I was up early this morning. My eyes popped open, as if I’d just blinked last night instead of slept,  and thoughts still full of last night’s message.  Last night was our March Adorn, our monthly time for women of our church to get together, hear a speaker, enjoy some treats, and get to know each other. We set up the room in 14 little “living rooms”, 6 people in each, with couches, chairs, lamps, candles, flowers, and harp music in the background.  People must have been praying because from the moment women began to arrive, it seemed that God’s Spirit was just on our time in a special way.

The topic was The Influential Woman.  Becky Doel, a seasoned, wise woman of God, spoke, and I felt like a sponge, on the edge of my seat, wishing I could somehow physically take her words and tuck them into my heart and soul, make them my own, make them work in me that things God’s done in her.

Her words were simple.  She’s the first to announce her influence comes not from degrees or prestigious job titles.  She is “only” a wife and mother. She’s homeschooled her children, loved her husband, and biblically influenced the women around her. She has embodied Titus 2:

“Older women likewise are to be reverence in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled… so that in everything they may adorn the doctrine of God our Savior.”

Women, this is our job description.  All of us. I think so often I make influence, mentoring, discipling, whatever you choose to call it, too complicated.  One thing I loved was that Becky thinks there is an “older woman” and a “younger woman” in all of us.  We can all learn from each other.  But those with the life experience of walking with Christ need to share with the younger women around, teaching them.  And what are they to teach them?  How to love their husbands and children, how to be self-controlled and pure, how to work at home and put their time and attention there, how to be kind, how to submissive to their own husbands.  So that God’s Word would not only not be reviled, but that it would be adorned, adorned by our beautiful lives, made attractive to the world by our pure conduct and by our love.  Women, that’s what we’re called to do.

As a young woman, I can vouch for the fact that we younger women are hungry, starving for godly mentors.  I wanted to climb into Becky’s purse and have her take me home so I could learn everything she had to offer.  Older women, please know we want to learn from you.  Becky admitted she feels insecure, especially around some of us younger women who are educated, “accomplished”, confident in speaking, etc.  She feels like she’s not sure of what she has to offer. Hogwash!  Good grief, older ladies, you have so much to offer.  Those of us who have been married 7 years want to hear from you who have been married 37 years.  Those of us with 3-year-olds want to hear from you with 30-year-olds. My mom knows this, she is (as a wise mother/mother-in-law should be) always cautious of giving advice, so I usually have to beg her to give me wisdom, twist her arm to tell me what I should do! As I write that though, I realize that is one of the things that makes her so attractive.  We’ve all been around women who are so eager to tell you their advice (I can be one of these obnoxious sorts), you leave wanting to do exactly the opposite of what they said.  God’s influential women listen, support, care, empathize… and share the godly wisdom and counsel that God has laid on their hearts.

I for one am praying and pleading with God to raise up the older generation of women to be pillars of wisdom and beauty in God’s house, strengthening the younger women, encouraging, exhorting, praying for, believing in.  Though it’s always been a passion of mine to be an influential woman, I was so inspired last night to, Lord willing, help empower those older influential women around me.  We’re calling you, we love you, and we need you.

Please share with us. Please reach out to us.  We’re listening.

If we knew He was listening, I wonder how it would change our lives.

I’m so excited tonight and tomorrow to teach 1 Peter 3:8-22.  One of the tiny little nuggets tucked into this passage is a quote from Psalm 34:12-16. Peter writes (v.12) “For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their prayer.”  It could also be translated “attentive” to their prayer.  The first week of our “letter lessons” we taught Dutch the word “attentive” in order to learn the letter A. He learned that Attentive means Look, listen, and respond (3-year-old definition).  That is exactly what this passage tells us about God. He is not only listening to us, He’s looking at us. He’s watching us, with open ears, attentive to our prayers.  Do we believe this?

I remember the very first day of my Prayer class at Multnomah, our professor chose two volunteers to tell about their Christmas break. The first was a shy, quiet, timid girl.  Our professor pulled up a stool, sat down across from her, looked her in the eye, leaned toward her, and listened.  She began slowly, and he nodded as she spoke, use verbal listening cues, laughed at the funny parts, smiled, eyes on her constantly, intently listening. She went on and on, her face flushed at the joy of really being listened to.  When she was done she beamed.

