Lessons from the Lanai (2)
The second little thing that struck me from our vacation came from Philippians 2…
2 :: Philippians 2 Vacation Motto ::
As I shared before, I struggled with the feeling that taking a luxurious vacation to Hawaii seemed indulgent, selfish. The sermon Joel preached right before we left was from Philippians 2–on humility. And he shared that the most miserable, joy-less way to live is to be selfish. Selfishness is the surest route to misery. Well, I sure did not want to be miserable on vacation! So if vacation is selfish and selfish is joyless, we needed to figure something else out! So, we decided that in order to have joy on our vacation, it was our job to “look out for the interests of others” (Phil 2:4). In other words, I’d look out for Jeff’s best, he’d look out for me, we’d both look out for Dutch, Dutch would look out for Heidi, and Heidi would just be her silly little self because that’s about all she can be right now. If we all tried to give each other the very best, most fun and wonderful time ever, we could count on the fact that our joy would be full. That would be the blessing of our vacation. Not selfishness, but other-ness.
And it was. Jeff amazed me by selflessly playing in the shallow water with our kids for hours and hours while I relaxed. He built a dozen sandcastles, “swam” in 6-inch deep water pretending to be a humpback whale, and stayed in the dark hotel room during naptime so I could lounge alone by the beach with my book. He got up every morning and took Dutch for a walk to get me coffee. I soaked and slow-cooked beans and mixed up simple yummy meals for the fam, brought picnics on the beach, and … actually I can’t think of anything else I did for anybody. I think I got spoiled on this trip. 🙂 The kids were, naturally, plenty selfish, but Dutch did a great job helping sister, he even carried her little pink Dora suitcase for her, and held her hand in the car to keep her happy. Sure, we had our share of selfish moments, but I think Philippians 2 will be my new vacation motto–if we all try to give each other the best, most wonderful time ever, then we all win.
And you know what happened? Somehow, while we were all trying to bless each other, our gracious heavenly Father schemed up an amazing Grand Finale to our trip. I get tears in my eyes just thinking about it because it so showed God’s tender love for us. While we were there I received a text message from a gal in my Bible study group, a family new to our church, who just happened to be visiting Maui at the same time, staying just 1/3 of a mile up the road from us. They invited us to visit their resort which was Hawaiian-heaven. No. Seriously. This place was amazing. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I thought Dutch’s eyes were going to pop out of his head as he swam around the tropical-paradise pool and swam under the huge waterfall into the underwater cave. Jeff, who had wanted to body-surf and snorkel the whole time but had instead spent his vacation building sand-castles, got to swim on their amazing beach, body surf, and use their snorkel gear while they played with our kids on the beach. It was like God had planned the whole week to give us this extra-special kiss from Him, and He allowed us to get to know this wonderful family from church. We drove away that evening from their hotel, pulled over the car, and all thanked God for orchestrating that amazing circumstance. The best part about it was it was unmistakably a God-thing. The best part of blessing is the God behind it all.
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So now we are home. There is no place like it. When we walked in the door our house was 49 degrees, and today it is pouring rain. But oh do I love home! And how much do I long to be a more thankful, joyful, contented woman than before. God has brought us so far, and yet we have so far to go, don’t we? I rejoice that He is so patient with us and gracious toward us. This hymn keeps echoing in my heart:
Jesus Jesus how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er!
Jesus Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more!
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Lessons from the Lanai (1)
Ok, I hesitate even writing about our recent trip to Maui because I am well aware of the fact that perhaps ya’ll back here in the freezing rain do not want to hear chipper little me running at the mouth about some little spiritual lesson I learned while lounging on the white sands of a Hawaiian beach eating fresh pineapple. I will not lie. It was glorious. It was beyond glorious. It was a God-kiss blessing that I will never forget. It was probably the best family-memory time we have ever had. Of course there were highs and lows, but there were times when I was so overwhelmed by God’s graciousness to us that my eyes filled up with tears in the middle of a swim in the pool. Not just that it was neat to be on a tropical island, but it was so just God. I picture our entire trip like God plopping us down in the middle of a big wide-open space, and then pouring out a huge bucket of His blessing smack dab on our heads. We did nothing to earn it; He was just gracious and we sat and soaked it all in. And for that I am so thankful beyond words. And now that we’re back, if you will allow, I would love to share two brief life-lessons that struck me during our trip.
1:: When Everything’s Gravy ::
Believe it or not, not everyone on the heavenly island of Maui is happy. I mean, sure most people were happy, sitting on the sands looking out over breathtaking vistas, pointing excitedly toward the dozen humpback whales we saw, breaching and blowing their shooting spray high into the ocean air. Children played excitedly in the warm aqua ocean, splashing and pointing at tropical fish and tiny crabs scurrying this way and that. But when we first arrived Jeff and I had to chuckle at a little display that gave us perspective right off the bat.
