friends.  And I think what I especially love about walking is that silence is ok.  I actually love silence, but hate the awkwardness that it seems to create, so I love how walking creates an environment for fellowship without the pressure of non-stop chatter. 

But most of all for me, walking benefits my mind, heart, and body.  For obvious reasons, walking benefits my body. I love that no matter how crappy I feel, I can always muster up the energy for a walk.  Billy Blanks and Denise Austin can seem like a bit much sometimes, but I can always find the courage to lace up my sneakers and do a few laps on the driveway.  For me, walking is even more beneficial than running.  When I do a lot of running, my knees and hips hurt something terrible (I sound so old! I’m only 27!), but walking makes my body feel so good without pain.  I also notice that when I run a lot, my thighs bulk up (my body default, in any given situation is just to bulk up my thighs), but with walking that doesn’t happen.  This, to me, is a miracle.  Walking requires no equipment, save a decent pair of shoes, and is absolutely free!  No membership fees!  The only major deterrent sometimes is the rain, but usually if I keep my eye out, I can find a break in even the steadiest downpour, and sneak in at least 30 minutes or so. 

Walking also benefits my heart.  When I walk, I can commune with God better than anywhere else.  I can’t grab my computer and check my email, the phone can’t ring and interrupt my thoughts, and I can’t get distracted by some chore.  Even when I have Dutch with me, he is so content to swing his legs and talk and point at the trees, I have the freedom to let my heart rest and lift up my prayers to God.  I also have an opportunity to be silent before Him.  Instead of constantly yacking on and on about my needs, in the quiet of my walk I can just be still and know that He is. 

Lastly, walking benefits my mind.  I love to think.  I love to let my mind go from one topic and see how it naturally goes on and on and on until I’m somewhere way out in left field contemplating things.  We are so constantly busy and stimulated in our minds, we rarely have time to just be.  I read once a man was telling an older wise woman about all that he does, memorizing scripture when he brushed his teeth, reading the paper while he ate his breakfast, “reading” books on tape while he drove in the car.  Her response was, “But when do you think?!”  Walking is when I think. 

So, when we moved from my ideal walking neighborhood out into the boonies, I was a little devestated.  It sounds ridiculous but really the single hardest thing about being out there was the fact that I couldn’t do my daily walks because we lived on a dangerous, windy country road.  So, I pouted about it for four months and was miserable because I needed my daily walk.  I felt trapped. I felt under-exercised, under-rested, under-thought, and under-prayed.  I missed the fresh air but I am incapable of going outside and just sitting, because that feels like doing nothing and I am no good at doing nothing.  SO, finally, I walked a loop, out my parents’ driveway, out to the main road, then down the driveway, all the way to the river and back to the house.  It took me 10 minutes, walking at a quick clip.  So, I decided that doing four laps wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and started doing that.  From shoe-lace tied to shoe-lace untied is 45 minutes, and that includes getting Dutch zipped into his jacket and his hat pulled down over his ears.  And you know what?  I love it.  I have grown to absolutely love it. It’s not the walking I loved back in McMinnville, but it’s walking just the same and it’s beautiful.  The road had a good hill that gets my heart-rate up, and at the bottom we can stop for a moment and watch the raging river while I point out birds and trees and rapids to Dutch.  He loves the fresh air and somehow it seems I can tell that it’s good for him too. 

So for Thanksgiving we are in Bend, visiting Jeff’s mom.  I wasn’t sure what the walking situation was like, but Thanksgiving morning, I announced I was going for a walk, and Jeff sweetly said he’d join me.  To my delight Janie informed us there was a 3-mile loop around the house, along a gravel road and back on the main highway.  So, we’ve walked it each morning of our stay here.  This morning, Jeff was gone so I walked it alone.  It was in the mid-teens so my face was so cold it stung, but as I turned the mid-way corner, the sun shown in my front and I could feel my cheeks begin to thaw.  In the icy cold, diamonds of frost glittered all along the road in the sunlight.  I inhaled deeply and looked up at the perfectly blue sky, marveling at how glorious the world is.  I thought for a moment of all the people waiting in line at department stores across the nation, taking advantage of Black Friday discounts, and had to smile.  I felt as though somehow I’d discovered a magnificent secret that none of them knew.  The real joy was right here, in this walk. In this freezing, silent, sunlight walk.  I walked with my face upturned to the sky, holding my arms out to the side (until my hands started to freeze then I had to shove them back in my pockets!), marveling at this sweet moment.  Don’t get me wrong, I later chose to brave the crowds for the sake of a 20% discount on clothes for Dutch at Carter’s, but for that moment, that morning, no discount in the world could have pulled me away from my glorious morning walk. 