Next he picked Jeff  (who he knew could handle some abuse .  Jeff began and immediately the professor got up and went and looked at his teaching notes, completely turning his back on Jeff.  He rustled through some papers, cleared his throat, looked at Jeff impatiently, looked at his watch, fidgeted, glanced up at the clock. Jeff tried to persevere (since he knew what he was doing), but eventually he couldn’t take it any more. “I quit,” Jeff finally resigned, “you’re not even listening.”

I think we’ve all been in that awkward and kind of embarassing situation (or maybe it’s just me!) when we’re talking in a group and somehow everyone gets distracted doing something and next thing you know you’re telling a story to no one.  Unless you’re really determined, you usually just quit talking, right? I mean, what’s the point if no one’s listening?

My professor’s point was that many of us don’t really believe that God is listening.  We might say that we do, but we don’t really operate under that conviction.  Many of us feel like God is like that  professor who’s checking the clock, fidgeting. As if we have to shout and beg for Him to listen.  Why would we want to pray if we view God like that?

Meditating on this verse this week has impacted me immensely. This morning we had our first every Morning Prayer, from 6-7am at church. It was awesome. Just 5 of us, gathered together in the early morning light, confident that “the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their prayer.”  I realized this morning that God was waiting for us.  He was up long before we were (since He never sleeps!), and He was bent, stooped over, with His ear down to us, waiting for us just to mutter a word to Him, waiting for us to lift up our voices, praise, confession, thanks, and requests to Him.  How this changes the way we pray!  When I realize God is just waiting for me to speak, to pray, to ask, it changes everything.  It was a joy this morning to sit with Him, knowing He was waiting for us all along.

If we knew God was listening, I wonder how much more we might pray. I wonder what we might ask. I wonder what we might dare mention to Him.  I wonder how we might pour out our hearts to Him, knowing He was sitting there, eyes on us, soaking up every word.  Thank you, Lord that Your ears are open to us.  Show us how to pray.

My dearest blog, whom I love and miss so much,

I am so sorry I’ve been neglecting you.  I miss you so much and see your little tab at the top of my screen each day, beckoning me to run away with you, while instead I dutifully tackle the other more pressing matters of inbox overload and such. I have 180 pages of theology papers to grade and I’m teaching this coming week at Bible Study and I’m really trying to be a good diligent mom, wife, teacher, TA … though I long to be with you instead.

God is doing good things in my heart, challenging things, and alas, none of it can be articulated because I’m in the midst of it. Perhaps someday.  For now, know that I love you and am meditating on this:

“Every great movement of God can be traced to a kneeling figure”
–D.L. Moody

Goodnight,

me

This may interest next to none of you, but I’m posting it for my own accountability!

–

I didn’t think I”d have to make the homeschool-or-not decision until much farther down the road, but it seems that nowadays the second a kid turns three they head to preschool.  I certainly won’t make any decisions about what’s right for other kids, but at this point we’re  not sending Dutch to preschool, mostly because I need all the time I can to shape that crazy wicked heart of his.

So I recently red this Revolutionary Parenting book, and Jeff and I spent time in Texas talking through our plan for this next year, for Dutch.  If he’s not in preschool I figured I better figure out what he’s supposed to be learning!  And it seems fairly unanimous, among Christian educators (and my mom who owns the subject), that the way to go is teaching character primarily, with other skills as secondary.  Basically, use character lessons in order to teach math, reading, science, etc.  That makes sense to me, since it doesn’t matter if Dutch can do algebra by age 5, if he’s lazy, dishonest, and rude he’ll still be sunk.

So, bear with me, this is kinda scary and vulnerable to share my idea.  I’m one of those people who does best (perhaps it’s pride), teaching something that I developed myself. I have to own it to teach it.  So I decided that to teach Dutch the alphabet, we would learn one letter each week, through a focus on a character trait.  Jeff’s goal is to do a little mini Dinner Devotional–basically a 5 minute Bible story that relates to the character trait we’re learning.  Then we’d reinforce manifestations of that character trait, reinforce the letters through things he’s interested in (they have Thomas the train engines for almost every letter of the alphabet), read verses about that trait, you get the idea.

