Craving Simple, Craving Deep

It has been a progression.  It has taken the last three years, or so.  I opened myself up to the possibility that I perhaps had put God in numerous boxes that made me feel safe and secure, but were in fact not really accurate or true....or they are true, but I need to own them more versus just accepting them because that is what others have told me.   I have allowed God to change me through relationships, creation, circumstances, conversations, listening....and I'm still on this trajectory.  Faith is not a straight ladder to some place of ultimate arrival, but rather a cyclical turning and renewal process.  Sometimes this can be very frustrating and lonely.  I'm attempting to find contentment in the gray spaces and not rush the process so I feel safe.  Sometimes I miss the black and white.

The thing is, I'm more and more overwhelmed by the reality and greatness of God and less and less enamored with church as a place of knowing God.  Now before you throw me into a category of disbelief, hear me out.  Church still plays an importance in our family life.  But, my husband and I feel more like observers than participants, and I think it is because God is very confined in church and not very real, at least in the ways I'm learning to hear and worship him.

My dialogue with God is looking more like poetry and less like prose, and when that happens one needs space, and church isn't about space.  Church is about going, being seen, interacting, being on board with a certain goal or purpose that is being pushed by the church leadership at the time.  Which is fine, but I find myself in conflict often with that goal or purpose.  What if my calling is different than what is being stated from the pulpit?  Do I then have to throw out my calling and get on board with the group?  Or, do I recognize that there is much good for me to hear and listen to, but that the word of Christ might look different in my life and in my circumstances.  Church is less about the hour of song and word, but more about the dialogue on the drive home, the dialogue through the week. the wrestle, the disagree, the agree, and the revelation.

I'm soaking in the enormity of God, which means I'm stopping in the silence and being overwhelmed by the awesomeness of the small.  One day I headed out to the shop to put away the boys' bikes and close up the garage door, which faces west.  I stopped.  I stopped my path and I looked.  The sunset overwhelmed me, and I decided to honor God and recognize the truth of him in that moment.  I breathed, and I felt my belief in God was real.  The love of God was great.  The truth of God was there.

When I'm helping my youngest master bike riding, I stop and notice the dried earth and dirt, the yellow weeds pushing themselves through the cracks in the ground: the beauty, the systems, and laws of nature that work life into order.  This also brings forth my gratefulness and humbles me into something very small.

I read something disturbing the other day. Someone was claiming that we shouldn't like our lives on earth, we should be saddened by them, they should be frustrating and hard because this earth was not our home, but that we should want to spend as much time in church as possible since that mirrors heaven, and we should crave heaven where we finally have peace.  (If this was not us, something was wrong with our spiritual life.)

The thing is, I have peace now, and I love the earth that God created.  I crave more of it, and I don't want it to come to an end any time soon.  I start second-guessing my faith when I read other Christians say statements like the above.  I start wondering what is wrong with me that I don't desire more time in church, that I'd rather go to the beach on a Sunday, that I regret going to church on Easter and think we should go for an Easter hike next year, and that the chaos that is Sunday morning does nothing for my soul. I start getting scared. I start to panic and I start to reconstruct my God-boxes and hug them to my chest like a baby's blanket.

Then I remember those in my past who loved God fiercely, but also loved life and wanted a life as long as possible.  The person I remember is my grandfather.  He lived to be 97 and he wanted more.  He didn't give up on living until minutes before his death.  He was in a bit restless and fighting in the hour leading up to his end.  Family members finally put on sacred music and this seemed to calm him into acceptance.  He loved nature.  He loved Oregon.  I realize now that this introvert found God in these mountain places.  I can still remember my grandma describing a tree and the beauty in its height. They taught each other how to know God.  In his early 90's he was ordering remedies that would lengthen his life.  He was NOT quitting, and I think we are, none of us, supposed to quit.  Life is this crazy, unfathomable, gift and the way I respect it is by living it and soaking in all its corners.  The living of my life is integrated into the understanding and the not understanding God.  The not understanding God is just as important as the comprehending, because admitting you don't understand God is admitting you are completely human and completely small and completely only saved by Grace.  In all this I whisper the name of Jesus.

Freedom and Liberation: Goodbye Facebook, Hello New Year

The title pretty much sums up my blog post, and perhaps it is all I need to write, but I'll expand a bit.

Over the last year or so I've become frustrated with my relationship with Facebook.  I hate how my fear of missing out is really the only thing that keeps me posting and reading.  I also hate how I start thinking only in status updates, or only take pictures of my kids with the soul purpose of posting them on Facebook.  I don't take pictures anymore with the idea of preserving family memories and placing these pictures in an album for my children to look upon after they've aged and grown, but rather to see all the "likes" and comments.  And it only got worse after I got my iPhone and could access FB at all times.  Instead of reading an interesting article that would cause me to think and grow while I waited at the doctor's office, I'd scroll through the last few updates. Instead of journaling before bed, like I did in my youth, I scrolled again, and then fell asleep.

I would actually feel a sense of victory when I would have a gathering with friends and no one would take a picture to post it on FB.  But then I'd feel a bit cheated that not one of my 500 friends would get to know how fun my life was and that I had been to the beach with my friends, goodness.

Then there was the parts of me that I didn't like, that were coming out...the judging side of me. I would make judgements in my mind about people based on a random posts here and there. As if someone can be summed up by their daily status updates.  I'm sure that if I were having a face-to-face conversation with this or that person we would be having an authentic interaction and would be truly hearing each others' points of view and I'd end the visit feeling like I had truly heard someone instead of throwing them in the pile of ridiculous thinkers.

Then I sunk to a new low, I posted something of my son's that was merely a brag, that was it...my only motivation.  I was proud and I wanted everyone to be impressed.  I wanted to read the comments of, "Wow, he's talented!  That's amazing."  Why did I need to hear this?  I needed to purge.  Still, what if I missed something?  This line of thinking always kept me stuck.

Then a friend who I hadn't seen in a while came for a visit. I found myself struggling to have a conversation.  See, all those starter questions we already knew the answers to, so how were we supposed to start and reconnect?  I finally stated, "B's been playing basketball." 

"Yeah, I saw that on Facebook."  Conversation killer.  That was it!

Over the next few days I shared my new conviction with a few friends, "I think I'm going to fast from Facebook."  Each January our church promotes the idea of fasting during the first week of the New Year.  I've never participated.  I always feel a bit lame for not fasting from food, and I would literally fall over if I did not feed my body.  So I always give myself permission to not ever participate in this church fasting extravaganza.  Others have fasted from movies, Netflix, FB, chocolate, coffee....etc...anything that they feel consumes too much of their time or cravings.  Should I fast from Facebook?

Each time I shared my new conviction to quit the social network, I grew in my confidence that this was the right decision. Plus, each person I shared it with actually agreed with me and thought it might be a great idea for them too.  One friend was so bold as to completely delete her account!