We had just gotten our rental car, and had been traveling for about 8 hours–we were exhausted, hot, sooo hungry, and SO excited to see the beach. We were a mix of giddy and exhausted–not sure whether to rejoice or complain. Ever been there? As we pulled out of the rental car lot, the car ahead of us stopped at the gate. The man got out of his car and started yelling at the attendant, pointing at a dozen or so tiny little dings on the sides of his rental car. He was obviously irate that he, a distinguished man with such great attention to detail, would have to ride in such a jalopy. (Mind you, this was Budget rental car, what did he expect?). The poor attendant, whose job was simply to press a button and allow cars to exit, stood and smiled amicably. I was thankful that he didn’t seem offended or ruffled, because I wanted to jump out of the car and hug the attendant and tell him I was sorry he’d received such verbal abuse. The funny part was that the man in the car sped off fuming without realizing that the trunk of his car was wide open. Mr. Attention-to-detail-man must have not noticed this detail in his cloud of anger. We drove by him down the road when he’d pulled over on the shoulder to shut his trunk.
I don’t mean to make fun of that man, we’ve all be there, right? Allowed an insignificant inconvenience to get us all bent out of shape? I certainly have. I’ll admit there were moments on the 5 1/2 hour plane-ride (which, by the way, of the 11 total hours on the plane my children did not sleep one single minute. What is wrong with them???), when I thought, “Why again are we doing this?”
But what that little scene did was serve as a valuable reminder, right from the get-go. When we were just making the choice whether to rejoice or complain–the car rental guy let us see things clearly. Here we were, the most privileged of privileged, flying on jets and visiting exotic islands and experiencing the finest of luxuries, and yet selfishness could cause a person to be a fool. An absolute blethering fool, yelling at a parking attendant because of a tiny ding in the car. I vowed at that moment and asked God to let me be thankful for everything, to please spare me from being foolish, and instead to see everything as gravy.
But during the trip here was the wonderful realization: When we keep our lives simple, everything is gravy. I love that. Going on this trip made me more than ever want to lead a simple life, and cultivate a simple environment for my kids–an environment of thankfulness for everything, rejoicing in everything.
For example, we got the cheapest hotel we could find that had a kitchen. We all slept in the same room–Dutch, Jeff and I shared a bed and Heidi was in the port-a-crib at our side. I LOVED it. It was so wonderful. It had an unusual beach front, but it was situated right next to a park that had reef which blocked the waves and created a perfect little wading-type area in the ocean where the kids could play and explore all day long with no worry of waves or rip currants. We ate out one meal the whole week, and the rest of the time we ate beans and rice and peanut butter sandwiches I had brought in our carry-on. We splurged on 6 fresh pineapples from the farmer’s market and some fresh pineapple salsa and that’s what we ate. All week. And you know what? We loved it! We exulted in God’s creation and built sandcastles and chased fish and crabs and swam and splashed and laughed ourselves silly. The way we looked at it–we were on the most beautiful island we could imagine. Everything was gravy.
I certainly don’t mean I do this perfect or mean to toot my own horn like we have this figured out. Our trip was a beautiful moment of simplicity and clarity and I just long for this attitude in all of life. The bottom line is that we have been saved from the pit of hell by a gracious God who loved us and died for us, called us His own, has redeemed us and called us and has wonderful plans for us. Everything is gravy. ANY good we get here on earth is just icing on the cake. We are SO blessed. This whole vacation was worth it if only for that one little lesson. That is joy. When everything is gravy. And I pray that poor man in the rental car comes to know the joy of Jesus, or perhaps he already does and that was just a momentary lapse. There are plenty of times (every day!) that I have acted like him, complaining about ridiculousness when in reality I’m surrounded by paradise. We all can use a little dose of this perspective, amen? Everything is gravy.
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Prayer, Fasting, and Sprinkler Systems
Is there anything more exhilarating than those sacred moments when you realize that the God of the universe has just shown up in your life? No matter how mundane the subject matter–when God inserts Himself you’ve got a miracle on your hands. I experienced this today.
First things first: Prayer. I am a relatively new participant, really, in the world of prayer. I’ve always talked to God, but have never really thrived in the world of intercessory prayer. When people talk about praying all night long, I avoid eye contact. If I prayed all night it would have to be in my sleep. Long periods of prayer for me are usually punctuated by an embarrassing amount of mind-wandering. But, I’m growing! As many of you know, we began a women’s prayer meeting every Monday morning at 6am. This has challenged me and helped me so much. It’s like a weekly reset button that reminds me of the power of getting alone with God in prayer. The other women challenge and encourage me, and there’s so much joy in knowing that the current events of the church, and of our lives, have been lifted up to the God of heaven and earth.
If I felt weak in prayer, I felt hopelessly weak in fasting. For years the word “fasting” felt dreaded to me. I used to fast consistently, but for several years–ever since I got pregnant with Dutch and began this 4-year period of being either pregnant or breastfeeding nonstop–I could not do it for the life of me, and every time I tried it was anything but spiritual. Instead it was me, grumpy and more fleshly than ever, frustrated by the process and counting down the hours until it was done. Nothing seemed accomplished. Finally, I gave up, and told God that I was waiting until He gave me a clear green light. Until then, I was tired of failing.