So, our 26 character traits, specifically picked out because of Dutch’s unique–ahem–needs.

Attentive

Brave

Compassion

Discipline

Enthusiasm (not sure that he needs this one)

Forgiveness

Gentleness

Honesty

Integrity

Joyfulness

Kindness

Love

Meekness

Neatness

Obedience

Patience

Quick to respond

Respect

Servanthood

Thankfulness

Understanding

Valuing others

Wisdom

eXercise

Yielding

Zealous

So this week we’ve been doing Attentive, and it’s been kind of fun. He can now recognize the letter a, so that’s cool, and we’ve looked up online and found Thomas engines named Arrie, Alfie, Annie & Arthur.  He knows that Attentive means, “See, listen, and respond.”  Now, if we can only get him to do it!  Jeff taught him the story of the little boy Samuel, who heard God’s voice and responded, “Speak for your servant listens.”  He still dumped the bin of Legos on Heidi’s head this morning, however, so we have a ways to go.

I’d love to hear others/your ideas on teaching preschoolers character traits, as well as reading and math/counting skills.  This is so new to me it feels like writing with my left hand,  but I figure we have to start somewhere!  And I figured if I posted this I’d be less likely to quit.  So I’m off to be Attentive!

Walking with God is always an adventure, isn’t it?  Sometimes I forget, but it always floors me when I look back and see the thread of His hand through my moments, days, weeks, years.

So this trip has been… so so.  I don’t mean to be negative, but it just hasn’t been exactly what I’d had in mind. All I mean by that is that somehow I’d envisioned constant sunny skies, friendly Southern hospitality, trails, parks, beauty, and lots of ice cream.  I told Jeff I think sometimes it’s a curse to be really optimistic–I always believe that things are going to be awesome, amazing.  And then when things aren’t I tell myself they are, and that if I keep choosing to believe they are then I’ll be happy. I’ve mentioned this before in my story of the green walls. It’s not really a virtue as much as a coping mechanism. If I believe things are awesome then they will be, right?  Actually that’s a characteristic of 2-year-olds, I’ve learned–they believe that if they say something it becomes reality (Dutch: “It’s not dark outside.” Meaning, that he doesn’t want to go to bed.)

Anyway, it poured down rain, I got lost a million gazillion times trying to drive around this city, and Jeff was gone from morning until night every day.  So finally, yesterday afternoon, the sun came out, Jeff finished up his conference at 4pm, and we had the pleasure of a really great Tex-Mex dinner, ice cream, and the joy of just being together.  Ahh…finally. This is what I was waiting for. Yay!  Then…just a couple hours later, while Heidi was sleeping, she started choking and coughing and acting like she couldn’t breathe.   Yeah, panic.  I had noticed kind of strange noises for a while, but she she was gagging and coughing like she couldn’t breathe, I grabbed her, got her upright, helped her breathe, and then did what every parent does: panicked.  We through on some clothes, went downstairs, got directions to the hospital, and drove out into the middle of the night, in this maze of a city, looking for the pediatric hospital.  By some God-ordained helpers along the way, we pulled in, talked to the pediatric nurse, and realized Heidi just had croup–some kind of virus that leads to a horrible barking cough and wheezy breathing.  So we came home and spent the night up with her, taking turns sitting in the bathroom with the shower on, walking her around, getting her fresh air, etc.   This morning she was still coughing, and we were totally exhausted.  We’d had plans to attend the small church of a guy who Jeff cooresponds with through blogging, but we knew it met in an old nightclub in downtown…not exactly where we wanted her to be, and as a really small church not the place you can take a hacking baby and remain unnoticed.

As I showered this morning, exhausted, the selfish thought entered my mind–what a waste.  Sure I’ve read some good books, but i could have done that at home.  Just when Jeff gets done and we were going to get some time together, Heidi gets sick.  So we spend our onlyvacation day together sitting in a dark, steamy hotel bathroom.

