Stage Lights Off

I am a performer. Always have been. Maybe it's the first-born thing going on. Maybe it's the classical ballet training. Maybe it's because I crave being loved and valued.

Truth be told, it's all of it.

As a child, I lived to hear my mom's words of affirmation. I fought hard to get my dad to glance my way. I was a student obsessed with grades, to the point of pulling near all-nighters as a 6th grader. After 3 hours of ballet lessons with a stringent ballet master, I spent another hour in pointe on a tiled kitchen floor, feet blistered and bleeding.

I am a performer. If something can be measured, I will exceed any expectation. Test scores will be perfected and the choreography will be flawless for the performance. But that's just what it is. A performance.

I'm done performing. I've stepped off the stage. It's not authentic. It's not real. It places value only on measurable assessments. It lives for the approval of others - the accolades, the applause, bouquets of roses.

It's taken me a long time to realize that my value does not lie in a trophy, a degree, or in any achieved goal. I'm embarrassed to admit that. My value does not find itself in any success, nor does it lose itself in any failure. It does not lie in my children.

My value comes from being a child of God. He died to set me free. From the stage, the expectations of others, the approving and disapproving alike.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

So help me Jesus. To live for One name. To die to everything else.
So help me friends.
So help me family.

If you hear me value the words of others more than the words of my God,

call me out.

If you feel in your heart that something is fake. And I'm just not being real,

call me out.

If you see me investing time and money into costumes that hide insecurities,

call me out.

Sometimes I just can't see beyond the stage lights, but I so desperately want to.

It is by grace that I have been saved.

I still can't comprehend how Jesus has loved me on the stage and off. How His love has been my constant, always a constant; never swayed by any ridiculous direction I've turned. I so love that about Him.

He values me, because I am His. And that's all that ever mattered anyway.

This is to my Father's Glory

I'm a girl who doesn't cry often, but when I do it's anything but pretty.

Deep red splotches creep up to hide my pale complexion as ivy covers a wall. And I don't cry in a one tear trickle kind of way, but in torrents of a hyperventilating disaster.

Most often, I cry about stupid stuff. Like another dinner disaster. Something so small gets added to the top of a teetering tower and I lose it. The tower crumbles.

Yesterday's tears had more substance than a burned casserole, though they certainly caught me off guard. I sat in a chair with a coffee and Bible - my favorite time of day. All settled in and quiet, I expected a nice feel good devotions. Spend time with God, then carry on with my happy little afternoon as usual.

I think yesterday Jesus wanted more.

The burden on my heart for a little girl whom I didn't even know was so strong that I felt I could barely breathe. She is a girl who is as sweet as my own. A girl who wants so desperately to be found, valued, and treasured. A girl who has been a victim of indescribable abuses. A girl, esteemed by her Creator, even in the prison of someone else's indiscretions.

I tried to read the Bible, but all I could do was pray and cry. Maybe spending time with God isn't always about getting the good vibes. Maybe it's allowing His heart to filter into this very selfish heart of my own. I so need God's vision, because mine can be so taken up by the next best thing. Forgive me, Jesus.

Forgive me for not taking the time to fight for your children. To pray for them. To be persistent in letting their voice be heard.

It had been 2 months since my last contact with Congressman Altmire. He still hasn't decided to co-sponsor the Child Protection Compact yet. Paul had been faithfully at me for contacting him again, even though I had given up.

So I bit the bullet and dialed his Washington office yesterday. Nothing new to report, but his international affairs staffer and I had a good talk and another contact was made.

After our call, Ecclesiastes 5:8 found me at random. "If you see the poor oppressed in a district, and justice and rights denied, do not be surprised at such things; for one official is eyed by a higher one, and over them both are others higher still. The increase from the land is taken by all; the king himself profits from the fields."

This verse gave me the creeps. The trafficking of children is a rich business. The third largest in our world. Many are making money off of this girl. Her poverty is another's riches.

Who knows what Altmire will decide. There are a total of 82 co-sponsors now. That seems pretty good for a bill to me. What I do know is that this girl's fate does not lie in my hands, nor in any government official's hands. Her life is held in the firm grasp of God. A God who is good and just. Who offers hope from hearts of despair and beauty from the face of evil.

I cried a lot yesterday. But those tears were good. Cleansing. Repentant. Valued. And in the unsightly sobbing, the Holy Spirit's presence in me was undeniable. Word after word came out of a source deeper than my shallow one. Peace for me. And a blessing of peace for this young girl.

"Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you, He rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for Him." Isaiah 30:18

"Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, He will come with vengeance; He will come to save you..." Isaiah 35: 3-4

"A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out. In faithfulness, he will bring forth justice." Isaiah 42:3

"If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory..." John 15: 7

My wish is for her rescue.
Freedom.
Justice.
Arms of compassion.
Strength.
Healing.

This is to my Father's glory.

Worlds Meet Up Again

She’s 23. She loves Jesus. She’s got a single ticket for the DMZ. And she’s going to change the world.

Four a.m. wakes her up. With a coffee and these words of life, in the land of the morning calm. Every day, it’s four a.m., with the God who has changed the world.

She’s a teacher. Chalk on her hands. Ill-fitting heels and a denim skirt. Piles of papers to grade. Children to inspire. With Dante and division and documentaries. Most everyday seems mundane. But the ordinary finds Divine. And Divine finds the ordinary.

She’s 26. She’s 31. She’s 34.

Some things look the same. She loves Jesus, her beautiful Jesus. She hopes she always will.

Some things look different. More than the lines when she smiles, she’s not alone anymore. She’s woken up to the best of dreams, with those who call her Kristin and mom. She is making a home in a different world, on this side of the East.

There haven’t been chalk smudges on her skirts of late, but still everyday finds its mundane. Laundry and diapers and dinner. Mr. Rogers, scraped knees with tears, and cleaning a house that never gets clean. Ordinary is loud, the Divine is a whisper. She forgets that she’s going to change the world.

In walks 19. 34 listens.

To a heart that loves Jesus. In one hand she holds a ticket for Africa; in the other those words of life. And she’s going to change the world. It’s in her giddy rambles and the excitement in her eyes. She’s fearless and alive and in love. In love with the One who has redeemed our fall.

34 hears a lot of things over tea that night. She hears hopes and dreams, questions and quirks. She hears the 23 she used to be, and she wants to find her again. Better yet, she wants to find that all out abandonment in God again, that fearless and unscripted devotion.

Word of God speak.

When the ordinary defines every day, find me in the Divine. Find me fearless and alive and in love, running towards the One who has rocked this world with His love. Don’t ever let me forget that I can do anything through Christ who gives me strength. Anything.

I love you 19. Ashley, maybe this will explain the tears in my eyes.

Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith, and in purity. – 1 Timothy 4:12

This is My Prayer

May God bless you with a restless discomfort about easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships, so that you may seek truth boldly and love deep within your heart.

May God bless you with holy anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may tirelessly work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.

May God bless you with the gift of tears to shed with those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, or the loss of all that they cherish, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and transform their pain into joy.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you really CAN make a difference in this world, so that you are able, with God’s grace, to do what others claim cannot be done.

And the blessing of God the Supreme Majesty and our Creator,

Jesus Christ the Incarnate Word who is our Saviour,

and the Holy Spirit, our Advocate and Guide,

be with you and remain with you, this day and forevermore.

AMEN

(A Franciscan Blessing)

Compel Me to You

Wisdom is

Profitable
Precious
Rich
Honoring
A treasure

Proverbs 3:17 says that, "All her paths are peace."
Not always mine.

I can be

Frantic
Driven
Poor
Anxious
Irritable

When wisdom isn't sought.

God invites us to, "Lay hold of My words with all your heart....
Get wisdom, get understanding." (Proverbs 4:4,5)

I want to walk with steps unhampered.
I want to run and not nosedive.
I want to live a purposed life.

Those words of His;
I need to guard them

From
Too busy
Too tired
Too enamored

With me.

Proverbs 4:23 cautions us to, "Above all else, guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life."

Wellspring of life,
Flood over
This Heart.

Sear wisdom
In this soul.
And compel me
To You.

Compel me only to you.

Enough

Yesterday was a doozy.

Adden's three words in the bath kinda described the day. "Stinky. Sorry Mommy." I won't go into any other descriptions cause it's just not a picture you want to have in your head.

After putting the kids down for their naps, I walked downstairs and felt flooded with exasperation. Toys littered the house and stains three months old glared at me. There was dinner to make and a treadmill awaiting and a shower to be had.