So, just recently, in a clear-as-day moment during the middle of someone else’s crisis, He gave me the green light. I can explain it in no other way than that I knew with 100% clarity what He was asking me to do. And I kid you not–it was 180 degrees different from before. Joy, purpose, strength (yes, still tired, but in a different sort of way) characterized the time. And when I was done, I knew I was done. So much peace. Though I suppose I was technically fasting “for” someone else, I knew deep down this was God graciously giving me another chance to engage in a precious spiritual discipline that would allow me to experience more of Him. He was blessing me.
Because of that experience, Jeff and I decided to fast and pray together, regularly. Please hear me in this–I share this not to toot our horn but to show you that God is so gracious in our weakness! He wants to show up in our lives and He makes it so easy for us! And personal fasting is supposed to be done in secret (as with prayer), so we are wise to be discreet about it. However, I have learned so much by others who share about their experience with spiritual disciplines. Hence, I’m sharing this.
So, we did this recently, and I happened to have a meeting that morning that was extremely challenging, in a good way. It challenged some of my assumptions about how ministry is done, and therefore gave me some good fodder for prayer that day, as I contemplated what I’d heard. The gist of it was how to get more creative in frugality and financial giving, so that more and more true ministry can take place.
So, the day goes on and Jeff and I have our scheduled prayer time over the phone. I’m praying about lofty things, and to my surprise all of a sudden Jeff starts praying for our sprinkler system (which we were to install this next weekend). Um, ok. Yeah, I guess God even cares about helping us install our sprinkler system. That’s cool.
Later that night, fasting is done, we treat the kids to ice cream and go to Lowe’s to buy all the materials for installing the sprinkler system. Of course nothing’s as it’s supposed to be–they’re missing a bunch of pieces, Heidi cracks her head on the concrete floor, you know the routine–house projects never look quite like the pictures you see on the ad. They should show DIY-manuals with pictures of people crying or punching holes in walls. Anyway…
We buy all the materials–$168–and get in the car. I quickly do all the addition in my head–renting the trencher, buying the materials, the hours of labor. It reached at least $350 and several summer weekends. I get the kids some ice water–they’re hot and tired; it’s past their bedtime. We pull away and for some reason I begin to think of Africa (one of the things we’d been praying for all day).
“What a funny culture we live in. We’re spending almost $400 and hours and hours of labor so that we don’t have to walk outside and turn on a hose-sprinkler. Does that strike you as odd?” Jeff looked at me like I’d just said the most profound thing in the world.
He frowned slightly, in thought. “I guess we don’t have to have a sprinkler system.” I thought about this. We’d figured we had to, since our neighborhood is pretty nice and all the other homes do. It’s an investment, of course, because you supposedly get your money back when you sell. Then I thought of John Piper’s statement about his house, when he was criticized for buying in a poor neighborhood: “I didn’t buy my house as an investment,” he said, “I bought it to live in.” His investment, I suppose, is in heaven. Yes, I’m all for wise investments, but how much better to forget about my personal investment, and instead invest that money in something far greater.
Then, of course, my morning’s meeting came back front and center in my mind. That was it. If we all made little choices, like skipping ridiculous things like sprinkler systems, we could fund God’s kingdom work no problem! I shared this with Jeff and the decision was done. Jeff and I were jumping out of our seats with excitement. We’d heard from God! We’d fasted and prayed and Jeff had specifically prayed about our sprinkler system, even though it seemed odd at the time, and God had a plan that wove it all together–in a way that would leave no doubt that He, the King of Kings, was leading our lives. How exciting is that! And, we now had a chunk of change, to give to that special cause, that we hadn’t had before. Woohoo!
We came home giddy. All of a sudden we realized that our project would now be easy–could probably be finished in a weekend. Topsoil and grass–that’s all we needed. Which also meant we could spend the rest of our summer playing, rather than toting our kids back and forth to Home Depot. As we pulled onto our street we actually rolled down the windows and starting shouting praises out the window. Even Heidi joined in. I’m sure the neighbors thought we were crazy, but we have reason to celebrate. God actually cares about our lives–every mundane detail. Prayer, fasting, and sprinkler systems: that’s exhilarating to me.
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*Of course my point is not that sprinkler systems are evil :), but rather how getting with God transforms our thinking, helping us to be spiritually minded rather than mindlessly going with the flow of the world. In what ways has God challenged you to do things different? I’d love to hear.
Planted
Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree, planted by streams of water and yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers. Psalm 1:1-3
This week I am overwhelmed by God’s goodness. I’d mentioned before that April and May had me in a funk something terrible. Of course there are always a number of factors that play into those things, but one was the arrival of my 30th birthday. I know, I know–30 is still young, but birthdays always bring an assortment of mixed emotions, especially milestone ones. The emotion I was most clearly sensing was this: For my whole life I’ve been basically running at a sprint pace into the next “thing” to accomplish. College in three years, ministry training school, teaching, getting married, college ministry, moving to San Jose, moving back, finishing seminary, having a baby, having another baby, moving ELEVEN times, getting a job, selling two houses, buying a house, fixing up the house, starting in women’s ministry, run run run! Then all of a sudden, this June, when our schedule slowed and I sat back, I realized,
“Hm…this is it. I mean, of course I’ll keep running for Jesus, but I don’t have any big thing on the horizon to run toward, to strive after. I’m planted. Jeff’s a pastor, we have a house, we have our two kids, I’m doing women’s ministry. Really, everything we were working toward … we have. And now … I’m 30, and my roots are down. No more running. I can’t even run to Starbucks without 30 minutes prep of potty and shoes on and diaper change and carseats strapped and snacks packed and books in hands and sippy cups and AHH!! I’m planted to be sure! Stuck right down in the mud!”