I know that’s totally selfish, but those were my thoughts.  So, after we got ready, we still needed food, plus Heidi did way better in the car, upright in her seat, so we drove around for an hour or so, drinking coffee while she contently slept. Then Jeff had an idea to go to The Austin Stone, a church in the heart of the city that’s grown to several thousand people.  We figured we could keep her in her carseat, stand in the back, and not be disruptful.  We found it, went inside, and felt right at home.

And then aaahhhh…my soul found its rest in the presence of God, worshipping with the multitudes. Tears filled my eyes as we sang The Stand, and as I stood in the very back, looking at the thousands of outstretched arms reaching to the heavens.   Jeff had had an amazing experience at his conference, but this was my turn.  Heidi fussed some, but we were able to make it through the service and hear the message, on waste.

The pastor shared a story of how just last year he and a group of pastors traveled to South Asia for a series of meetings on missions.  They’d obviously spent thousands of dollars getting there, orchestrating all the meetings, etc. Then, when they got there, he and the guys he was with got jumped by some thugs, robbed, beat up, and the guy who jumped him knifed his face open from his temple to his chin.  The pictures were gruesome.  After getting treatment, they had to return home.  He couldn’t help but think—what a waste. All that money, time, energy—for nothing.

He then taught the story of Mary, who broke her alabaster flask and anointed Jesus’ feet.  The cost of that flask was almost a year’s wages–so we’re talking probably the equivalent of $40-$50 THOUSAND dollars worth, all contained in her flask. It was probably her dowry, her worth as a marriageable woman.  All she owned. Broken, poured out, wasted on Jesus’ feet of all things.  The disciples, very logically and godly and wisely, insisted there would certainly be a better use of those resources than dumping $50K on Jesus’ feet!  I would have thought the same thing. Or, wouldn’t it have been so much smarter, to pour the oil into three containers, use 1/3 of the money for the poor, 1/3 of the money for her dowry, and a 1/3 of the oil use to offer to Jesus? That seems wise!  Or, she could have worshiped him with words, she could have hugged Him, kissed Him, praised Him.  Come on, I mean, really?! You have to waste all that good money by dumping it on the floor.

But Jesus thought it was a beautiful waste.  He commends her, and then amazingly chooses to record it in Scripture, so that this woman’s story would be told around the world for the rest of history to know.  He thought the waste was beautiful.

One of my favorite pieces of wisdom I’ve ever received was from my great-aunt, who is now 94 and stunningly beautiful and the most amazing godly woman I know. She told me, four years ago: “Nothing’s wasted.”  And I’ve always tucked that way in my heart. But the important qualification for that truth is that nothing’s wasted that is given to God.  Lots is wasted.  People waste their lives all the time.  The woman in the story could have dumped her alabaster flask into the trash and it would have truly been wasted. Utterly wasted. But “wasted” on the feet of Jesus meant that not a drop was wasted, it was invested with the highest return–the glory of God, the worship of Jesus, the love and praise of the Savior. That is beautiful waste.

And the beauty of the anointing wasn’t in the value of the flask’s contents–it was in the value of the sacrifice.  We know throughout Scripture, from Abraham to David to the widow with the two mites to Mary and her flask, that the value of our offering is not in what we give, but in what we give up.  Yes, there is a double meaning there.  What we give up is what we sacrifice, which is the true measure of our worship. And, sorry for the pun–what we give up is given upwards to God, with His glory as the intended aim.  The value of our worship is what we give up, what we waste for His sake.

Wow. Talk about a well-timed message.  Though perhaps the time I spent whining about a disapointing trip is indeed a true waste, the time I’ve spent reading the Word, reading good books, cuddling on the bed with my daughter, praying and planning with Jeff about our parenting strategy, making goals for this year, worshipping my Lord in song with a thousand beautiful people who call on His name.  None of that is wasted.