So I say to you–try it!  Take a walk!  Bundle up your baby and tie up your laces.  Leave the i-pod and cell phone at home (unless you enjoy those things–then take them!), and enjoy the magic of a long walk.  And for those of you who still don’t think it’s real exercise, Billy Blanks will still be waiting for you when you get home. 

I’m forcing myself to make this brief because it’s late and I need to sleep, but I am absolutely unable to sleep while I have thoughts brewing and the only way to settle my mind is to get them written down. I am, I admit, addicted to this blog. And, I’d like you to know—if you are reading this: I am so happy you are reading this! A few of you have mentioned that you hope it’s ok if you’re reading my blog. Yes! Please! Read! I love it. I’m honored you’d take the time to be here with me.So my thoughts tonight are on humility, and tonight I got a simple glimpse of it. Tomorrow my brother is preaching on this topic at his church, and so tonight, while he and his wife were over for dinner, we had a discussion about what humility is and is not. This was interesting because I had an encounter today that gave me a glimpse of this elusive quality we so desperately need. I had the joy of a coffee date with a new friend of mine, a beautiful, intelligent, well-read, fun girl who I so admire. She is also just finishing up her PhD, after already finishing two Master’s degrees . . . at the age of 26!

So, after coffee, she came over and met my parents and had the most delightful time with my family. Down to earth, easy to talk to, unpretentious and just plain fun—it was a sweet relaxing evening. During dinner, my mom asked her what she was doing at Portland State. She replied, “Oh, I’m finishing up my degree.” Such a simple thing. Such a simple answer. But I looked at her and had to blink for a moment. It occurred to me, here she was finishing up her PhD and she simply said, “Oh, I’m finishing up my degree.” If I’d been in her shoes I would have undoubtedly emphasized, “I’m finishing my PhD” with a proud smile escaping through my lips. In fact, as I recall conversations I’ve had, I know that I’ve responded to similar questions and by telling people I’m working on my Master’s Degree, lest by some tragic misunderstanding they somehow think I was working on some lowly Bachelors. Puh-lease, I swear I make myself nauseated thinking about me.

But really, it was just a small thing—a moment’s encounter, but it gave me a small glimpse into what humility is: The lack of self-regard. My friend was perfectly content having no one laud her or praise her or show admiration for her studies. She was perfect content having my parents think whatever they wanted about her. She had no desire to be thought more of by her academic achievements. And it wasn’t as if it took her any ounce of effort to respond in that manner. I could tell, she just naturally didn’t care about mentioning it.

How I long for that lack of self-regard! And not a fake version of it—not purposely and calculatingly trying to put myself down or not be honest, just a simple heart that is content with people drawing their own conclusions about me and refusing to toot my own horn. I have so far to go in this area! It really makes me physically nauseated when I think of how much I like the praise of others. So tonight, I cannot sleep without expressing this: I’m thankful for my friend and the glimpse of humility that she showed me. God, help us to lose our need for self-lauding, and lose ourselves in You.

I am reminded this week that we are whole beings.  It’s a shame that the word “holistic” has such non-Christian connotations, because precisely what I want to emphasize is that we are holistic beings.  The definition of holistic is “Emphasizing the importance of the whole and the interdependence of its parts.” But please don’t conclude that I’m chumming up with the folks as holistic.com – I’m not.  I’m using the word based on the definition above. 

Sometimes I like to read through old things that I have written in years past.  As I read my journals, poems, and reflections, I marvel at the grace of God who has brought such growth in my life!  Sometimes it’s hard to even recognize the girl who wrote about such frustrations and struggles.  Not that I have attained some great spiritual state, but I praise God that I am not where I once was!  It fills my heart with thanksgiving to God for what He has done!  This is one advantage of keeping journals – we can remember what God has done. 