The other thing that spurred me on was my friendship with Heidi.  Heidi and I have been friends since college and our friendship has continued to grow and evolve.  We don't live close, but when we do get together we never run out of things to discuss and share.  And she's never been on FB.  What!?  You mean I might not miss out if I too was off that blasted thing?  My true friendships might survive!?

I must be craving a simpler time when people actually called each other.  I have even sent a few old-fashioned emails in the last few days, and they were grand.  I loved them.  They were personal, like a letter.

Today was my sister's birthday.  There was the temptation to post on her wall a glorious message that all could read and testify to our love for each other.  But I didn't.  I called.  We chatted.  It was about us and no one else.  It was good.

Seriously, at least for the first two days of my Facebook Fast I have felt liberated and free, daring and edgy.  I love it.  Happy New Year!

My Morning With The Quakers

Five years ago, my husband and I left a lot behind.  We left our home of 14 years.  In those 14 years we got married, finished graduate work, had two of our three children, established careers, and had been part of the Quaker church.

Five years ago we needed a change.  I'm not sure we knew this at the time, but in retrospect our move was a good thing.

Initially I still felt a connection to the Quakers we'd left behind.  I was working on a book project that kept me in contact with likeminded women, and my grandparents were still back in Newberg.  My grandparents had been deeply involved in the Friend's church their whole lives together, raised my mom that way, and had been instrumental in my decision to go to George Fox University.  I admired my grandmother.  She had been welcomed and trusted by this denomination.  She had served as an elder, something that never happens in most Evangelical Christian denominations.  My grandma was a woman who sought God in her life and knew the value of group discernment. (When I doubt my faith I often think of my grandmother.  Her faithfulness renews my belief in a loving God.)

I was not raised in the Quaker church, quite the opposite, but my mom still passed on some of the simple Quaker truths to me in her parenting.  When I left my childhood home for college, I found a group of believers who affirmed my giftings and nudges of the Holy Spirit.  My viewpoints were challenged, and I found myself digging deeper into my understandings of what it meant to be a Christ-follower.

My husband had been raised in the Quaker denomination and became my partner in this new way of looking at the world.

When we moved and left Newberg, I don't think we realized how much we would come to miss the Friend's church and the values it would teach to our children.

In the last five years we've continued to grow spiritually and in our worldview.  All our experiences and relationships have deepened our ideas of what it means to be the Light.  I regret none of them, nor do I regret or question our move.

But lately we've felt uninspired by church and church community.  Organized church makes us routinely uncomfortable and continues to look awkward and strange.  Maybe I'm seeing church more and more as an outsider, not sure. 

So on Sunday we did something very daring, daring because visiting a new church where you know no one is really quite scary...even if you've grown up in a church.  We drove to Eugene with our three boys, forgetting to prep them about Open Worship/Quaker silence.

We pulled into the sparsely filled parking lot and I instantly felt we had made a mistake, "We are totally going to stick out."

My husband laughed, "Well, you did wear bright pink."  Nice.

We walked on.  We were kindly greeted at the door and several people gave reassuring smiles.  The pastor came up to us and told us he'd love to speak more to us after the service.  I asked if there was anything for the children during church, nope.  This could get interesting.

There was nothing especially good-looking about this group, and there was plenty of white hair present.  But the contrast to our regular Sunday place of worship was strangely comforting and welcomed.

An older man took pity on us and brought each of our boys a clipboard, paper, and markers.  They were elated.

The singing was simple.  The overhead was never in sync.  But there was a calm, and that calm and spaciousness in worship made it impossible for me to sing any of the songs without tearing up.  So I just listened and looked.  I heard C's sweet voice singing the unfamiliar tunes, tunes he didn't know, but tunes I knew from memory.  His desire to sing and contribute also touched me.  Our oldest clapped after each song and was actively listening to those sharing their prayer requests and struggles.  We had two extended times of quiet and it was in these spaces that my soul was fed.  In a strange way, my hope in God's love was restored in those moments of stillness, and when the pastor stood and really meant what he asked, "Are all hearts clear?"  I felt that I was a welcomed member of this group of God-seekers.

My little family of men left our morning with the Quakers strangely refreshed.  I told my husband of my experience and he said he felt the same way.  When I asked C what he thought he said, "I loved it!"  Did he sense the same things we had?  I guess Sunday was a God-sighting for me.  I felt the Spirit of God in a nostalgic way, a way in which reminded me of my 20's and greatly reminded me of my grandma.

My grandma died this last March at 99-years-old. One can't get too upset when a loved-one lives to be 99.  She was more than ready, and we were too, but I still miss her.  I still miss sitting next to her during Quaker worship and seeing her slowly rise to my left, hand shaking a bit as she felt God urging her to speak to the collective.  I guess she was a bigger part of my understanding of God than I've let myself comprehend.  Probably because it would be just too much for my emotions to handle.

Talking About the Real Stuff

Today after eating together as a family, my son announced that flies are really agnostic and that's why he doesn't like them.  What?  My husband looked at me and then B, "Do you mean obnoxious?" 

"Yeah, abnosxious."

He went off running and playing in the yard, "I wonder where he heard agnostic?"

My husband confessed, "Oh, we were discussing that last night."

Then later that night the boys were fighting over the new toothbrushes.  One was Star Wars, the other Batman.  They both wanted the Star Wars one.  So I tried to make the Batman  one more appealing, "You guys know that a new Batman movie just came out."

B added, "Yeah, that is the one where the guy came in a killed and shot all those people.  Why did he do that?"

Apparently my son had read some of the newspaper that morning...with his dad.

My husband and I have always leaned toward not "protecting" our kids, but just telling them the truth and reality of their world.  (This is how we treated Hans' mom's cancer and it opened us up to practicing prayer and faith.) Yet, the latest discoveries surprised me a bit.  Part of me didn't want my sons to fear movie theaters.  That one seemed to come a little too close to their reality. (I was actually fine with the agnostic concept.)

But I trust my husband.  I've heard his conversations.  He's quite good.  He frames things well, asks good questions, and paints age-appropriate truth for my boys.

I remember sharing with a group of readers at one of my book talk events for Just Moms, that I had shared with my sons about Osama bin Laden when he had been captured.

Someone from the audience was looking for the perfect answer that she could then take back and have with her children, "And how did you handle that conversation?"

I didn't really have a good answer, "I don't know.  I guess I just told them who he was and why our country was happy to have captured him.  The boys didn't say much.  They listened and then we moved on with our breakfast."

But I'm finding that these little conversations come back around.  The boys listen and ask and then the Holy Spirit works.

The other day Coen was asking about God's power and what makes him so powerful.  He, being a boy, loves the idea of super powers.  He also loves the idea of ultimate good and ultimate bad.  Black and white.  We were having a good conversation. I was doing most of the listening.  Then he pointed to his heart, "But this, this love is the most powerful."