Immediately the self-criticism poured in. Who has a house that looks like this? Why can't I have it all together? The ants are going to be parading in the kitchen soon. I need to work out. I reek. Who else smells this bad after a day? Are my kids going to grow up dysfunctional? I must drive Paul crazy. I haven't been a good friend. What is wrong with me?

And then, in the midst of my rant, while putting away the dishes in stealth mode, I heard God say, "You are enough." In the noisy recesses of my cluttered brain, I heard the faint whispers. "You are enough." "You are enough."

Over and over again, "You are enough."

And with those words, I remembered Who made me. And Whose child I am. And I remembered that I do have strengths and gifts. And that my weaknesses, my faults, and all that junk that I so desperately hide - is a chance for God to reveal Himself. For His grace is sufficient and His power is made perfect in weakness.

Sometimes I have so much striving in me. And it's an incredible motivator and it's God-given, because these passions are fueled by more fire than I could ever muster. But all that striving sees defeat more clearly. And when I measure my progress by what my eyes can immediately see, I will always fail. And I will always be less than. And I will always hear the contempt of my enemy sneering lies.

Yesterday I needed to hear the words that I was enough. And today I need to hear that I am enough. And tomorrow I will need to hear that I am enough. Cause if I am trying desperately to walk in the footsteps of my Maker -and if His honor is my intent - and if I am striving to live out His purpose for my life, than I am enough. I am enough, because He is enough.

I'm sure that ants aren't parading in your kitchen. Nor stains glaring in your face. I'm sure that your odor trumps mine, but that's disgusting. I don't know what criticisms you're hearing today and I don't know what kinda mess surrounds you. But whatever it is - however these rambles find you - may you know that you are enough. You are enough, because He is enough.

Shame

Shame takes on many forms, doesn't it?

That memory you just can't shake
The silent addiction
A vacant left ring finger
Ugly words
Stolen purity
Debt piled high

For me, shame was written all over my body.

Ever since I can remember, I've ignored warnings about the sun. I grew up going to the beach every weekend that I could - to read, surf the waves, and soak up the warmth. I life guarded and taught swimming lessons outside for years on end. I tanned to get ready for prom, just like any other high school senior.

And for me it was more than getting a tan. I hated who I was without one. I could barely stand to look in the mirror. In the winter, I was one of those tan out of a cream bottle kinda people. You know, the rusty orange type. And then there were bronzers. I used them too and they were nasty. My face was a summer tan, my neck was a winter white, with a distinct line marking off the seasons. Yuck.

At 34, I'm paying for it all. Biopsies every 6 months, stage 2 melanoma, and umpteen moles lobbed off. I always go in for routine checkups and they find just one more problem spot. Next week I go in for another excision of a precancerous area on my arm. It's a "hotspot for Melanoma," as my dermatologist says. Lovely.

Anyway, I used to get all worked up over all this. Worried that I'm harboring cancer somewhere in my skin, worried that I wouldn't see my children grow up, worried for my parents' sake, worried that I wouldn't get to grow old with my best friend.

I can't lie and say these are never concerns anymore, but they certainly aren't keeping me awake at night. The more I know of God, the more I know that He is good, and the more I am learning to accept His goodness - in whatever form He chooses to reveal it.

It's not ironic to me that I was reading Psalm 73 when my dermatologist called last week. Verse 26 reads, "My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

"My flesh may fail, " and that it has. "But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

While I was processing the latest results, a fleeting thought almost found residence in my soul. "Your skin tells a story of your shame." The words were ugly and heartless and cruel. Immediately my eyes welled with tears. Sure there's shame in that I hated myself and I was desperate for the approval of others and I didn't know my worth in God. Sure there's shame in the addiction to outward appearance and the blind acceptance of our culture's obsession.

But that's not the story that's read here. No sooner did I hear words that cut and condemned, I heard another take on those scars. In a quiet voice, God said, "Your skin tells a story of your Savior."

My scars may have spoken of shame, but not anymore. Now they tell a story of redemption. Of God creating a new life within me that no longer seeks its own. Of God restoring beauty to a girl who couldn't stand to see her reflection. Of God healing wounds that were far deeper than what the eye could see.

Shame only serves to perpetrate and oppress and annihilate. But Jesus came that we may have life and live that life to the fullest expression.

My scars now tell a story of Jesus. And His is a story worth telling again and again.

All Things New

Like any Momma, I am crazy about my kiddos. For tons of reasons, but one being that they make me slow down. They help me to see things with their eyes, on their level. And with them, ordinary life is touched with wonder.