But as I read, I drew this conclusion:  I think one of the main reasons why I experienced defeat in my spiritual life in the past was a failure to recognize this powerful connection between body, soul (mind & emotions), and spirit.  If you prefer you can divide the human into just body and spirit instead (there’s a whole theological debate there!).  Whichever way you dice us up as humans, the important thing is that we recognize that none of our dimensions exist apart from the others.  In the past, I had placed all my emphasis on cultivating my spirit, believing that that was all that “mattered.”  But as I look back I can see that that is so dangerous.  When I believe this I am buying into the ancient Gnostic heresy that says that all matter is evil.  The way that this plays out is that I live a frustrated life because I only focus on the things of the spirit, but am constantly frustrated and “weighed down” by these other aspects of my person.  Instead of embracing those dimensions and recognizing that those are avenues by which we grow and develop our spirits, we see them as hindrances.  When I do this, I am living a dangerously dualistic life that in no way reflects the heart of the Father in His Word. 

It wasn’t until the past few years that I began to recognize and embrace this holistic view of life as a follower of Christ.  For example, when I challenge my mind, through learning, reading, studying, creating, and simply discovering, my senses are awakened to the greatness of God and I am thirsty to learn and know Him more.  The more I know Him, the more I love Him.  When I embrace and learn to express my emotions honestly and responsibly, I know myself better and am freed to truly know and love and be vulnerable with others, enabling me to grow in Christian fellowship and love, and to experience the richness of the body of Christ.  When I exercise my body and take delight in nourishing it through healthy, energy-giving food, I feel alive, I feel energetic, I feel strengthened for the work that God has for me.  When I feel freed from the shackles of physical struggles, I am able to freely give myself to God, to others, to the things around me.  Health in my mind, body, and emotions brings health in my Spirit, as I am freed to know God more, love God more, and enjoy God more. 

I’m thankful for the emphasis on this, remarkably enough, during my studies at Multnomah.  The course, Biblical Counseling, emphasized this truth.  My professor reiterated, innumerable times, that pastors and Christian workers don’t leave the ministry because they no longer love God or don’t want to read their Bibles anymore, they leave because of personal problems.  They don’t learn to cultivate themselves as whole beings, and so they are lopsided, unbalanced, susceptible to burn-out.  They spend 99% of their time trying to be spiritual, but huge parts of their lives are left uncared for.  Their physical, emotional, and mental health are neglected, which impacts one’s spirit.  It is impossible to flourish spiritually without flourishing in these other areas.  My professor even went so far as to demand that we create time for fun, recreation, fellowship with people who don’t drain our energy (!), sleep, vacation.  Imagine this!  I would add that we must be diligent to challenge our minds, and to exercise our bodies and nourish them with healthy food and not energy-sapping garbage.

I was reminded of this last week when I felt so crummy physically.  One thing led to another.  First, I was sick.  This led to a lack of sleep and an inability to exercise.  By the end of the week (which you all know who follow my blog), my whole being was a wreck.  This is an example of how we are not always in control of all of our dimensions.  We may get tossed around through circumstances and physical challenges, but our job is to continue to cultivate our whole beings, as best as we are able. 

So this week I have determined to get back in the holistic swing of things.  Saturday I indulged in a bath while reading a fun and creative book, The Secret Life of Bees.  I went for a hike with my brother, even though my lungs were hurting and my thighs were burning (!).   Sunday I enjoyed a passionate, powerful praise services, worshipping my precious Savior.  I have been going for long walks with Dutch every day this week.  I’ve taken Dutch down to the river each day to show him the beauty and splendor of nature.  I’m tutoring students, doing everything from long-division to reading comprehension problems.  I’m getting sleep.  I’m feasting on roasted yams, beets, and carrots, steaming hot green tea, and delicious Asian slaw.  I’m spending time with God in His Word.  I’m praying for people.  I’m reflecting.  And all of these things, put together, make for a refreshed, replenished, whole child of God.  We are holistic beings.  I am more than a spirit, body, and mind, disjointed and disconnected.  I am a whole daughter of God—magnificently complex.  I will love the Lord my God with all that I am—heart, soul, mind, and body.