And so I trudge on and I hope that in my honesty as a mom and a person who is grappling with life, the good and the bad, that my sons will ultimately see a woman and a community who desire a relationship with an all-loving and all-powerful God and see a transformation in me that gives them the confidence to know there must be a God...and that somewhere in this messy earth that Love does win.

And I guess that is why we continue to share the good, the bad, and the ugly with our kids.

Higher Ground...and Other Thoughts on Christian Films

First of all I need to clarify that Higher Ground is not a Christian movie.  Not like Fireproof or other films published by Christians and for Christians.  Higher Ground is adapted from a spiritual memoir by Carolyn Briggs entitled, This Dark World.  This movie was made, not by Christian and not just for Christians, (as far as I know) but it looks at faith and tells an honest story...this is why I liked it.

I never like Christian movies, which is hard since I am a Christian, and I have to nod and smile while my friends glow after viewing one.  They always say, "Now, I know that most Christian movies are poorly acted or not very well made, but  not this one.  This one was so good."  Of course, when I view it I cringe and squirm and want to hide under the covers.  When I say things like, "Really, yeah, it made me uncomfortable."  Often my friends look at me with shock and total disbelief, and I feel judged so I just keep my opinions to myself.  (Until they read this blog post...oops.  Yes, I didn't like Courageous either.)

After viewing Higher Ground, and liking it, I  finally concluded what I like and don't like about movies regarding faith.  I like honesty.  I like truth.  There are so many true stories waiting to be told that just happen to be about people of faith.  I don't like fictional Christian movies that play it safe to get the G rating having to keep too many factions happy and not offended.  Nothing is worse than a staged sermon embedded into a dramatic film.

So, don't watch Higher Ground if you are easily offended.  Watch Higher Ground if you want to know how many of your Christian friends feel and have felt as their faith ebbs and flows.

Here is the blurb about this film found on the Netflix jacket, "Vera Farmiga stars in and directs this sensitive and searching chronicle describing a woman's lifetime journey of faith...one that initially leads her to join a fundamentalist sect and then leave it again years later.  The film looks deeply into human doubt and certainty, and the challenge of trying to match our lives with our spiritual beliefs."

Yes, much of what they depicted could be taken as making fun of religion, but when you feel like you are on the outside much of what happens in churches feels awkward and strange.  When someone is having a "spiritual moment" and you are not, you often feel like you are watching something uncomfortable...at least I do.  So watching many of the scenes in the film still made me want to hide under some covers, but not because I was a Christian watching other Christians put a movie together, but because I was watching those on the outside summarize what we on the "inside" look like to them.

Not only did I identify with the main character in her search for God, but I also was raised in the church during the same era as she began her spiritual journey.  I'm not sure the 70's, 80's, and 90's were the church's best.  There were a lot of growing pains as the American church responded to the Holiness Movement and then the Jesus 70's.  The scenes of Bible studies and prayer meetings were all scenarios I have experienced.  Chastisement by the "older" women mentoring the main character in her role as a submissive woman were identical to experiences I had growing up.  Carolyn Briggs simply told her story, and I simply listened and cringed and laughed and related. 

Part of me is nervous to even post this.  Nervous that people will misunderstand me, judge me.  But there is this hope in me that believes that if I am honest about my relationship with God and church then just maybe it will be exactly what someone else needs to hear as they make sense of their spiritual journey. 

My husband and I went on a 14 mile hike the other day, so there was plenty of time to discuss, and we spent a good portion of it talking about church and what makes us keep coming back, makes us want it for our family.  If we weren't committed in our resolve to make church part of our lives, it would be easy to release it and leave it behind.  I think we concluded that our parents modeled that there was something authentic and good and necessary in church.  Our parents modeled grace toward the church.  We all desire grace from the church, but we often forget to extend that grace to this place that has never claimed to be perfect.  (Some do and that is a problem.) We place great value in having relationships with others who are seeking truth in God.  And we are hoping that we can do life with people who are honest with us and honest with themselves and their spiritual memoirs.

So, because of that I would highly recommend Higher Ground and would love to hear your thoughts on it.

Easter Conversation, Not Typical: God -Sighting 7,890

Our Easter conversation was not your typical family discussion. We discussed sperm. I was the instigator, I'm sure. I shared some random fact from some random article I read about sperm donors and how sperm is a major export for the US. There were statistics on how one guy had donated so much sperm he'd paid his way through college and graduate school and how donors get paid more for higher degrees etc. Then I mentioned how one family sued a sperm bank because their child ended up having cystic fibrosis. The horror on my sisters face grew. Why? She couldn't fathom. Because they wanted perfect children. Of course, not everyone who chooses this route does, but that was the population this article was highlighting. Then we launched into adoption and how wrong it is that white children are more expensive to adopt than children who are obviously not white. With each story my sister's passion grew.

What is the point of children? Yes, we all want "perfect" children. But, I think the point of parenting is learning to release control and realizing that there are things you do as a parent that help your children grow and bloom, but then there is free will, the roll of science, and numerous other factors that are out of our control that we have to learn to surrender and accept.

My sister's horror is one rooted in a deep love for a little boy who, frankly, most of us would initially say we would never want. But there is such beauty in my sister and in her family because this is exactly the child that they do want and that they do embrace and who they wouldn't change. My sister Laura has modeled grief, anger, acceptance, and joy.

Is society really better if we "weed" out all the imperfect? (I can think of another society who tried this...not a good thing. Besides, then we are allowing others to define perfection or "right.")

When I was pregnant with my three little boys, the fear that one of them might have autism was great. My sister's son had been born this way. We both tend to see this as a genetic issue, so I was scared. When each of them met a major milestone, like making eye contact, relating to others, etc. I was so relieved. Sure, I didn't really want a child with autism. I really didn't want a child with any genetic disorder. This is a hard subject and one that we should wrestle with continually.

My sister has not been damaged from have an autistic child. And just so you know, he is very severe, on the spectrum. The biggest benefit of Tyler? He has given to his family...there are now two sisters who embrace and live fully into the fact that bad things do happen and still God is good. That one doesn't have to be perfect to love and to feel love back. That joy comes from the unexpected. That the imperfect childhood is actually the best gift a parent can be forced to hand their children. The richness that Tyler's sisters have received from having a brother with a disability is obvious to me. The maturity and empathy that they both possess outpaces their peers. They embody contentment well. To me contentment, not complacency, is a spiritual discipline, a fruit of God's spirit and one of my biggest God-sightings to date.

God-Sighting 15,089-Prayer

Prayer is one of those strange things God wants us to do. Strange because we aren't sure it is really doing anything. Or at least that is how I feel sometimes. Recently I have found myself in relationships with several people who are making choices that aren't giving them life's best. (Note: I am the same way. It is just easier to see it in others, oops.)