Ok, I’m exaggerating, but sometimes when we’ve been running for so long, chasing after each new thing, it’s kind of a rude awakening to go, “Hm.. this is my life. And, it’s actually fairly ordinary.” And yes, I know, my whole passion in life is the sacredness of the mundane, right? Well the mundane just didn’t seem that sacred. It felt more like being planted in mud. There were even a few thorns to be quite frank with you.
So my 30th birthday came, and my amazing husband and friends truly overwhelmed me with love. I, who am never surprised by anything, was surprised over and over and over. What I thought was a “shark party” for Dutch turned out to be a family birthday party for 
me (complete with shark cake, check it out). The day of my birthday my best friend of 30 years (yes, we were born friends) came over for the day and brought every favorite food of mine, Izze grapefruit drinks, Food Should Taste Good chips, mango salsa, and gooey chocolate chip cookies. Then my husband surprised me by coming home early, arranging babysitting by my parents,and whisking me away for the evening. What he had done was the most amazing gift anyone’s ever given me. He created a website, for me, and had friends and family write special posts for me, for my birthday. It was unbelievable. Friends from ages ago, recent friends, family, co-workers at church … I sat there in Starbucks, sipping my decaf caramel frappucino (my birthday included a lot of calories!), and laughed until my side hurt, cried until my nose ran, shook my head in awe that my dear friends and family would take the time to encourage, love, and affirm me in that way. I was absolutely undone and overwhelmed with love.
And it showed me that roots are a beautiful thing. That being planted is the best place to be. Though all the posts were amazing to me, the ones that had me in stitches were remarkable all in the same way–they recounted innumerable memories of times shared together. Hard times, laughter, embarrassing moments, growth in godliness, epiphanies and insights, heartache and breakthrough. I was struck by the fact that most people only share those kind of memories at someone’s funeral. What a gift, an amazing gift, to get to read and revel in the joy of those memories while one is still alive!
The night finished with Jeff surprising me with an amazing Thai dinner with a few more long time friends–a guy friend of 26 years, and a girlfriend of about 22 years. Again I found myself just sitting there marveling at how rich those relationships are, those roots that go down and down and down. Roots of relationship built on Christ.
And I have new roots too, new roots in our WCC home, that I cherish and nurture and water and look forward to watching as they grow down down in Christ.
So today, in a deliriously joyful state because of the sun, I spent 
the afternoon working in my garden. This is my first garden that’s not in pots. I’ve only been able to plant things in pots because–surprise!–we moved so often. This is my first garden that’s not moving! It’s planted. My first snow-pea blossoms burst out in beautiful white today. The Bibb lettuce looks brilliantly green against the damp dark dirt. Roots are growing and flowers are blooming. I’m s
o thankful to be planted, and I pray God will help me blossom here, to bear fruit for His glory, in this season of life. I’m embracing 30, and praying that God will keep me fixated on His word, abiding in His presence, walking in His grace. Thank you so much to those of you who contributed to the precious little birthday website. You know who you are and I am overwhelmed with thankfulness that you would take the time to love me in that way.
Lord plant us. Water us. Let our roots go deep and our fruit abound, for your glory. Amen.
Snapshots of my Mother
Today we returned from our weekend in Bend, and on my porch I found a tall, narrow green box. I recognized its type. Shaking my head and smiling I took it inside and pulled the cardboard tab that freed the contents: A snugly-packed dozen of breathtaking roses in yellow, ivory, pink, and red. They are perfection set against my scratched and well-worn kitchen table, and managed to elevate our rather humble dinner of microwaved quesadillas to a bountiful and elegant affair.
It is Mother’s Day, of course, and who were the roses from? None other than my own mother. In true motherly fashion, she gave more than she would ever receive. In fact, she also sent them to her daughter-in-law, and her mother-in-law. In true celebration of all the other mothers in her life, she honored them all, a gesture which was emblematic of who my mom is in all of life.
I’m in the middle of reading An American Childhood by Annie Dillard.(Remarkable! More on this book later.) In it she describes her own mother, and the blurry snapshots she remembers of her early childhood reached from the page and gripped me so intensely I wished with everything in me that I could meet this woman! It also made me recall some of my own disjointed early memories–my own snapshots of my mother that live with me and undoubtedly flavor the way I live and love and mother my own children. Here are several.
Scent is my strongest memory, and my mom’s was heaven. The soft dip of her skin right above her collarbone seemed to be the origin of this mom-scent, and to lay my head on her chest gave me the perfect position to close my eyes and breathe it in. It was safety, warmth, love all at once. It was everything all ok.