Today we saw:

A bird busy stuffing too much brush in her puny little beak.
Perennials poking their heads up through the mushy ground.
Pink buds in mid-sprout coloring the trees.
A dog flying through the air to retrieve a ball. (To which Adden responded with much applause.)

The sun blanketed us with warmth and the coats got ditched real quick. We tricycled and ran and sang and slid in the mud. Adden's giddy laugh was contagious, as were Selah's new discoveries of the world in our own backyard. After a long, drab winter, spring is sure welcome round these parts. Not only welcome, but necessary.

Necessary cause I need to see God making all things new again. The visual of spring is dynamic. It's necessary to know that He creates and He reconciles. He forms beauty again out of the dirt. He takes a skeleton of a tree and colors it with life one more time. "The old has gone, the new has come." The dead has gone, the life has come.

It's necessary for me to know that I can be made new. Old habits can change. Patterns of wrong can be made right. Tucked away dreams can be pursued, with the vigor of that dog today retrieving a tennis ball - tail waggin' delight, sprinting after one target, breathless with anticipation for what lies ahead.

Spring is just around the corner on our calendar. But in Christ, there is always the promise of spring no matter what day of the year; there is hope of new life, yet again.

Living With No Applause

Love this quote by Henri Nouwen:

"Perhaps we must continually remind ourselves that the first commandment requiring us to love God with all our heart, all our soul, and all our mind is indeed the first. I wonder if we really believe this. It seems that in fact we live as if we should give as much of our heart, soul, and mind as possible to our fellow human beings, while trying not to forget God. At least we feel that our attention should be divided evenly between God and our neighbor.

But Jesus’ claim is much more radical. He asks for a single-minded commitment to God and God alone. God wants all of our heart, all of our mind, and all of our soul. It is this unconditional and unreserved love for God that leads to the care of our neighbor, not as an activity that distracts us from God or competes with our attention to God, but as an expression of our love for God… We might even say that only in God does our neighbor become a neighbor rather than an infringement upon our autonomy, and that only in and through God does service become possible."

The jammin thing is that Henri's life speaks these words. Once a theologian and professor at a prestigious university, Henri gave up honor and accolades to take care of mentally disabled people in a home. He read them stories, bathed them, cut up their food, repositioned them in their chairs, folded their laundry, held their hands, and helped them in the bathroom. These individuals wouldn't have known they were being served. They may have not even said thank you.

I wonder if the humility of serving kneeled him closer to Jesus. Often I think my vision of service is too limited, too narrow. It's dishing out lasagna at the homeless shelter, it's teaching a lesson for children's church, it's listening to that girl crying on the other side of the phone line. It's what other people can see.

Sometimes I forget that serving God is also scrubbing my bathtub, working my tail off at my job when no one is there, and praying on my couch. It's putting a Tinkerbell band aid on a scratch, it's clipping coupons and cooking dinner, it's getting stuck in a slide with my kids. It's folding endless laundry (and wow do I appreciate my mom more after having kids!), it's remembering a birthday, it's holding a hand. It's what other people can't always see.

God never marks off our serving to designate what is service and what is not. If I am living in God and for God and through God, then I will live to serve Him, whatever that means. In God, the most mundane tasks and the ordinary routines can carry a weight of significance. No one else may see what we've done. There won't be applause or recognition or even a thank you, but there is still an audience of a breathtaking God, who has been worshipped because we have loved.

Justice Praise

My God, He is just.

He is a refuge for the oppressed.
He is a stronghold in times of trouble.
He has never left those who seek Him.
He does not ignore the cry of the afflicted.

In Psalm 9:16, it says that,
He "is known by His justice."

I love that about Him. Like crazy.

He hears those who cry.
He sees their brokenness, my brokenness.
He invites us to intervene.

He's the One who heals.
We are the recipients.
But we are also the givers.

Justice and praise are all wrapped up in each other.
Entangled and intertwined.
Co existent and co dependent.

Because God is a God of rescue,
He beckons us
Out of our comfort
To love as He loved
And to seek justice for His people.

And when, when we've discovered that our purpose
Is more than attaining a quality of life
And less about remaining comfortable and secure
Then, we will find delight in treasures untold.

God, I want to praise you with all my heart.
I want wonders to tell about.
Help me to live within Your passions.
Because mine aren't worth dying for.
And Yours were.