I found myself wondering if I was saying enough, encouraging enough, loving enough. Surely there was more I could do to get them to see why God gives us certain instructions. He doesn't just come up with a list of guidelines because he rolled the dice one day up in heaven and poof: The Ten Commandments! He created this earth perfect for us. It is our perfect place for us, his creation. We fit it well. There is a reason we love it. A reason we swell with pure contentment when we see that perfect sunset or climb that high mountain. (Sorry if this is too cliche'.) We are supposed to feel this way. He made it with us in mind. And he created us to be in his image. If we are in his image, when we act outside of his image, it doesn't work out so well for us. There are certain consequences that follow as a natural result.

Anyway, I found myself frustrated that my dear friends weren't living fully into this image of God. Recently I have been given a few close friends who speak boldly into my life and speak truth to me, and one of these friends pointed out that I had in fact done all I needed to do...except one thing: pray. And then it hit me, prayer was my act of being in God's image. It was my tangible way of saying that I did believe that God works, that I was submitting myself to God and handing my worries to him. This was, in fact, an act of worship.

So I did it and am doing it. I'm seeing the Holy Spirit work, I'm seeing God-sightings in these situations and it makes my heart praise! It is good to be open to the workings of God. It is a major faith boost, which is really what I needed right now in my life. God is truly good and knows where we are all at intimately. It was good to be reminded of this. It was good to be reminded that God is all-powerful and all-loving.

I've been feeling guilty for not being in a structure Bible Study, guilt I carry with me from my evangelical upbringing, but this recent God-sighting helped me realize that this life-lesson was probably taught to me in some study somewhere along the way, but I didn't really learn it, know it. The best Bible study God could give me is just being in loving relationship with others. For this I am humbled.

School Shopping for a 1st Grader

Last year I was appalled when I read that the average mom spends 600 per child in school shopping. We didn't come close, but we did have a very short school supply list and we get a lot of hand-me-down clothing.

This year I braced myself for a bigger list. It was bigger, but in total I think I spent about 25 dollars on supplies, gotta love those Staples sales.

I also added my middle son to the clothing mix this year, and between the two boys (including supplies) we spent 125 dollars. I think we are well below the average.

But I am noticing something: compared to most of the other kids my sons play with my kids have way less. Less toys, less electronics, less snacks, less outdoor contraptions...less, less, less. I worry a bit that they are going to prefer their friends' houses to their own, and yet I am actually being very intentional in my less-is-more approach to parenting.

I'd love to hear your thoughts over at the Just Mom Facebook page. I posed a question over there regarding school shopping and how to combat all this keeping up with the dream of more, more, more.

God-Sighting 15,434-Cancer Continued

My oldest raised his arms in victory, "Thank you God! It is like a miracle!" He showed such joy and exuberance. This is a lot from a pretty non-expressive little kid. Today we found out that my MIL's cancer has shrunk so much that the Dr. can't actually measure it. But the other miracle is that my son praised God. You see, my son isn't big on praying. Instead, he likes me to do it for him. He also is timid in praising http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifor thanking God, but he didn't even have to be prompted. He raised his little eyes up, like he was really looking at someone and said thank you. It was genuine and real, and it also made me realize how worried and concerned he's been about his grandma.

This whole process continues to be a huge factor in my son's spiritual development and therefore, a major God-Sighting.

God-Sighting 15,434-Cancer

From the start we told the boys. Grammy has cancer. This is what is going to happen. She is going to feel weak. She is fighting the cancer with chemo. She will look different when we visit. She won't have any hair.

C made her special paper clips to hold during cancer treatments. These little trinkets really help the chemo work. Cancer has become a common word in our house. The other day the boys were in imaginative play and I heard the one instruct the other, "And now you have cancer."

We had a choice as parents, tell or don't. Of course, they were going to wonder why Grammy didn't have any hair, but we could have put this off. We live 9 hours away from Grammy and Poppy, and so we could have chosen to not make this fear and worry part of our boys' lives, at least not very much.

But then there is this little item of prayer that we believe in, and that we model for our kids. How could I steal them of that? What if God healed? Then they would not be there for the miracle. What about all the little prayers along the way with little God-sightings? I wanted them to experience God in this very real crises.

My oldest isn't a fan of praying. He'd rather have me do it, but when it comes to praying for Grammy: he wants to speak to God about this. He's even taught me a little doctrine along the way. When I told him that we don't always know what God's plan is he responded, "But God always has a plan." Yes, yes he does.

We spent this last week with Grammy, and it was good. Grammy commented on how glad she was that the boys were comfortable around her and didn't think much of the fact that she didn't have her hair anymore. She was glad that we had made cancer a normal thing. I'm glad we have too.

We've already seen God answer so many of our prayers along the way in this journey of fighting cancer. The boys have been with us for all of those moments. God is a very real person to them, through this. And most of all, we are accepting that "bad things do happen to good people," and that if you look and listen you can see how much God does love us through the not-so-convenient in life. This is a paramount thing to learn as a young child.

God-Sighting 10,001--Our Lost Dog

I had a sick feeling, not in the pit of my stomach, but in that place we call the soul. My soul was bleeding. Each morning I'd wake up with hope. This would be the morning he'd come back. I'd look out our bedroom window and scan the yard. I'd go out onto our back porch and holler, "Oscar, Oscar, where are you? Oscar?" My eyes would play tricks on me. I'd think he was here, our dog. I was sure he was at the end of our lane. I jumped into our van and drove down to rescue him, but it was just the right colored bush and from a distance and with the right imagination that bush seemed to really be him.

Our dog went missing on a Thursday night between the hours of midnight and 3 am. If you've been reading my blog, you know that Oscar is one of the family. He is part of us and not just us, but the lives of my parents who live next door.

My dad searched the woods. Walked down by the river. We tried to go on with our day, but as the day progressed this horrible feeling increased. We all knew a most horrible thing had occurred. Someone had stolen our dog---our faithful dog who is so extremely loyal that he doesn't even leave our porch unless we take him on an adventure around the farm.

We started asking around, talking to people who might have seen something.

Friday night came, no Oscar. Saturday was a long, painful day. We started praying, begging really. I was driving our van and just started verbally speaking out to God, begging him to move in the person who took him. That, that person would somehow feel remorse and return him. Others were praying this same prayer. I just kept repeating, "Lord hear our prayer....Lord hear our prayer." I kept praying the impossible, claiming that He was the God of impossible. Our boys witnessed this.

In the midst of all this turmoil, our youngest fell off our play structure and ended up needing stitches at the ER. This only added to the distress of this last weekend.

I started praying that if Oscar was dead, that we'd find his body, so we could move on, and not keep wondering. He was not even three yet. If we never found out what happened to him, then each year I'd think and wonder about him...wonder where he was, if he was happy, if he was being loved.

Then we started hearing more reports of dognappings, of desperate people selling large dogs for research to make extra money. This made my heart even more sick.

Sunday was fading. We'd finally decided that if he didn't show up by the following weekend, we'd get a new puppy...we needed something to make us joyful again. I fond myself just wanting to sleep, not wanting to be industrious or even eat.