We were in Molalla Thriftway when the thought bubbled up in my mind and spilled out my mouth, the way thoughts do with kids. I was sitting in the front part of the cart, dangling my legs. Brach’s candy to my right, donuts to my left, we just passed the bacon–“Mommy, you should bottle up your smell and sell it to everyone because it’s the best smell in the world.” She smiled and kissed me. My heart soared.
I loved my mom. I adored her. She was the definition of beauty to me. Her fingernails were so long, so hard and thick! But she had a bad habit of picking at her hangnails, which I do now, and wholeheartedly blame her for, among other things, most of which have to do with my ankles. But of course now I am sympathetic to how irritating it must have been to have a little girl constantly following her around and incessantly investigating her body and asking embarrassingly candid questions. I very clearly remember asking my mom why her thighs made funny dimples when she sat down. Oh good grief; I’m never letting Heidi see my bare thighs. And I thought it was so strange that she always had slivers sticking out of her legs–I was convinced she must have spent our naptimes crawling around on the cedar deck.
She always played praise music. My dad played Elvis and sometimes I would cry at night because I was convinced that my dad would go to hell because he listened to Elvis. When my mom finally coaxed this admittance out of me she set my poor theologically-confused self straight and I could sleep again at night.
She was eternally patient with these night crying spells of mine. Often I would cry because I missed my Grandpa Zyp–whom I had never met. I thought of him often, wondered what he was like, wished I had known him before he’d died in 1976. He seemed so real to me I missed him terribly. She would sit on the edge of my bed, as though not a thing in the world were bidding for her time, and listen to me explain again that I missed him, and could she tell me again how funny he was and how he would have loved me.
She listened again, countless nights, as I cried because I could not understand eternity. This lasted a long time. Somehow not being able to comprehend eternity was seriously troubling to my little soul. I’d read and dream of heaven, wanting to be excited about the prospects of glory, but paralyzed by the fear of not understanding what eternity could possibly be like. Forever and then what? She’d listen, smile, pray with me.
I remember being proud as a peacock that my mom never left me with a babysitter. Other kids got left with babysitters all the time. Not me. They took us with them everywhere. I vividly remember mom and dad getting criticized for taking us with them on a romantic excursion that they’d been given by the church. We all stayed at a Bed & Breakfast near Mount Hood, and etched forever in my memory were the mornings Kris and I watched morning cartoons while stretched out on the lace and floral linens of the fancy beds. Knowing that they’d been criticized for it made me all the prouder that they took us with them. They’d chosen us! I knew they loved us more than most parents loved their kids. That was the secret I tucked in my heart–I was so loved.
Mom’s discipline was effective because she’d won our hearts. When we were naughty–let me rephrase that, my brother was never naughty–when I was naughty, she let me know it broke her heart. She was firm, consistent, letting me bear the brunt of the consequences, but somehow I was so convinced of her love for me that it almost seemed like being naughty was hurting her personally–the one thing I’d never want to do. I’m still not sure how she did it, but I pray, often, that God will enable me to do the same.
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And now, my mom is friend to me, Oma to my children, and still my constant source of wisdom, confidence, love. There is no one on earth to whom I’d rather go for a listening ear, wise council, godly perspective. In her presence I am me–without guard or guise.
And she has quickly won the hearts of my children as well. Oma is magic to them. Reading stories, teaching words, weaving tales. She educates with every breath. When I am blinded by behavior she somehow always sees the heart.
Thank you, Mom, for the years of sitting on my bed at night, listening. Thank you for letting me smell that special spot on your neck, and for taking me on that romantic excursion that should have been for you and dad. I don’t know why it mattered so much, but from that point on I knew nothing much could go wrong. Thank you for giving me the gift of security–the secret of knowing you loved us more than we could probably even imagine.
And thank you for roses. You, ever-giving. Happy Mother’s Day.
What's so special about Riversong?
If you’ve followed this blog for long, you’ve probably heard me mention how much I love coming out to Riversong, my parents’ beautiful home along the River. If you’ve followed this blog for few years you’ll also remember, however, that I did not like living here. 🙂 In my daily life I appreciate things like cell phone service, being able to go for walks and runs (narrow, windy country roads aren’t conducive to this), a 30-second drive to Safeway for fresh milk, and a 1-minute drive to Starbucks if I’m having a rough day. I also love neighbors, and I especially love mine.
But living in the hustle bustle of busy suburbia does seem to press in on the margin of my life, until I begin longing for white space and teetering on the verge of a pang of resentment that all the squares on my calendar have words scribbled on them. It’s then that I know it’s time for Riversong.
This time, I actually wasn’t feeling over-busy or resentful, but Jeff is out of town for the week, so rather than sulk at home wishing I were also attending Catalyst West, we tossed Dutch’s muck boots and my latest parenting book in the car and ventured to our wilderness home away from home.
So what’s so special about this place?
First off, there’s something about a place with a name. I’m instantly transported to a Rosamunde Pilcher novel. When I turn off the main road, down the steep gravel drive, then right between the old crumbling concrete pillars and by the wooden Riversong sign, I feel my shoulders begin to relax. This time, all the apple blossoms are exquisite white bursts against the cold, bare, wintery branches. The river is still dark and rushing. The first spots of green poke through the dark, moist dirt in the garden.