(Reflections from Psalms 9 and 94)

A Real Question

I'm a native New Englander. So all the adages apply.
I love long-necked clams. I sprint into frigid cold waves headfirst. I bleed Red Sox blood.

Us New Englanders are also said to be hard-headed, independent, and stubborn. Or maybe that's just me. We are a hard working people, up before the break of dawn. We've got clearly defined circles of trust. And we can sniff out fraud pretty easily. Which is why:

I want people to be real.
I want church to be real.

Now I am in no way here to bash the church. I adore the church and I adore my church. I would defend the church to my grave. We are a desperate people made beautiful by a Savior.

But I wonder if we're doing more alienating than welcoming sometimes.

First example, church signs. They infuriate me. In my opinion, they belittle and cheapen and shrink something so magnificent into a corny little quip. I would never enter a church, upon seeing:

Be Fishers of Men.... You catch 'em, He'll Clean 'em
A lot of kneeling will keep you in good standing.
Are you wrinkled with burden? Come on into Church for a faith lift!

Words carry a lot of weight with me. And because of that, the churchy words have gotta go also. We've got so many cliches. Stuff that no one would understand outside of sanctuary walls. Can our language be real and authentic? How can we communicate truth without alienating the vast majority?

All that being said, communicating one's faith isn't easy. I have wrecked on many attempts. I am pretty sweet at stumbling over my own words. Sometimes I sound like a salesman pawning a cheap ware. It's been awkward and fake and too driven and weird. And for that, I am sorry. So sorry. Cause my God is nothing short of breathtaking.

Which brings me to a question I unearthed the other day in a book called The Organic God, by Margaret Feinberg. This question is the reason for my rambles. My eyes immediately welled up in tears upon hearing:

"What do you love about Jesus?"

Hmmm... Now this, this is simple and yet profound. It doesn't alienate or cheapen. It invites and welcomes a response. I think this question goes well with coffee and a friend. Or a stranger. Or my Dad.

Gotta wake the kiddos up from their naps soon, so I gotta run. But I can't wait to share what I love. And even better, I can't wait to hear what you love. Anyone?

"What do you love about Jesus?"

Beautiful Disaster

Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me? -Psalm 42:5

Sometimes, it's not a crisis that gets me down.
It's all those little things.

Fever and chills. Aches.
Too sick to take care of my own kids.
Stacked dishes, spots on the carpet.

A macaroni and cheese flop. (And it was bad.)
The feeling of incompetence.
Of putting others out.

Cancelled get togethers with friends.
Quarantined in the house.
A feverish son who bawls every time he coughs, poor little man.

I don't mean to complain.
And certainly don't mean to mope.
I've got it good, I know. Really good.

It's just that I want to be honest today.
I want to cry. I am crying. It's just been one of those days.
And yet, in this honesty, I feel shame.

Shame cause these tears aren't becoming of a follower of Christ.
Shame cause I just don't have it all together.
Shame cause of this transparency:

Raw and ugly and condemned.

Yet in this place I find You.
Or did You find me?
I probably wasn't listening.

Curled up in a ball, like a child in grown-up skin.
You love me and forgive.
Without the threat of shame, You love.

I am a beautiful disaster, but You knew that all along.
You made me human. And that I am.
And the beauty. That's all Yours.

Where can I go from Your spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there.
If I make my bed in the depths, You are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn.
If I settle on the far side of the sea.

Even there Your hand will guide me.
Your right hand will hold me fast. -Psalm 139:7-10

Your right hand holds me fast
In laughter and strength
And in that awful crisis moment
And in every little thing that just doesn't add up quite right.

Redemption came cause I needed it.
So I'm wondering why I default to shame over just being honest.

And I wonder what
friendships
churches
marriages
parent/child relationships
whatever

Would look like with a little more honesty
a little less pride
and a whole lot more of the right hand of God,

Holding us fast.
In every moment we find ourselves in.

What Little I Know About Change (After the Fact)

Yeah, this post may have been relevant two weeks ago. But it’s not now. Oh well. I was never quick with the punches anyway. Always the last to turn in her test, run suicides, or respond in a debate. So, with lightening speed, here goes one delayed uptake on our nation’s transition of power.