My father stopped working in the orchard because he was just too lonely without Oscar.

Then I saw a flash. It was 5 pm on Sunday. My 70-year-old mother was sprinting across our back yard and flailing her arms in excitement. "He's back! Oscar is back!"

And there he was. We all smothered him. He had come sprinting across the two eastern fields. His heart was racing, a scared, desperate racing...not just a tired, running racing.

In the clump of trees he ran from has an old gravel road where someone could sneak in and let a dog go, undetected.

We hugged our dog and kept saying, "Its really him. He's really back. God really heard our prayer."

"Boys! God heard our prayer. He did a miracle. He brought Oscar back. His Spirit helped Oscar find us."

What a blessing. Through this very sad and desperate experience, which I'd never want to repeat, our boys felt the love of their very real, heavenly Father. They saw their parents pleading and praying to God, and they saw that God responded.

There are so many metaphors I could bring out...how God is desperate for all his creation to return to him and know him...how he's a loving God who wants to give good gifts to his children.....that his Spirit is working and powerful...

Now, if you aren't a dog lover you may not realize how amazing this whole experience was. You may be mumbling, "Um, its just a dog." But, it was our dog and is our dog. And I continue to be grateful that he has been returned to his rightful place in our family.

A Sign for Jesus?

I made a somewhat nasty Facebook comment the other day. Well, at least my mother thought it a bit nasty saying, "Shame on you."

I was driving home from my son's preschool and was greeted by a smiling boy, waving at us as we passed....but my eyes were quickly drawn toward the sandwich board on his chest which read, "Evolution is a lie. Trust in Jesus."

I described this on my status updated and then asked if the mother of this son thought that constituted his science homeschool lessons for the day. True, I should have left homsechool comment out and just asked, "What's the point?"

You see, there are these signs cropping up everywhere around here, and they really bug me! There is a large sign near the post office that lists a bunch of "horrible" sins and then lets us all know we are perishing, but if we'd like some help we can call the listed number below. Would you call that number?

There is also a blue truck, an infamous blue truck, who's sides read in blazing, holy white, "Hell is eternal."

There are several other signs that basically breathe fire and brimstone. All of these signs originate from the same little local church. They seems to supply their parishioners were the same, neat lettering for their sign making aspirations.

I just find the whole thing obnoxious, and I hope I'm only upset because I am a Christian, praying that everyone else who does not claim to be a Christ follower are shielded from reading these....that God has placed a blinding angel in front of these modes of persuasion, so that we Christians aren't creating more and more blocks for others seeking a gracious God.

The homeschool line was definitely a jab. But the thing is I know this family homeschools as I've seen them day after day playing in their yard together. They really do seem happy and free, and I love seeing children play together, but the teacher in me knows that there is no way quality educating is going on. Quality questioning. Quality thinking.

I'm always nervous to express my passion for public education. I have a handful of friends and readers who have chosen to homeschool, and so I'm afraid I'll offend by letting my beliefs seep out. And I know that many of them would never claim that having your kid wear a sandwhich board is science class. Note That.

My prayer each day is that I would remember that I'm a miracle, that God's love for me is miraculous grace and no amount of rule keeping makes me more deserving of his love. I continually ask God to fill me with his Spirit so that my life actions are my sandwhich board.

I Did The Unthinkable

If you had asked me ten years ago if I would ever encourage my kids to join Awanas, I would have laughed, "No way."

This might shock some people. Others not. And I still have mixed feelings, but overall I feel at peace about my decision to sign my son up for the Christian version of Boy Scouts.

The thing is, I'm pretty much ignorant when it comes to all things Awanas. I didn't know about the vests and patches, Cubbies, Sparkies, car racing, points, red team etc. I didn't know that I would be spending so much money either. 9 dollars for the book, 10 dollars for the vest, and 15 to cover award costs. This bothers me. It bothers me that I'm giving my child rewards for bringing their Bible, going to church, inviting a guest, and memorizing scripture.

But it bothers me more that without Awanas we weren't really doing any of the above mentioned things. It also bothers me that we have church friends and school friends, but there isn't any faith crossover. We drive a good 30 minutes to get to church, and while we've made great connections there, my son spends most of his time at school where none of his church friends go.

I don't want my son's faith to be segregated. I want him to know that there are other boys and girls in his class that believe that Jesus is real, and that the Truths that Jesus lives/lived matter...mean something.

A little boy in his kindergarten goes to Awanas. They are becoming good friends; I wanted to foster this relationship. So, last week we went.

I was a bit uncomfortable during the scripture memory time, which seemed forced and dry. Here were these little Kinders being forced to sit perfectly still and repeat lines from scripture that they didn't have the foggiest idea what they meant. How could I tell? One little boy had obviously not been working on his memory verse and was guessing on what line to say next. He was inserting all the coined phrases he'd obviously learned in previous weeks, "Christ the son of God? Christ the Lord? Because of Christ? Because Christ saves us?"

The instructor was sweet and very encouraging, but the teacher in me wanted to implement some sign language, motions, and explanation for the phrases this young guy was desperately trying to regurgitate.

Thankfully, this session didn't last long and off the little kids were to story time. This part made me smile. Just a story. That's all. A story from the Bible. Good visuals. Good teacher. Some songs, ones that I remembered singing as a child. I loved it. I loved that the Bible story drove the lesson versus some theme like, "God made families" or "God made things we can smell." This was what I had been looking for.

Then it was off to recreation time. This is when my son gave me a very mean look, "I want you to go home." He'd noticed that no other parents were lurking in the background, so I had to hide myself in a hallway and act like I didn't want to watch my son compete in game and sport.

At the end of the night, there was a winner announced. Yep, all night the kids had been competing in teams and were getting points for behavior, verses, songs, and games. The green team won, not my son's team, but he still felt like a winner because he got some candy for visiting.

We got into the van. "Well, did you like it?"

"Yes, I want to go there again. I want to learn my verse. What is my verse? I know the first part is John 3:16."

He loved it. He's been working on his verse everyday. Not because I'm making him, but because he keeps asking if he can work on it with me. It is the first time he's tried to memorize a scripture. He's very motivated. One evening he was in tears because I wasn't letting him go to Awanas, and his daddy had promised him he could go again.

"Honey, Awanas is once a week. You have to wait. I'm going to let you go, don't worry."

And so we wrote it down on his calendar all the way through the end of the year.

All the things that made my adult cynicism cringe, really connected with my son. And the best thing that connected with him was all the faces he saw there that he also sees every day at school. I kept hearing, "Hey, there's Gunner....there's Alayna....there's Isabelle....there's Austin....." That part made me feel good. There was a connection made, a sense of community. He doesn't feel like he's the only one who knows this man named Jesus. And so I will overlook any cultural bag age this might create in my son because the alternative, to me, is a greater risk to take.