And what of my sacrifice? I told Jeff in the car afterwards, “I’ve sacrificed nothing, ever.”  We have such an amazing blessed life.  Everything I’ve tried to give to God He seems to always end up giving back.  I look around at people who have given up so much, and our lives seem so teeming full of rich blessing.  What is my sacrifice?  The pastor suggested many things this morning as he encouraged us to identify our own alabaster flask, what is it we can waste on his feet?  I waited, asking God what mine could be.  Then one thing he mentioned made tears slip silently down my cheek.  Giving up my time, my ambitions, my dreams, my preferences, to lay down my life for my kids, to giving every ounce of my being to investing in them to be Christ followers, Kingdom advancers, lovers of God.  That seems so natural, but for me it’s not. It’s hard for me.  Giving time and energy to doing women’s ministry … pause, I have to say this… is not a sacrifice for me. It’s fun. Thrilled. Rewarding.  Getting degrees, reading, learning, teaching—all of those things are good and I’ll keep doing them, but they are not sacrifice.  They’re thrilling, rewarding, self-gratifying in a way.  The one thing in my life which — I know this sounds horrible but it’s the truth! — is not very gratifying right now is mommying.  And as the silent tear slipped down my cheek I realized that was my alabaster flask.  How appropriate that as I heard those words I was standing in the hallway, just outside the sanctuary, holding my daughter upright to keep her from coughing, bouncing her softly and letting her pat my face with her soft, doughy hands, kissing her feverish, sweaty head.  Right there in my arms was the answer to my question.  Right under my nose.

So as we pack up our bags tonight and prepare for our early flight in the morning, I’m praying for God to show me how to live this beautiful waste, how to fight the gnawing hunger for productivity, turn the clock to the wall, and wastefully invest in the two precious souls He’s entrusted to my care.  One of them is coughing, so I must go.  Let my life be a beautiful waste, O God.

While there are some tricky things to traveling with my little monkey-girl, one benefit is that I’m forced to spend the afternoon in my hotel room, from 2-4 or 5, in the dark with the curtains drawn, while she naps.  Neither of my kids are on-the-go nappers, which is probably partly due to the fact that I’m a Babywise fanatic, and partly due to genetics since I can’t sleep anywhere other than a bed in absolute darkness. So, we spend the afternoons in our hotel.  But I’ve read two books so far and am on the third and this is pure indulgence for me because reading is a luxury to mommies, as you know.  They’ve all been fantastic, so I thought I’d give you my list:

1. The Help by Kathryn Stockett (actually read this last month, fascinating look at civil rights in Mississippi in the 1960s. I loved this book.)

2. Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers (Sadly I usually don’t care much for Christian fiction, but this was a page-turner to be sure.)

3. Still Alice by Lisa Genova (I read this in one sitting during Heidi’s nap yesterday.  Powerful, sad, insight into Alzheimer’s disease. Made me think we should all read novels written from the perspective of those suffering from different diseases–totally changes our perspective and helps nurture compassion.)

4. Revolutionary Parenting by George Barna (non-fiction, fascinating statistical research of common ground of parents who have raised spiritual champions.  Super motivating, just what I needed.)

So…I haven’t actually eaten any Texas BBQ yet, but I’ve read some good books!   My favorite part of vacation is just that–taking the time to step back from the day-to-day of our life and get perspective. I can be so lost in the minutia and feel as if the whole world rested on my getting the laundry done or returning all my emails.   That’s what reading does for me–opens up the world and lets me peak inside.  Oh, all THAT is going on, Lord?!  Wow.

Good stuff.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some books to read.

As many of you know, this morning at 3am we drug ourselves out of bed, and by 4am were on the road to the airport to catch our 6am flight to Austin, Texas.  That’s right, Texas!  Jeff is attending a ministry conference here called The Verge, so I get to tag along and have a little vacation with Heidi.  I’ve been so excited!!  It’s been awhile since Jeff and I have gone away without our little monkey, Dutch–and although I miss him like crazy, it is nice to have a little time with Heidi, who usually goes unnoticed because of her rather dominant brother.  She is taking to the attention like a fish to water and I’m afraid perhaps she’ll get too used to it and have a rude awakening when we get back home.