Secondly, you can’t see another house. The horses next door, an occasional deer, and the osprey nesting across the river are the only visitors, unless Tony the neighbor down the road decides to drop off some of his fresh Mahi Mahi he’s caught on one of his Mexico fishing expeditions. No complaints there!
Third, it’s a good thing I don’t stay here for long, because you can count on my parents to have the pantry stocked. This trip it’s the doublestuff Oreos, fresh strawberry shortcake, and baked mac ‘n cheese.
Afternoons throwing rocks in the river, evenings in the hot tub, sipping tea in the light of early morning, watching the river outside the front room window, sitting at the dining room table talking to Mom, unaware of hours slipping by.
And I think that’s really it. Riversong is magical because of who my parents are. They make Riversong a place of restoration, healing, calm, beauty. They take you as you are, fuss over nothing, revel in the joy of being able to serve others with the home God has given them. I guess that’s what makes it so special out here–the spirit of joy and calm and rest. Whatever it is, I’m thankful I’m here for now.
The Waters of Sanctification
God knocked me on my backside tonight.
I never cease to be amazed at how God’s Word is just that, God’s word, and how it is living and active, how it pierces our hearts, speaks to the moment, convicts and encourages and teaches and guides. And sometimes, it catches me off guard and about knocks me off my feet.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been a bit discouraged with parenting. Specifically, with my three-year-old’s behavior in Sunday School at church. We’ve done sticker charts, we’ve done rewards, we’ve done treats, we’ve done corporal punishment, we’ve done time-outs, we’ve done praise and applause and jumping up and down. We’ve talked about it, cried about it, prayed about it. And something still just isn’t working right, and quite frankly it has me discouraged and a bit weary. Though I love worshipping with God’s people, I find myself dreading every trip to church, dreading the check-in time when inevitably Dutch will morph into “dangerous shark terror”, dreading the pick-up time when I hear that Dutch took off his shoe and threw it at someone (yes, that was yesterday), dreading the look on the teachers’ faces when they see Dutch arrive. I feel like going to a therapy meeting and saying, “Hi, I’m Kari, and yes, my son is ‘that kid’.”
So today I hit a low point and caught myself in the comparison trap, and not only the comparison trap, but an even uglier version–the prideful comparison trap.
“Why this, Lord? I’m busting my tail at parenting. I read all the books, try all the methods, pray pray pray. I study the Word, I teach him Bible verses, I don’t work so I can spend all day with him. This is humiliating and I feel like everyone’s an expert on this except me. Why am I apparently the only one failing in this area? I don’t want to be the mom of the bad kid! How on earth can I be a women’s ministry leader and Bible teacher if my son clocks people in the head with his shoe?!!”
Then I remembered something a friend (who can very much identify with my situation), said the other day: “It’s very humbling to have ‘that kid’, isn’t it?” Oh boy is it ever.
So after my little hissy fit, tonight we were doing our little family devotional time with Dutch. We were all snuggled in bed and Jeff was reading from the Jesus Storybook Bible. The story, which I’d read to him a dozen times before, was of Naaman, the very important commander of the Syrian army, who was sick with leprosy, and sought the healing prayer of Elisa the prophet. But instead of Elisha coming out to greet him, bowing down to Naaman in honor, Elisha doesn’t even come out of his house, but instead sends out his servant who tells Naaman to simply wash in the stinky, smelly Jordan river seven times. Now Naaman was ticked, saying,
“I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call upon the name of the LORD his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them and be clean?” (2 Kings 5:11-12)
So then he turns in a rage and storms off.
Do you hear the pride? Naaman wanted God to heal Him using Naaman’s methods, methods that reinforced his own pride and met his expectations of what miraculous healing should look like.
Who finally speaks some reason into this prideful heart? Interestingly, Naaman’s servants:
“But [Naaman’s] servants came near and said to him, “My father, it is a great word the prophet has spoken to you; will you not do it?”
In other words, “God has given you a clear directive for your healing and restoration. Are you really telling me you’re too proud to do it?”
Am I too proud to do it?
How many times have I prayed, “God heal me of my pride. God sanctify me. God grant me humility. God grant me a teachable spirit. God help me connect with the real needs of women around me. God help me grow in maturity and wisdom. God reveal areas that are sinful that need Your touch. God heal me of my selfishness, heal me of my insecurity, heal me of myself.”
Go wash in the Jordan.
Go wash in the murky, stinky waters of a toddler’s rebellion and embarrassing misbehavior. Go wash in the murky water of trial and error, of charting unknown waters, of trying new things that oftentimes don’t work. Go wash in the waters of humility, in the waters of asking others for help, in the waters of exhausting repetition and consistency. Go wash in the waters of faith and not of sight.