You Asked For It..East of Eden

Steinbeck is in no way a Christian writer, but he is a studier of people, behavior, and the Truth observed in and around him. East of Eden is an allegory loosely based on the story of Cain and Abel and the concept that we all have the capacity for evil or for good; that we have the ability to choose. That is where our power lies.

I’ve read the book four times now. The first time I read it, I tried to make it fit the Genesis account perfectly. I kept finding characters who I thought were Cain, Abel, Adam, the Serpent, Joseph, Moses etc. I found my read a bit frustrating because more than one character embodies many of the Biblical persons above.

Like all Steinbeck books you must love place and setting and be someone who gets attached to land and earth. Place is central to all his works. Place defines characters and their choices and motivations. “The Salinas Valley is in Northern California. It is a long narrow swale between two ranges of mountains, and the Salinas River winds and twists up the center until it falls at last into Monterey Bay....”

Adam Trask heads to the Salinas Valley with his new wife, Cathy. Cathy, who clearly embodies the idea of a great deceiver/serpent, “Her hair was gold and lovely; wide-set hazel eyes with upper lids that dropped made her look mysteriously sleepy. Her nose was delicate and thin, and her cheekbones high and wide, sweeping down to a small chin so that her face was hearth-shaped. Her mouth was well shaped and well lipped by abnormally small-what used to be called a rosebud. Her ears were very little, without lobes, and they pressed so close to her head that even with her hair combed up they made no silhouette.”

Cathy has no intention of staying with Adam, but uses him to escape a former life full of lies and murder. Once the twin boys, Cal and Aron, are born she leaves Adam and hides as a prostitute in Salinas. (A feared prostitute who manipulates men of power through blackmail.)

Disillusioned, Adam raises his two boys with little affection or attention. Any parenting the boys receive was done so by Lee their Chinese servant. Spiritual guidance is also found in Samuel Hamilton who helps Adam break free from the hold that Cathy has over him. Adam is stuck in his misfortune and is letting his past control his future.

But there is another character that must break free from Cathy and that is her dark son Cal who always feels the struggle between good and evil within himself, always feels like the evil son in comparison to his brother’s, Aron’s, perceived goodness.

When Cal discovers who Cathy really is, the twins have been told that she died, he feels defeated. If his mother is such a notoriously evil woman, then he must be destined to follow in her path of manipulation and deceit. But the best scene is when he goes to visit Cathy and realize that he is his own person and Cathy actually has no power to control him. It is a scene of sweet victory, and from that point on Cathy spirals into her own pit of destruction. Fitting, right?

There are so many layers to this story. Each character is full. Each scene has purpose. It truly is a great work of literature, an America classic. It not only tells a spiritual story, but also captures the American mind and spirit as our nation went from the 1800’s into the 1900’s.

There is a conversation in this book between Lee and Cal over if there is any good in the world...sometimes it is so much easier to see all the evil. Lee points out that if there were no good, then evil would have full reign, which it does not. For me this is affirming in my own faith. When I was in high school I would try and understand the existence of God and fail, but had no trouble believing in the existence of pure evil or Satan. I would talk myself out of my seasons of doubt by noticing that if there is evil and only evil then our world would be a horrible place, and yet there is much hope and life here.

East of Eden has a solid place in my spiritual journey. It is a story of people overcoming evil, overcoming the chains of their past, and breaking free. I happen to be a sucker for that story line, time and time again.

I'm sure there are many East of Eden experts out there, who would read my analysis and guffaw, but this is how I read the book and what it means to me.
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God-Sighting 10,401....

The life of my grandparents is a huge rock/support in my belief of the Gospel. They oozed Christ's truth in their words, actions, and commitment. Even in their failings I saw only their heart desire to love God and love others....even if this was far from perfect. God's grace was bigger than their own humanness, and his spirit worked greatly through them.

My grandfather died this last fall, but my grandmother is still with us....sort of. She has dementia. I used to say that the two remaining bits of her former self were her sense of humor and her faith in God. Now it is just her faith in God.

Recently, she told my mom that she wanted to go to her, "Home, God's home." Once she informed us that she didn't have anything left to do here (I'd agree.) and she just wanted to leave. Then she lifted her hands upward to show us how she thought she wanted to make her exit. She still cries, in that deep spiritual place, when familar hymns are played or sung, and she will surprise us all with completely coherant prayers. It is the one thing she still has. Jesus.

I want it for her, heaven. I want her to be able to move on, no longer just be waiting for it to happen....complete redemption, a making new. I ache for her to receive a new body and mind. The one person she always knew, my grandpa, is no longer here. "I just never thought he'd leave me." She misses him. Shouldn't she? They were married for 70 years.

I miss my grandma. I think I miss her more seeing the person she really isn't. I think my good memories are a bit blocked when I go and see the dementia that has taken over her. Maybe when she is reunited with those who've gone to heaven first, my older memories will regain their strength. I hope so. But still, even this dementia is her...is part of her, her life experience, and I'm learning much from it. She would have wanted that....to still be used by God. And she is. Her retained faith reassure my own belief.

Potatoes and Pacifists

I'm a pacifist. There I said it. The secret is out, not like it was a secret, but I'm officially out of the closet. This was much easier to do when I lived in Oregon's Quaker Mecca. Not so easy since the move to the farm. I don't want to offend people, people who I enjoy, call my friends, but who do not hold this belief or conviction. At our church(which we love), I think we are the clear minority in our belief of non-violence. (If not the only ones.)

But this move from majority to minority has been good for us. My husband and I discuss, debate, and still stand firm in this call of Christ to be peacemakers. Yet, I have really valued my relationships with friends who's husbands are in the military. I value them and hope to continue my relationships and conversations with them. I hope they have felt my support as their husbands have been deployed or been away for training during this time of war.

I totally get that it doesn't really make sense. That it seems unpatriotic. That it goes against the American heritage that I am benefiting from. I didn't always feel this way. It was a conclusion I came to in my early 20's. Maybe my parents thought/hoped it was a phase. (I actually have relatives who have fought in every war our country has been in...starting with the Revolution. I did my college senior thesis project on one of our ancestors who was captured by the English and taken to a prison ship. My whole thesis was to show that a sense of community and a belief in God helped those prisoners survive. The interesting things is that this ancestor was actually trying to avoid the war and moved his family "west," but was captured in the middle of the night, while sleeping in his bed. Maybe it should be another blog post. It is quite interesting; we have his diary account. Pst, this is what writers would call a really bad tangent.)

I want my three sons to know there are many ways to be heroes. I think my husband is a hero. I am proud that at 15 he registered as a conscientious objector. (Right after the 1st Gulf War began.) I hope my sons do the same. Of course, this would have been easier if we were surrounded by a community of friends who agreed and championed our version of heroism. In our old church there were classes for young people to take, classes on pacifism. This makes it a whole lot easier when convincing the draft board of your religious conviction. Way more convincing when you are an active member of a traditional peace church.