If anything, Obama’s inauguration ushered in a hope of a better tomorrow for many Americans. He utilized this notion in his campaign and people rallied behind him in droves. We are clearly a people desperate for hope, for something better than now, for change. We want to know that America’s standing in the world will improve and that the price of food will go down; that our soldiers will be safe and that our children will be spared of the heartaches of our day. We want to know that our jobs are safe and that are streets are getting there. I want to know these things, I want to hope.

Yet hope and subsequent change do not hinge on a presidency, though it be the highest office in the land. They’re not hinged on programs or politics or droves of people who really, really want something. Change begins in our hearts, in our homes, and in the private decisions we make. Change beckons us out of that deep, scarred place within us; a place that can’t help but be selfish and cruel and wanting, always wanting. A measure of change may come at the hands of determination and guts and will. But the kind of change that makes people whole again - always comes at the hands of a Savior.

Twelve years ago now, I found change in an old abandoned parking lot in the city. Two hours before work every day, I met with God here. Me and Him and those words of His. Those life giving, beautiful, crazy, don’t make any sense words. Words like, “Let the dead bury their own dead,” and “A bruised reed He will not break” and this insane notion that, “All who touched Him were healed.” I didn’t understand the half of it, but I wanted to. With every question, more were provoked. And with every answer, more were provided.

So we kept meeting there, in this place. Come fall, winter, spring, summer. Every day, two hours. And all I wanted was more. More of God, less of me. (Something I still need by the way.) In a place of emptiness, I found myself whole. Whole to love again like He first taught me how. Whole to receive the Hope that first came into this world, anyway. Whole to give that Hope away. Desperation could leave its scars on my razor filled tires and on the innocents that walked in my classroom, but I knew there was Hope. And I was going to fight for it. Because He fought for me.

I think that’s where hope and change really hinge, anyhow. They hinge on a God who fights for us. In our loneliness and in our fears and in those doubts we’re swimming in. In our vices and in our grieving and in our weakness, He fights. He is for us and not against us. For us and not against us.

Now that is some crazy kind of Hope. And that Hope will always be relevant (which is why I decided to post this molding, after the fact blog anyhow:)

In Hope,
Kristin

I Am Not One For Flinging

An excerpt from Crime and Punishment (don't let that deter you)...

where Petrovitch (the constable) convinces Romanovitch (a Russian student guilty of murder) to confess his guilt, so that there can be redemption...

"I know you don't believe in it, " Petrovich said, "but... fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don't be afraid - the flood will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again. What bank? How can I tell? I only believe that you have long life before you."

So I am not really one for flinging.
I am a slow, measured list-maker, you know, the boring kind.
I like to know what I'm doing, where I'm going, and how I will get there.

But Jesus, well, He doesn't have to tell me those things.
He just says to trust and fling (or something of the sort.)

I so want my questions, DOUBTS, fears, strivings...
All I'm grasping onto so tightly for security, safety, comfort...

To be launched at the feet of my Love.
This is Life. To live in trust.
And with the abandonment and joy that my children know best.

I guess what I'm saying is that I want to be a finger rocket.

Of Infinite Value

Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
- O Holy Night

When He appeared

The soul felt its worth;

Its rich Kingdom worth in God.

All is Not Lost

He brought me out into a spacious place;
He rescued me because He delighted in me.
- a song of David


He carried me out of my confinement

the prison of my fears

my aching alone.
He set me free TO BE FULLY ALIVE


to run like a banshee in the pouring rain
to swing dance with my children
and sing that song so loud
and enjoy the gift of my husband
and laugh till I cry and cry till I laugh.

And He gave me the gift of simple wonder. And hope.

All is not lost.

He rescued me
Because He delighted in me.

He smiles over me. Even if I think I'm quite the piece of work.
He smiles.
There's a song of rescue to be sung.

May you know today that He delights in you.

His eyes light up at the very thought of you.
Let Him carry you
And
Every concern that stresses you and every fear that prevents you
From living in that spacious place.

All is not lost,
Kristin

Pray

Kendall Payne performed this raw and gutsy song at the YS Conference. I hope I can be strong enough to pray these words for myself. Would you pray these things for me also, my friends?

A King and a Kingdom

We voted today over Paul's lunch break. It was an honor to take our kids into the polling place and exercise a costly American freedom. We are grateful for those who have sacrificed their lives for such a privilege as this.

Tonight we will forgo sleep to watch a giddy Wolf Blitzer, Brian Williams, and a seemingly always angry Keith Olberman report the election results. We will surf news media channels and hear how Americans also exercised their right.