And you shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.   Mark 12:30

What a difference a weekend can make.  Yesterday, I had one of the sweetest afternoons, even though I was still feeling sick and weak and physically miserable.  My brother came over in the afternoon and was taking care of a friend’s son who is six months older than Dutch, so we had the sheer delight of watching the two boys play with toys together (and steal toys from each other!).  Then Kris and I took the two boys in our backpack carriers and hiked up the Molalla River Corridor.  I was exhausted, carrying my 24 pound son after being sick in bed all week, but the opportunity to have sweet (and candid since he’d read my recent posts!) conversation as we trekked the trails was priceless.  It reminded me of similarly sweet times we’d had in college and it left me praising God for genuine, honest, sincere fellowship. 

That night, some dear recently married friends came over and cooked us all dinner, sharing their wedding photos and some generous gifts with us (it doesn’t get better than having someone bring fresh salmon to your own house and cook it for you while you relax!). 

I also read the my latest chapter in my John Piper book.  I am always amazed because whenever I pick up that book the chapter addresses exactly what I’m dealing with. I opened it up and saw “Battling Despondency” and shook my head, smiling that once again God was speaking personally to me.  Piper simply demonstrated, through the life of Jesus, that it is not sin to feel despondent, it is sin not to battle it.  I went to bed that night determined that I needed to fight.

Sunday morning I awoke with a raging migraine.  It was so infuriating—my spirit wanted to praise God and rejoice and press through and my head hurt so bad I could hardly see straight.  Jeff massaged my head and neck until the last minute before church, and we somehow managed to be dressed and fed and out the door in record time.  As Pastor Dale began his message, I once again had to shake my head at God’s personal love for me—it was all about enduring with courage through discouraging and disheartening times.  Wow!  Every word was for me.  It was literally as if two people had come along side me and lifted my arms, pulling me back up and giving me the strength to battle discouragement.  This afternoon my headache still raged, and no medicine would touch it, but Jeff and I had a radical time of prayer this afternoon, just seeking God for our future and asking Him for grace. 

I knew that tonight was the all-community praise and worship service.  Jeff and I had never been to one and I had a feeling it’d be neat to gather together all the area churches and praise God as one voice.  As the time neared to go, my headache was still raging and I wasn’t even sure I’d make it.  Then, Kris and Nikki stopped by for an hour before the service, and as we talked, my headache began, every so slowly, to fade.  By the time we reached the church I felt as though a thousand pound weight had somehow been lifted from my shoulders.  My headache faded even more, I saw dozens of people I love, hugged, laughed, and rejoiced.

And then we began to sing.  It is a gross understatement to say that I was completely undone by the goodness of God during worship.  His greatness, His faithfulness, His mercy, His love, His grace, His patience, His longsuffering, His provision  . . .Him!  He is the famous One, He is the Worthy One, He is the Awesome One.  As I stood and praised God, with outstretched arms,  the most vividly clear though filled my mind:  I am unspeakably rich.  To my left stood my parents; my faithful, godly, selfless, amazing parents who I love beyond measure.  Next to them stood my brother and sister in law, who have loved me faithfully, stood as a godly example to me, and supported me.  They held my precious 3-month-old niece.  To my right was my amazing, godly, faithful, humble, absolutely incredible husband, praising God at the top of his lungs.  In his arms sat my son, my beautiful, precious son who fills my life with joy.  Surrounding us were hundreds of God’s people, all praising Him together with one voice.  And the object of our praise was my Beautiful Savior, the most gloriously intriguing and awesomely powerful God, who loves me enough to send personal messages to encourage my soul.  As I stood there I was overwhelmed:  I am unspeakably rich. 

As we drove home in the dark, I watched my son play with his hands as he babbled to us and pointed at headlights reflecting on the windows.  My migraine was completely gone.  I felt like a heavy, cold weight had been lifted, a dark spell of some sort had been broken. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace.

Thank You, God for who You are.  I have everything because I have You.  I am unspeakably rich. 