Right now I'm planting seeds, presenting the option of non-violence---looking for tools I can use to teach my sons the value of peace vs. war. That is why I love the book Potatoes, Potatoes. It reads like a fable, but the truths in it are undeniable. My sons sit quietly and take in the narrative. The mother, the lead, has two sons. They live in a walled garden, snug in their cottage. The armies of the East and West wage war all around them. As the two sons age, they become curious. They are drawn and captivated by the shiny medals, sharp swords, and handsome uniforms. They leave their mother, their home, and their potatoes. At first it is all good, but slowly they are exposed to the reality of war. Their armies are dying, both by combat and by starvation. Both sons know where there is some food, plenty for all. They lead their armies to the walled home of their youth. This is where the climax takes place---the big scene.

We have had many good discussions from this book. We are starting to talk and apply conflict resolution in our own family. When the boys fight, I ask them who is going to be the peacemaker and not throw the next punch? I've started to hear them resolve things on their own. The other day my oldest announced, "OK, I'm done. I'm going to be a peacemaker."

My goal is to present another option to my boys. When they get older, they will have to come to their own conclusions, their own convictions. I trust the process. I do not fear the outcome.

A Child of the 80's/90's Christian Bubble

I read it in three days; it was that good. I was captivated. I was reading my own experiences: the good, bad, and the ugly. I can't rave enough about Jesus Girls: True Tales of Growing Up Female and Evangelical.

My mind has been composing my own chapter that would fit nicely amongst the female voices of this anthology. Here is my rough draft, my brainstorm.



There is so much I could write about:

-High school Sunday school...we girls froze in our skirts sitting on outdated furniture. We'd argue. We'd debate. Our church insisted we KNOW what we believed....the trouble was they definitely had one things we were supposed to believe on about ten very important doctrinal stances, and I found myself disagreeing with most of them. (I proved to be the black sheep of the group when I chose to attend George Fox University, which also disagreed with many of my church's beliefs. My church would not give any money toward the Universities Church Matching Fund even though the money was really going to come from my parents via the offering plate. This was actually expected and encouraged by my admission counselor, so not shady or lacking integrity. Luckily this angered my parents, and I felt completely supported in my spiritual rebellion.) Still, I loved that group, that church, of high schoolers and our teacher. I have only good memories of him and his heart toward us. Plus, we ate a lot of white powdered donuts from the grocery store across the street.

-Christmas Pageants! Oh my. We loved them. We were superstars. Yep, they were cheesy, but we were the right age to be singing, "Arch the Angel...what a guy!" Now, the trouble came when we weren't the right age, but they needed us. (The kids a few years younger did not have the drama skills that we had. I guess that was the message they were sending us.) Playing the part of Baaabara in Baa, Baa, Bethlehem and doing really bad Christian rap is not even remotely OK when you are in junior high.

-Jesus Northwest! This was the proof that you were in, for any NW Christian who ever attended youth group. (Of course, I couldn't help but wonder how many youth kids "lost" their virginity at these type of events. Was I the only one who had these thoughts?) Ah well, I still remember standing next to Scott and being in total idol worship as we sang loudly with Michael W. Smith. I'm pretty sure I was worshiping Michael and not Jesus.) In that moment I think I felt cool...plus the moshing done earlier during the Newsboys didn't hurt my Christian coolness factor...even if it was only in my mind and in that moment.

-Campfires and Altar Calls! On top of going to church my entire life I went to a Christian school, so I'm very comfortable with emotional spiritual highs. Actually, I'm very cynical toward them, and that is one reason I was so attracted to Quakerism and its emphasis on the quiet/silence with Christ. I remember one track retreat campfire where one of the male athletes dropped to his knees sobbing after he asked God to reveal what was in his heart. I decided right then and there I'd never ask God to show me what was really in my heart because if his was bad, mine must be horrible.

At my Christian school we had an annual Spiritual Emphasis Week where an "amazing" speaker was brought in to start a revival and spiritual awakening in our student body...mostly in the men. This was the era of Promise Keepers, and I truly believe most thought World Peace could be achieved if only women would submit and men would start leading out in verbal prayer....a sign of being the spiritual leader of your household. No one really pointed out that none of us were married and not really men or women yet.

During one of these weeks we had an altar call at the end of each chapel...which for that week was...everyday. After each one, the only student left sitting on the cold, folding chairs was the exchange student from Spain. I noticed this, and decided I was done with altar calls. I haven't gone forward or raised my hand since.

-Piercing the Darkness. That was a bad era. Now everyone was an expert on spiritual warfare and everyone, except me, had seen a demon. I was scared. That was about all that accomplished. Why were they all so eager to see such things? Why was there a bit of spiritual pride in seeing the dark side? Why weren't people sharing more testimony in seeing the Light of Christ? Where was the emphasis on social justice and being Christ to others? Do you remember that song "The Champion?" I hated it. In 6th grade, students begged our teacher to play it during lunch. We ate lunch in the classroom. In it were the voices of demons. Of course, Jesus rises from the dead and conquers all, but I wore my own garlic necklace to survive that torturous lunchtime experience; I repeated the name of Jesus over and over under my breath. I survived.

-Some of my favorite church memories took place during summer evening church services. (Later I used to beg my parents to not attend these and instead watch 60 Minutes. I still love this news show. I think my parents would have given in, but my sister usually insisted with great emotion and tears that we attend. Maybe she'd like to blog about that at another time.) But back when I was in the 3rd grade I went happily. Sure, I had to endure really long and boring doctrinal debates that seemed to last forever, but it was all worth it. Because afterward while the parents chatted, we kids ran free. We played tag, Midnight, Mr. Fox....nothing is better than twilight and a summer breeze---the screams of happy, giddy children. It was on one of these nights that my best friend and I declared our mutual love for a 3rd grade boy that shall remain nameless. We shouted high up into the sky, and I know Jesus was smiling.

The thing was, Jesus was real for me. At a very young age I began my spiritual conversation with him. Even when a male church leader laughed at me and told me I was making things up, I knew Christ was speaking to me. I ignored the mockery and proceeded in my intimacy with Christ.

Even though much of this has made my cynical toward church, I still believe.

My faith even survived a church split, actually I grew from that. You see, there is no perfect church and there isn't supposed to be. I have yet to meet a perfect person and since church is people....well, you get it.

I need community. I need church. I crave and desire it. I hope to do it better and better as I age. I hope to not pass on the same misconceptions and hurts and fears that I received from my church journey to my kids, but I might, and they'll make it because God is bigger than us. It is his still small voice that remains true and pure. It is that Being who is passionately pursing a mutual relationship with my children....with all his children.

God-Sighting 9,201...

It was a rare and treasured sunny, Spring Break day in Oregon. We were on our family vacation. The boys were so excited. We all love to travel, glad we passed this passion on to our sons at such a young age. We’d decided on a simple, short trip to Portland....two nights in a hotel, ride the MAX, see the city, go to the zoo, OMSI, swim in the pool, and visit IKEA. I felt we were giving our boys a showcase tour of the Rose City.