So I’ve been preparing for this trip and thinking a lot about being Away from Home, because we’ve been studying through the book of 1 Peter for our women’s Bible study, and Peter’s big idea is that we are all pilgrims and sojourners, away from our true Home in heaven with Christ, on a journey here on earth. It is our temporary home.  So this past Monday/Tuesday I taught 1 Peter 2:1-12, and the notes aren’t coherent enough to post here, but if you’d really like to listen you are welcome, I think you can find it here, if you scroll down to Bible study–you can also hear the first two messages as well if you’re so inclined.

But now that I’m actually here, in Texas, after a full day of flights, rental cars, getting lost, unfolding maps that take up the entire front seat, feeding Heidi little bits of french fries like a baby bird in the back seat… now I’m reminded all over again about some of the lessons of being Away from Home.

Everything’s harder. I should have reminded myself that the first day of vacation (which includes travel) is awful.  Especially with kids. It’s exciting, but getting up at 3am and not resting again until 7pm is just plain tiring.  And although Heidi didn’t cry much on the flights, she never slept a wink–ALL DAY LONG, and was only happy if she was bounced or fed or played with.  Which led to one tired mommy.  The fun part was that we’re making a surprise video for a certain church staff member, and we had a blast doing that. But by the time this evening rolled around, I put Heidi down to bed at 7 and she cried for 2 hours (overtired, new environment, not real dark), I was so tired I had to ask myself, “Wait, why am I doing this again?”  Then Jeff reminded me of my message the day before. I know I know I know…I hate it when things I teach come back to convict me.   All that to say, it’s all just harder when you’re away from home.  Routine things take so much longer and take so much more effort. Bedtime at home takes me 5 minutes…here it took 2 hours.

It’s easy to just get lost. I thought Jeff and I were both good with directions. We’ve driven Chicago, Boston, LA, Seattle…we’re faily competant–or at least I thought. For some reason Austin has us all mixed up.  The location of our hotel is like a black hole. If you miss something you’ll end up driving around and around unable to get to it–and once you’re here, it’s hard to figure out how to get out. It’s hard to explain, but it’s just a really odd location.  Today we drove for 2 hours to go get dinner, and ended up finally going to the Wendy’s across the street from our hotel.  It sounds pathetic, I know.  For some reason we just wound up all over the place.

You don’t have what you need. As much as you try to pack it all, it always seems like we don’t end up with what we need. Heidi’s sippy cup didn’t make it to the suitcase, and that silly girl didn’t seem to like it when I tried to help her drink ice water from a regular cup on the plane and it poured down the front of her shirt.  I packed practical shoes, but not practical for the DOWNPOUR that they are experiencing here in Austin. Who knew it would be pouring down rain and freezing cold (40s) and everyone would be wearing rainboots and using umbrellas?  Silly Portland people came unprepared.

People don’t really know you, and you don’t know them. So we’re doing this silly video, which meant I had to talk to a bunch of strangers and get them to go along with me in this silly thing. A lot of them were pretty skeptical. And rightly so…they don’t know me from Adam.  It’s hard to earn trust, and it’s hard to trust.  Similarly, for some reason I’d thought I’d feel totally comfortable walking around the streets of Austin on my own with Heidi, hiking and exploring the city, just like I would back home. Not so much. For some reason people look a little scarier. I went into a grocery store today and very quickly felt out of place… nothing dangerous, I was just in an interesting neighborhood and hadn’t realized it, and I was happy to find Jeff waiting for me outside.

You’re real tired but can’t sleep. I don’t think there is any spiritual parallel to this one. It’s just that I love my bed at home and Jeff is out late tonight and Heidi’s making little snorting noises while she sleeps…and I’m sitting here, exhausted but unable to sleep.  Hence the blog post.  Not much seriously significant, but tomorrow we’re exploring the University of Texas campus, and a sweet looking strip called Burnet street, lined with eclectic consignment and second-hand shops (Yes, Mom, Jeff will be with me–his conference starts at 3pm).  Goodnight, ya’ll.