“But Lord! I’d rather wash in the crystal clean waters of Bible Study. I’d like to grow in my sanctification by…hmm…how about blogging? That’s a fun way to grow! Or perhaps by really successful speaking engagements, that’s fun too. Or by really encouraging, deep, meaningful times in the Word each and every morning. That would be fabulous. Or perhaps I could even just read a few good books, underline a lot, and then have the whole thing down pat. That’d be great. But these waters? The waters of the Jordan? These are stinky and smelly and humiliating.”
But these are the waters of life. Finally, Naaman saw the error of his ways, and in verse 14 we read,
“So he went down and dipped himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God, and his flesh was restored like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.”
Ok, Lord. I’ll go. I’ll wash–seven times. I’ll keep praying for this boy, keep persevering with consistency, keep listening to the advice that comes way, keep praying for creativity and wisdom. And even if you’ve called me to have “that kid”, I humbly receive your directives and pray you’ve give me the grace to submit to these waters of sanctification. They may be smelly, but I believe I will emerge, at some point, restored, renewed, and healed of myself.
My cousin, Scott
One of my favorite pictures in my childhood photo album is of me and my brother and older cousin Cathleen, all hunched down on our knees, watching excitedly out the window of the Portland Airport, our little hands against the glass, watching for the airplane. The next photo on the page is of my aunt and uncle, faces wet with tears, holding the most teeny tiny miniature dark-skinned baby I’ve ever seen. He was snuggled in a blanket, sleeping soundly. Baby Scott was his name, and we loved him in an instant.
I love having a diverse family, and if there ever was one, we have it. My three maternal cousins are all 6’5″-6’7″ guys, towering giants, along with my beautiful exotic-looking Aunt Linda who looks tiny next to them at only 6’1″. Her husband is also 6’5″, carries a gun at all times, and rides a Harley. My Dad and Mom are fairly average, and my brother and I are also, the blond-haired, blue-eyed, mid-sized type. My uncle’s wife is Japanese, from Hawaii. And their two children, Cathleen from Bangladesh, and Scott adopted from Calcutta, are beautiful, handsome, and dark as night. This never seemed unusual to me, but looking back at extended family photos, we look a lot like a United Colors of Benetton ad. I remember one time when I was very small, I sat with my cousin Scott and we ate chocolate chip icecream. “Scott!” I exclaimed happily, “I’m like the vanilla and you’re like chocolate chips!” My mom was embarrassed but we laughed and laughed, so happy at our discovery.
So speaking of my wonderful cousin Scott–who is now all grown up–, he teaches a ragtag bunch of 4th graders down in Las Vegas, as well as serves as a sports coach. I just found out about this fun litle article, written about him, so as a proud cousin I had to post it myself. Way to go, Scott! So proud of you and how you make a difference in the lives of those kids each and every day.
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“We are 5th graders at Ollie Detwiller Elementary School, and we wanted to nominate a 4th grade teacher here at our school as our hero. Mr. Zyp has been at the school for 4 years, and he is a great teacher. They say that the principal gives him all the kids that are hard to handle, because he has a way of keeping everyone involved and learning and not causing trouble. He is a great teacher, but we want to nominate him for what he does for us after school. Mr. Zyp is the football and basketball coach, and he usually coaches all of us by himself. Everyone plays, and everyone learns, and if it wasn’t for the sports programs that he runs, I think we’d all be in trouble. We win alot, too, which is also good. So, here’s a picture of our coach, Mr. Zyp, and he would really like it if you could say these things about him on your web page. Thanks.The Ollie Detwiller Otters
Surprise!
I sit right now looking out at a beautiful blue, cloudless sky and ocean waves crashing on the smooth sandy shore outside the window of a three-story beach house. Jeff, my dad, and my brother are down on the beach with the kids, the babies are napping, my mom and aunt are on a walk, my cousin’s working on his laptop next to me on the couch, my uncle is enjoying the massage chair, and my sister-in-law and I are blogging. Can I please stay here forever?
I finally get to write about something I’ve been anticipating for months. My dad’s birthday was Sunday, and so for the past couple months we’ve been scheming a surprise. My brother, sister-in-law and their two kids, planned a secret road trip out here from Utah where they live. They arrived at our house and we hid their car in our garage. My parents came over for a casual birthday dinner, thinking it would just be Jeff and me and the kids, and we shocked them by opening the door and –surprise!–they were all here. We then further surprised them but announcing that we were leaving in the morning for 3 days at a luxury beach house, all of us–along with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. Thirteen of us total, sharing a huge three-story beach house overlooking the ocean in Lincoln City.
We’ve all been so afraid we’d slip and let out the secret, but amazingly, no one did, and my parents were absolutely stunned. The whole trip has been a God-thing; everything from the most perfect sunny weather, to everyone being able to get off work, to kids sleeping soundly and having a blast together. It’s been one of those precious memory-making times that we’ll treasure forever. And… vacationing with grandparents is always the best–built in babysitters!
At the same time I’ve been reading through Ezra and Nehemiah and this morning I read about how after the book of the Law was read, they basically threw a party like none other: “Then all the people went away to eat and drink, to send portions of food and to celebrate with great joy, because they now understood the words that had been made known to them.”
I’m thankful that God loves a feast, a party, a time of wholesome and exuberant rejoicing, a time of reveling in the goodness of God.