There is one constant through all my blog entries.  As I re-read through some of the things I’ve written, I see deep valleys and high mountain peaks.  For so long, I felt my life was really smooth sailing, only hitting a little bump here and there but nothing jarring at all.  Right now, the road has turned to gravel, with huge potholes.  My headlights are dim so I can’t see in front very far ahead, and I’m bouncing along, squinting to see the next hairpin curve, praying desperately that God will use this bumpy road to accomplish His purposes in my life.  But there is one constant – my Jeffrey. 

My husband is the one who is behind every single blog entry, every single story—the unsung hero who serves silently, loving me, encouraging me, supporting me, through it all.

For example, yesterday.  You all read about yesterday is my last post.  The night that I cried myself to sleep, Jeff held me in his arms, praying for me, silently wiping the tears from my cheeks, squeezing me tightly in his safe and comforting embrace.  The next morning, when I was distraught and crying (again!), he immediately left his computer and the loads of schoolwork and teaching prep that he had to do, helping me change Dutch’s diaper and get him dressed and ready for the day. He loaded the car before we went into town.  He drove.  And, he didn’t even respond or get defensive when I was rude and told him how to drive.  He remained cheerful, loving, patient, humble, through my grumpiness, tears, and sharp remarks.  He dropped me off at the front door of the grocery store so I could get our food, then waited in the car with Dutch, picking me back up at the door so I didn’t have to walk in the rain.  When we got to Clackamas Town Center (where I was meeting my friends) – I was sure that I’d miss them because we were 20 minutes late.  I had to pee so bad I was whining about that too.  He drove me to the door and told me to go inside and pee and he would park, get Dutch all bundled up in his stroller, and bring him to me inside so that I could meet with the girls as soon as possible.  When he came inside, he insisted that he wanted to walk me in and stay with me, just in case I couldn’t find them and felt discouraged.  And he did.  He walked around the food court with me until I finally found the girls.  He talked with them, played with the other baby, and was the most loving, cheerful, selfless husband I could ever imagine.  Then, while I met with my friends, he sat in the car and worked on grading papers.  When I was done, he pulled the car around to the front of the mall, so that I once again didn’t have to walk in the rain.  He loaded the stroller and drove me home, insisting that I tell him all about my time with the girls, listening intently as I shared with him.

That is love.  I was utterly and completely unlovable this week.  I was grumpy beyond words and tired, impatient, complaining, and sad.  I moped around.  I was behind on the laundry.  Jeff had to sift through laundry baskets of clean clothes to find socks and underwear. 

And he never, never, complained.  Instead he brought me cough drops in bed, filled my water glass in the middle of the night, made me hot tea, and took care of our son so that I could rest.  He told me I was beautiful when all I could see was my zit.  He insisted that I look flawless when I was whining about gaining five pounds.  He even, at the end of the week, took me in his arms and danced with me, telling me that he’d never been more in love with me in his entire life.

Even as I write this, tears fill my eyes.  Who loves like that?  How on earth did I deserve getting a husband who daily demonstrates Christ’s selfless, agape love toward me?  When I least deserve it, he lavishes love on me most.  When I’m the ugliest, he praises my beauty.  When I’m harsh toward him, he responds with tenderness and grace.  He daily shows me what love truly is.  And yet, he so often goes un-praised.  While I find it hard to honestly rejoice in other’s success sometimes, I have to say that I have never ever met another person who so honestly and genuinely rejoices at other’s successes.  Ever.  It really is an amazing quality about Jeff.  Even though he has dreamed, for so many years, of serving God full-time in vocational ministry, as a pastor, and even though he’s watched so many of his friends see their dreams from true in that area, he has always, always, genuinely rejoiced over them.  He roots for my brother more than any other guy I know.  He loves seeing Kris succeed. He loves seeing his friends succeed.  And that amazes me.  He is truly a man who is not afraid of other’s success.  He is not threatened by anything.  He is a man who demonstrates true humility.  Not false humility where he pretends like he’s worthless, but true humility, where he recognizes his worth as a child of God and is secure in his status as God’s beloved son. 

And, I am blessed above all women to have him choose to love me.  So today, I wanted to finally post something that praises the man behind my life.  The one who shows me Christ daily.  The one I love.  Thank you, Jeffrey.