This was quite a week for me, as some of you know. I kind of–well, I did–have a nervous break down.  Not really, I guess but I basically got to a breaking point, where I realized I was doing too much and physically felt like I crumbled into a heap. It wasn’t pretty.   But as with most breaking points, it usually means that great growth is on the horizon, hatching out of an egg and finding new life. It’s exciting, it just doesn’t always feel that good at the time.

I knew the issue was brewing when I read through Exodus 18 in my quiet time, and was reminded again of Jethro’s (Moses’ father-in-law) advice to Moses when he came and visited.  Moses was sitting, from morning until evening, every single day, listening to the disputes of people and giving direction, wisdom–leading them.  Jethro says, “What you are doing is not good. You and the people with you will certainly wear yourselves out, for the thing is too heavy for you.  You are not able to do it alone.”

What you are doing is not good.

Hmm.  I didn’t quite understand at that point exactly what that meant, but later on in the week it became clearer. Not only is it not good for yourself, because you will get worn out, but it is not good for the people either, because the leadership, wisdom, and advice that they will receive from you will be less than stellar–it will be tired, irritated, annoyed advice and leadership rather than rested, well-thought-through advice and leadership.  Not only that, but perhaps (total speculation here), Moses’ father-in-law looked down with the eyes of a grandpa and a father and looked at his daughter Zipporah and at his little grandbabies and got a little protective, realizing that these Israelites were getting 90% of Moses’ time, rather than his family. Again, it says that nowhere in the Bible, but it’s interesting that it’s Moses’ wife’s father that steps in and says, “Enough is enough!  You’re doing too much. Get out of there and spend some time with your babies and wife!”

Perhaps it takes the perspective of a wise, aged father, with the heart of a grandpa, to point these things out to us.  Perhaps. (I’m winking at you, Dad.)

So while last week was rough, it was really good.  I did some evaluating and made some boundaries, and while I still feel like at moments I’m drowning, when I look up and keep my eyes fixed in Jesus, He keeps the wind and the waves at bay.

Then this weekend we continued studying through the book of Nehemiah. Joel taught chapter 3, the chapter full of names, about how Nehemiah assembled the team to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, and how many many people it took to pick up those stones and assemble the various portions.   He made this hilarious point about how we each have our own stones to pick up, carry, and stack on the wall, and we each need to shoulder our own stones.  He said sometimes people come up to him with an idea for ministry (hinting that he should do it), and he gets this funny smile and wags his finger playfully and says, “Are you trying to give me your stones?  It sure feels like you’re trying to give me your stones… I think those are your stones!”

So true!  Some of us have this tendency, as we’re picking up our own stones, to look around and see all the heaps of stones around us and feel so overwhelmed that we just start picking up everybody else’s stones too!  Heck, there are stones to pick up I might as well pick them up!  And so I had this vision of myself, with Dutch hanging on my back, Heidi in a front pack crying, holding my husband’s sack lunch in one hand, my Bible teaching notes in the other, my laptop tucked between my knees, a laundry basket balanced on my head, picking up toys off the ground with my toes, and then trying to figure out how in the world I was going to pick up all these stinkin’ stones that are laying around!  Joel’s message was a refreshing tap on the shoulder: “Hey, guess what? Those aren’t your stones.”

So as with any adjustment period, it takes a while to figure out boundaries, make adjustments, figure out what’s God and what’s selfish.  I’m sorting through my stones and asking God exactly which ones He’d like me to stack on the wall, and which ones He wants me to leave on the ground, because they’re someone else’s stones to stack.

And at this moment one of my stones is sticking his feet in my face and giggling, trying to get my attention. (No, it’s not Jeff).  Naptime is over…it’s time to stack some stones.

Sometimes the high points of life with toddlers can be few and far between, but this was a kiss from God for my little boy and me.

Last week, when we’d visited OMSI with a friend, we had run into another girl who was the friend of my friend.  We introduced ourselves and I met her little boy Brock, 6 months older than Heidi, and hit it off and had a great time just talking.  Well last night, we got a horrified phone call from my friend, saying this girl had accidentally hit or run over her son with her car (every mom’s most horrible nightmare).  He was in critical condition at OHSU, and could we please pray like crazy for them. Of course Jeff and I did, as we drove home from our Community Group last night.