Tomorrow we will drag ourselves out of bed and go about our ordinary routines no matter who gets elected. Paul will head to work and I'll head to a friend's home to drink coffee, share stories, and allow our kids to play together. The nation as a whole will also go about its normal everyday happenstance.

There will be single moms waiting on tables to get by one more day. There will be senior citizens who have been cut by the bottom line. There will be teachers trying to make a difference in the lives of students. There will be nurses changing IV fluids and doctors sharing hard news. There will be politicians wielding power. There will be people who need to hear about Jesus.

Tomorrow we will enter into another harried day. On hearing final results, some will be excitedly giddy. Others will stare straight ahead of them, traumatized in despair. There will be the apathetic among us who don't care either way. There may be riots and protests and always ugly racial acts. Whatever happens, we know the world will be looking on.

Whatever happens, there is also a King looking on. And not just looking, but fully engaged and working amongst us. A King with a Kingdom and a love for His people that looks beyond flags and empires and elephants and donkeys. This King, this Jesus, has told us that we're a citizen of a different kingdom, a forever one. (Philippians 3:20) We've been asked to pray for

His kingdom to come, His will to be done, on earth as it is in heaven... (Matthew 6:10)

Yeah, today we performed our civic duty to vote. But tomorrow we've got just as much work to do at the polls of our beliefs. If His kingdom is to be ushered onto this soil, we've got to live out His word to defend the rights of the fatherless, the weak, the poor, the alien, the marginalized...We've got to live out His word.

If we're pro-life, then we've got to put substance behind our votes. Counsel a pregnant teenager and support a crisis pregnancy center. And if we're really pro-life, then be advocates of the lives that have been born. Give to children in the foster care system, be advocates for adoption, and tutor a child and give them a chance with education.

If we're really God followers, we can't subscribe to this whole doom and gloom thing that I've heard echoed by Christians all over the place. Our hope is not in this kingdom of America, nor in our president. Our hope is in Jesus Christ. We have hope embodied in God who conquered even death. We have hope in the Holy Spirit who convicts and challenges and comforts. We have hope in the word of God, the good news that is still good news. We have this One Hope, and that Hope should pattern our thoughts, our to-do lists, our dreams. And this Hope is as secure as an anchor. (Hebrews 6:19) It's as secure as ever.

Whatever happens, there is a King and a Kingdom and a Hope and a Purpose etched on our lives. Our purpose is to seek and trust and love and usher His kingdom to this earth. The life that Jesus calls us to should never be easy, but should always offer hope - always.

An Endless YS Snippet of Sorts

The YS conference ended last evening for me. Walking away from the convention center there was a sense of fatigue and joy and too much good food and circles under my eyes from crying and great conversations with friends and giggling and hope and promise and one too many coffees and God time and late night pizza and talks with Paul and lots of just us time. And it was everything I didn't know I needed and yet everything I wanted at the same time. It was invigorating. Here is just a little snippet (okay, a ridiculously too long one) of random treasures.

In Margeret Feinberg's talk, I was challenged to listen to God's voice and to pursue the passions He has written on my heart. My joy is my God and my family, without question. But my joy is also listening to stories and hearing God's heart within them. I want to give credence to voices who have drenched their pillow with tears, but are waking up to restoration and beauty each new day. I want to serve a broken world with words of hope that communicate love winning in the end. I want to point to Jesus, I want to point to Jesus.

Andrew Marin, founder of the Marin Foundation, is a guy who has committed his life to loving Jesus and living right in the middle of the largest gay and lesbian community. His intention is not to change his neighbors with an end agenda in mind. Quoting Billy Graham, he stated that it's the Holy Spirit's job to convict, it's God's role to judge, it's his place to love. Clearly through his stories, it was more than his place, it was his honor to love those that the Christian community has despised for far too long, to our shame. (It's always hate the sin, love the sinner, but geez... we sure can't seem to extricate that hate from individuals whom God longs to pursue.)