But, the highlight for me was the lunch we shared in Pioneer Courthouse Square. It has been dubbed Portland’s Living Room, and really...it is. Everyone is there. Everyone is relaxing. Everyone is doing what you’d do in a living space. We ordered a large pizza from Pizza Smeccha. We were spread out on the north western steps. We were warm and happy. I found the man sunning himself and exposing us all to his hairy chest to be a bit of a distraction, but otherwise I was pretty much focused on my family and our time together.

Someone else was not. Someone else was noticing someone without. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw my three-year-old scooting a plate of pizza toward a man sitting a few steps up from us. He wasn’t scared of this man, who we would label homeless and a “stranger.” No, he was just unsure how to go about sharing his food.

The man was also unsure if he was supposed to take a toddlers gift. I smiled, “Honey, do you want to give your pizza to him?”

“Yes!”

The man took it and from the rate to which he enjoyed it, my son observed his need for food well. I couldn’t help but beam with pride. I was impressed by my child’s skills to observe and empathize. Was all my parenting and modeling and teaching working? This is my goal: Love God, Love Others. I would be more pleased if my children grew up to be models of this type of life choice than if they were successful embodiments of our capitalist system. I would love if I could pass on a sense of only needing our daily bread and what was extra we pass on.

I saw a glimpse of this in my son. Much of what I try and model gets flubbed up by my own imperfections, but because of God’s grace and God’s light in my child, some of what I value is being passed on.

Later when it was time for us to catch the next MAX train the man stood in the doorway and held up the whole train so that we could all get in with kids and bags in tow. He was giving back. We received his gift to us. He gave what he could, and I was thankful. It was what we needed at the time.

Later when I asked my son why he’d given him his pizza he answered simply, “Because he didn’t have any food, and it is good to share.” Then he launched in to the story of Jesus on the cross and the two robbers and how the one robber wasn’t nice to Jesus, but the other robber was, and Jesus forgave his sins and told him he’d be in heaven with him. This all connected in his mind, and I think it was a significant piece of my son’s spiritual journey with Christ. It was real, and it flowed from a place strangely not human. It was a God-sighting.

These are the stories we share. We are seeking stories like these. Sometimes our stories of failure teach and sometimes our stories of success encourage.

If you have a story please consider submitting to our anthology. You can read more about it by following this link. The deadline is June 1, 2010.

And in the Spirit of Easter (and this story).....Christ Lives

Holding Doubts Loosely

I'm learning to hold doubts loosely. I'm learning to accept and rest in my cycles of, "Oh my goodness...I've been had!"

I'm cycling out of one of those times, once again. Each time I question God, seek out Truth, and cycle back around to the mountain of faith....my trust in him increases.

I was afraid to ask for more faith and trust because in me there is this fear that when I do ask, something horrible and bad is going to happen. (This is not scriptural, just a fear of mine.) I found myself fighting the urge to ask for more faith, but then I remembered that God is not a God of fear, so I did it.

Wow, did he answer fast this time. And so far nothing has fallen out of the sky and hit me over the head.

You have all heard people say that Jesus was a good teacher, but not the Son of God. But really, if he wasn't the Son of God he was a total freak and a lunatic. Who would ever walk around and claim to be God...especially someone who knew the scriptures like Jesus did because he was raised in a traditional Jewish home. Basically either he was God or he was a fruit and you can't pick the middle ground of him being a good teacher. AND, how could a man make all of that up with complete genius and consistency. Eventually a man would mess up and be found out, but HE continues to be consistent and a fulfillment of prophecy in his life and message on earth.

I'm currently doing a study on John, and it is fast becoming my favorite gospel. I just like that guy, like his perspective, and love his emphasis on the Word.

Some scriptures that have assisted in my latest cycle are:

John 17:5 And now, Father, glorify me in your presence with the glory I had with you before the world began. Woe, did you catch that?

John 18:5,6

"Jesus of Nazareth," they replied. "I am he," Jesus said. (Judas the traitor was standing there with them.) When Jesus said, "I am he," they drew back and fell to the ground.

I am. Remember in Exodus when God declared his name to Moses? That is what Jesus is saying and look....the soldier drew back and fell to the ground. I'd never noticed that before. They must have seen the presence of God, why else would you fall to the ground?


AND, strangely enough a book discussion on The Kite Runner confirmed my faith. I find great confirmation in non-Christian writings from writers who observe TRUTH. (The Truth observed: the power of sin to corrupt and ruin man. We are all capable of evil, not just the Taliban. Our evil can be the evil of silence, non-action, etc. Until we experience forgiveness we will be changed to our sin choices.)

(Note: This was scary to put out there as this is the most open I've been to my unknown readers.)

God-Sighting 9,455-Baptism

"But why are you going to get baptized tomorrow?"

"Well, because I love Jesus, and I want others to know that. I want those in our church to know that I know I have sinned, and that I've confessed that to Jesus, and that he's forgiven me."

My son spoke, "Well, I love Jesus too. I want to be baptized too."

This was the conversation that my husband and my oldest had the night before my husband was baptized for the first time at age 34. Being that old might not seem unusual unless you know that my husband committed his life and his life choices to Christ at age 18. Most Christians might be baffled by the time span between his confession of faith and choice to be baptized.

Some of my readers will not be shocked by that time span, but actually might be more surprised that he choice to be baptized. You see, my husband was raised as a Quaker, and until last year had always gone to a Quaker church. I love this about my husband. His expression and view of God was one of the things I found most attractive about him when I first met him in college. He challenged my views as a Christian and he confirmed many of the TRUTHS I was taught as a child by my mother who was also raised as a Christian Quaker.

God is our Light and our joy. We cherish the many TRUTHS that we learned by our fellowship with other Quakers, but we also rejoice that God has moved us to a different place of worship where our understanding of God's Truth is being expanded. That is why my husband decided to be baptized this last week. The time was right.

I believe my husband's act of baptism will be a huge spiritual marker for our four-year-old. He was giddy all Sunday morning. He couldn't wait to get to church, my son not my husband. :) (But maybe my husband too.)

During the worship my son seemed a bit agitated. He kept walking to the front and then returning to our seats near the back. Finally I knelt down beside him and asked him what he wanted, why was he going up front and then coming back to where we were sitting?

"I just want to see Daddy get baptized."

I smiled, "Do you want to go up with Daddy?"

He nodded.

My husband held his hand and assured him that he'd get to go up front.

The pastor spoke.

My husband went up, and in his large hand rested my son's small one.

My son stood as close as he could to the baptismal without getting baptized himself. He saw it all. He heard his daddy's testimony. He listened. He saw. A God-sighting.

My heart rejoiced. I'm glad my husband waited. He waited. He listened. A God-sighting. He sensed the Holy Spirit. He responded, and I know God's perfect timing was at work.

God is good....all the time.