So last night as I tucked Dutch into bed, I said it was time to pray, and I started it out for him just like I always do, “Dada God, thank you for…” but he said, “No, let’s pray for Brock.”  My eyes widened, “Yes, Dutch. Let’s!”

“Dada God, help Brock get better.”  Of course my heart melted.

So today, we were thrilled to receive news that he has been stable, with a concussion and broken ribs, but on the road to full recovery. Hooray! I told Dutch the good news and he got this big smile and said, “Brock is all better!”  Of course he got embarrassed when I told him it was because he prayed to God for him, but what an encouragement to my little boy’s heart, and to mine.

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*Please continue to pray for mom Charmin & baby Brock as he continues to recover.

It’s really been an amazing week.  Anyone who’s checked this blog or seen my facebook status knows that between the success of potty-training, really getting in the domestic swing of things (who knew being a 50s housewife was so awesome?!), and a couple other non-bloggable things, this week just seemed to go from blessing to blessing.

What’s challenged me is realizing what a fragile thing my happiness can be.  A tiny shift of circumstances can seem to crumble what I thought was a sure foundation of joy, hope, faith.  Or, put another way, a tiny nudge of another person can send me tumbling off my tight-rope of happiness, when I had thought I was firmly planted on the ground of inner peace.  My grandfather, Howard Zoet, was a prize-fighting boxer and a poet. He was also an amazing man of God, the kindest man I’d ever known (until I met Jeff, who truly is the kindest man I’ve ever met), and a lover of words. He is the one who gave me my passion for writing.  In fact, it was at my grandma’s funeral, at the age of 11, standing before the kind eyes of my grandpa, that I read my first poem out loud–a tribute to her life.  I did it for him. Now, right above my kitchen sink I still have a photo of him, holding me as an infant–asleep in his arms.  He died when I was 13.

But when I was just a toddler, he published a book of poetry. In the back he included a section where he wrote a silly little poem for each of his grandchildren–just five of us.  I was the youngest, and the only girl.  And the part I’ll always remember, from A Poem for Karina, is this stanza:

Kari, you are kind of funny. When you’re good, you’re oh so sunny!

But when you decide to cry, things sure change–oh me oh my!

Yes, I was 2 at the time, but I think if my grandpa were here today to write my poem almost 28 years later, it may read exactly the same way.  I still am amazed at how I can swing from high to low.  Why? We all know the answer–not keeping our eyes on Jesus, being too concerned with self, etc. But I love this example in Genesis, that I just read again the other day.  Joseph’s brothers, who had long ago acted our of jealousy and sold him into slavery, now had experienced the grace and deliverance of living in the land of Goshen, in Egypt, and receiving provision during the famine. They’d experience miraculous grace, forgiveness, provision. But as soon as their father, Israel, died, they panicked.  Chapter 50 tells us they feared Joseph would pay them back for all their evil, so they sent a message to him (too scared to go in person!), begging him to be kind to them, then they went in person and fell down before him, offering themselves as his servants, if Joseph would just promise to be kind to them.

And what I love is Joseph’s response, which is a comfort and a rebuke all at once:

“Do not fear, for am I in the place of God?” (50:19)

The comfort is, don’t worry–I’m not going to harm you. But the rebuke is–why have you put me in the place of God? Why have you set your hope on my mercy, rather than God’s? Why have you made me big and God small?  Or, perhaps applicable to us today, Why have you set your happiness on my approval, my provision, my decisions.

Their fear, anxiety, and turmoil was all simply because they had forgotten the place of God. They’d put Joseph there instead, and there’s only room for One. And amazingly, Joseph himself is the one to remind them that he belongs in no such place. No one is in the place of God–no boss, no spouse, no friend, no family member, and no circumstance.  What they had meant for evil, God meant for good.  Nothing can thwart the will of our God.

Of course as long as we live we’ll have those ups and downs, but my hope and prayer is to at least be a little more stable than I was when my grandfather penned those telling words.  I believe Joseph reveals the key to it all.  Who or what is in the place of my God?  There’s only room for One.