Francis Chan, author of Crazy Love, took the stage Saturday night. And dude, he took the stage. He convicted and challenged and said just about every hard thing I didn't really want to hear. If you haven't seen this guy speak or read his book, please do. He is as authentic and true to the word of God as it gets. One of my favorite quotes was, "Teach in such a way so as not to cheapen the gospel." Oh, and "When salt goes bad, it's worthless. So worthless that it ruins manure." Yep, manure. I don't want to be the one to ruin manure. (Luke 14: 35)

Phyllis Tickle spoke at some point - at this point everything is a blur- and she was this wondrous genius, this spitfire of a sage. She gave a history lesson and covered the Great Reformation, the Great Schism, the Fall and Decline of Rome, Jesus' arrival, etc.... Her premise was that every 500 years the church goes through some type of major deal. And it's that time again. We're at the precipice of another 500 years, so there are crazy implications to this cycle that we'll see in our lifetime. God does have a funny thing for numbers in His word. Strange stuff, but great thing to be aware of.

Mark Yaconelli spoke about the soul and disco balls. I sorta wish he had dove deeper into the word, but I did love how he said that joy is always, irrevocably connected to suffering. Joy is an expression of healing. And he gave a great object lesson to boot. It's why people found it easy to celebrate around Jesus, because he was connected to their pain. It's also what I can stake the last 2 1/2 months on. I would've never understood this concept, had we not lived through it (to a minuscule degree.) Deep joy finds a reservoir in wells of suffering. Those tears were worth it for this joy now.

Beyond the general session speakers, I attended a few seminars, two of which I would highly recommend - Jim Burns' seminar on Marriage and Youth Ministry and Andy Root's seminar on Rethinking Relational Ministry.

One comment from Jim Burn's seminar really stood out to me. In speaking to a teenage girl (whose dad was very effective in young life), the girl said, "I hope you do things differently than my dad. He saved other kids. He didn't save me." Ughhh... our families, first and foremost, need to know that we are for them. "For them" (for our kids at least) translates into lots of time playing, laughing, hanging out, listening, praying for, and inviting them to be a part of what matters most. I will leave this weekend with a million strategies in working with teenagers, but I will also find myself playing tag a whole lot more in the leaves with my kids (and being more intentional about date nights with Paul!) Playing tag is of infinite value.

Andy Root's seminar on Relational Ministry had like no one in it, but it was really like this gem. Here's this little soft spoken preppy guy who learned what he knows from working with gangs in LA (I think, I could be totally lying about the LA part.) What I got out of it was that students can sniff out agenda from a mile away. So if you've got this goal of getting an unchurched kid to sit quietly in a pew with a collared shirt on, he will never ever get anywhere near you. (Bad goal anyway) But if you meet him where he's at, in his place of deepest need/vulnerability/weakness and communicate that you care about him - well, then that is the framework for a relationship. Yes, you can still speak the truth in love, but you listen more than you talk. And you let Jesus do the saving anyway.

Gosh, all of this plus Crowder and Matt Maher (fabulous worship leader), Shane and Shane, a Compassion graduate, Kendall Payne, and the Skit Guys. Oh yeah, Tony Jones was there too. I really didn't get his whole beginning ditty and frankly didn't find much value in it. It bothered me a lot, especially the prayer mocking of sorts. But what the guy had to say was great. He spoke on not cheapening the gospel, getting into the word of God, and letting the person of Jesus Christ (with dirt under his work worn hands) be our example. Can't argue with much of that.

Well, it's late and I need to get to bed. It was a long day of work today. I am thrilled about spending tomorrow with Selah and Adden. I missed them immeasurably while we were gone. (And huge thanks to Paul's amazing parents for loving them the whole weekend and giving us this retreat!)

Can't wait to play tag in the leaves....

Facing Fear

(Notes from Stacy Gallagher)

Fear can be motivational or crippling. People respond to fears by tackling them or cowering down under them.

Anger is always a shield emotion for fear. So to resolve the anger, you have to identify the fear.

Night terrors (in children) can be attributed to spiritual warfare. The head of the home needs to be vigilant in praying for his children in order for them to be resolved.

Children's fears need to be honored, not minimized or maximized. If fears are not dealt with early, they will develop into life-crippling phobias.

Men's fears are often performance driven. (Fear of failure) Women's fears are often relational. (We're afraid we're too much and not enough all at the same time.)

Transference of fears is probable if we don't address the fears in our own lives. Kids easily absorb the fears of their parents.

Fear entered into our world because of a lie. (Genesis 3:10) Most fears are founded on lies.... The ultimate message of fear is that God cannot be trusted.

Our Creator knew that we would be a people who are often afraid. He left us with 365 references on fear.