That’s what this time has been for me. To the people in the book of Nehemiah, they worked hard then played hard. They committed themselves to work, then celebrated with all their might. The last few months have definitely been a season of hard work for the Pattersons– on all fronts, this vacation has just been a well-timed kiss from God. We’re so thankful to be here. It’s reminded me how important both Sabbath times are–being diligent to add a consistent time of rest into my weekly schedule–and celebration/feast times are–times to temporarily set aside thoughts of budgets or diets–and go all out and celebrate God’s lavish love for us with those we love. That second one is hard for me, because it is feels impossible for me to separate myself from frugality, but God reminded me of it in a special way when I showed up for our 6am morning prayer time on Monday, before we left for the beach. As we finished praying and walked away, one of the women in our group pulled me aside and said quietly, “God told me to give you all the money in my wallet. Here.” What?! First off, what a generous, amazing woman of God to respond to God’s prompting in such a selfless, obedient way. Secondly, how humbled and blessed I was by both her kindness, and by the clear message from God that this trip, this time of celebration and feasting, was from Him. And in case I was worried about buying an extra flat of strawberries for our shortcake, He had us covered.
I guess I”m sharing all this just because I want to share how good and gracious our God is. I know not everyone is on vacation this week, but I do hope and pray that each of your lives are punctuated by times of Sabbath rest and by times of celebration and feasting, when appropriate. How good it feels to work hard and play hard, to work hard and rest well. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long walk on the beach to take before enjoying a bowl of fresh strawberries. Perhaps you could enjoy a bowl of something special today too.
My Wall
This last week in our Community Group, we talked about how in the book of Nehemiah (which we’ve been studying at church), it only took 52 days to build the wall of Jerusalem, but another 12 years to reinstate true worship of God. Jeff asked the question: What wall has God built in your life? And what is the longer project that He’s at work at? Meaning, what is the “thing” you sense Him wanting to do, that perhaps He’s begun, through some concrete step, but that He’s continuing to work at in your life. People had some great things to share. I knew that mine was prayer. God’s very clearly done some concrete work in my life lately in the area of prayer–mostly just getting me up and out of bed in the morning and then starting this Monday morning prayer group. But that was a definitely start. Along with that, strangely enough, I very clearly sensed He wanted me to pray about… my wall.
Yes, a wall. The wall for Nehemiah was a physical project, by faith, that rallied the people of Jerusalem and marked the first step toward revival and reinstating true worship of God. For us, the wall is a 4-foot stone retaining wall that we need to dig out and build in our backyard, so that a large portion of our yard space is usable. Yeah, I know it seems really ridiculous that I’m spiritualizing our landscape, but I’m telling you this is the real thing.
In natural Kari-fashion, I first faced this wall dilemma with the classic, “Forget it. We don’t need a wall, it’s too expensive.” But the more we looked at our backyard, and the fact that half of it was unusable because of this dirt slope, the more it seemed like a smart thing to do. Plus Jeff said it was a must. So I priced out retaining wall stone and about had a heart-attack. Apparently it was either Dutch went to college OR we built a retaining wall. Grr.
Then, so clearly I sensed that God wanted me to pray for Him to provide a wall. That He would build the wall. He obviously provided for Nehemiah, giving him 12 years paid-leave from his job, supplies for the work, workers, provision, you name it. But I mean, that was for God’s city, this was just for our backyard. It seemed a little arrogant to think that God should build us a wall. Then again, it’s more arrogant to think we can build it without Him…
So I prayed. A lot. Even in our Community Group Tuesday night, when we went around and shared what we sensed God wanting us to pray about, I shared this. Even though it sounded ridiculous while everyone else was praying for unsaved loved ones and orphaned children (I prayed for them too!). But I still felt like I was supposed to share this and pray this.
So yesterday, the day after praying about this in Community Group, as I mentioned before, I finally sat down and did our taxes. To my utter astonishment, the way the cards fell for us (clergy tax laws, having a 2nd child, tuition, buying a house), we got a totally unexpected, and totally huge (in my estimation) tax refund. Let’s just say plenty to build a retaining wall. It seemed too good to be true so I called our business pastor, talked through all the numbers with him to check myself, and sure enough–there you have it. As Nehemiah’s jaw must have dropped to have a pagan king supply him with all the finances and materials he needed to build the wall of Jerusalem, my jaw seriously dropped at the Federal Government giving us back a fistful of money so we can build our retaining wall. God, I’m listening. You are in charge.
So yes, it’s just a wall. It isn’t surrounding God’s Holy City Jerusalem, but you better believe every time I look at that wall I will think of my God, who uses every situation as a means of showing us His infinite power. And, I pray that that wall is the beginning of something far more significant–of an ever-increasing life of repentance, praise and worship to my God–just as it was in Nehemiah’s day. And, like Nehemiah–the wall still has to be built! The provision is there, but we still have a lot of work to do! Hopefully it will take less than 52 days, but it might be close. He had a lot of workers to help him… Anyone have some free Saturdays?
I love this adventure of a life with God. Thanks for reading about My Wall.