Buried Treasures

When I was pregnant with Jacob, I traveled with the GUPY team to the Dominican Republic. We spent time with some kids that were part of a camp. One morning we did a Bible Study on the parable of the talents in Matthew 25. A master gave 3 of his servants some talents (money). Each servant was given a different amount according to their ability and the master left for an indefinite time. The servant with the most talents invested his and gained double what he was given, so did the second servant. The third servant who had one talent went out into a field and burried his talent, afraid of the master. When the master returned the servants brought to him what they had done with his money. He was angry with the servant who buried his.

I was struck that day, not with guilt or fear of what happened to the lazy servant, but convicted by the Lord that I had buried my talent. At first I thought that what God was referring to was maybe a gift of intercession that He wanted me to embrace. So over the past few years I've thought about this many times. So, of course, I wanted to choose this path and made efforts to pursue uncovering this "talent." And, of course, the area of prayer has been my greatest struggle.

Over these past few years the Lord has been making a mess of my inner life. If you've read any of my recent posts, you know what I'm talking about. For my good and freedom from bondage the Lord has been breaking me, little by little, layer by layer. I've been going to counseling and have realized that I did not think God or anyone loved me, that I was not worthy of His love. He brought me through that dark tunnel to the other side of believing in His unfailing love for me. There has been so much freedom and growth through that experience. I'm such a different person for it.

Back to the talents. I still believed that now, with this new confidence in God's love for me that He would help to reveal this buried talent. Then, of course, pride got in the way. I was focusing so much on the action of intercessing and the fact that I failed at it most of the time and it was my job and..... This summer proved to me without a doubt that I am nothing without Christ. Here I was pursuing the wrong thing. Even though I didn't feel like I was really focused on it, pride was slowly creeping in. When I started to struggle with panic attacks, my efforts to pray and intercede for myself were continually thwarted. It was such an exhausting battle that I know I did not win. Christ was there for me, but I think the lesson for me was that I cannot do it on my own strength. I have to abide in Christ on a minute by minute basis. He is the intercessor, I can benefit from the blessing of listening and being open to being used by Him to intercess with Him.

In my counseling we've been uncovering who I am as a Highly Sensitive Person. Thanks to Jane, my counselor and Elaine Aaron, the psychologist and author who's researched this topic, I'm discovering who I was really created to be. I realize that over the years through pain from abandonment and fears of being alone, I've slowly buried myself in order to protect my heart. I've then trained myself to be what I thought the world wanted me to be, "a disservice to the world" as my friend Elaine Aaron calls it. I realized last night what the talent is that I've buried. ME!! As God created me to be. He created us all to be unique and to make up His body, the church. I've realized that I have learned to accept God unfailing love for me (praise Him!!), but I have not accepted myself or my temperment as a Highly Sensitive Person! That IS a disservice to the world and to God's kingdom. Not that I'm any better than the next person. This goes for all of us. God and I will continue to dig out my treasure, shovels in hand, and I will get blisters on my hands, a sunburn on my neck. I will get exhausted and thirsty, but oh the joy when we can finally open up that chest and see how God wants to use His treasure in His kingdom. I will toil for that!

"Take this Cup From Me"

These painful words were uttered by my sweet Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane, the night of His arrest. He knew that the time was coming for His crucifixion and was praying to the Father that this "cup" of wrath be taken from Him, not His will, but His Father's will be done. I don't believe He was afraid or even dreading the pain and suffering, but rather the separation from His Father.

I, myself, cried out these words about a month ago. I was experiencing some of the darkest hours of my life. It started out that I was just dizzy all the time. Then I started to worry about the dizziness and so began my self-diagnosis. This propelled me down through a black hole of panic attacks, one right after the other. I tried and tried to battle them through prayer and scripture. I would be all right for a few minutes, then another one would hit. My whole head would tingle, my arms and legs would go numb, my ears would start ringing. Ceiling fans and passing traffic made me dizzy, my vision was sometimes blurry and any conversation that was overwhelming (welfare, injustice, addictions) would overwhelm me and send me into a panic attack. The worse thing about it was that very few people even knew most of this struggle. I felt so much shame it was hard for me to even share it with my husband. I was so afraid of rejection and my pride was sore.

So I remained in my inner turmoil, meanwhile trying to take care of my kids. I just wanted it to go away. I cried out to God, asking Him to in a sense, "take this cup" from me. But, it wasn't time. I finally went to my Dr. and we realized that I was reacting to my anxiety medication she had put me on in May. So, she had me stop that medicine cold turkey and start a new on the next day. If anyone has been on these meds. you know that you should not stop them cold turkey! My Dr. said it was going to be a hard week, but it was necessary, so I did it. Those first few days were horrible. I couldn't be around people. I wanted to hide in a dark room and never come out. I even prayed to God asking that He please take me, now. I didn't even want to go yard saling! That's when I know there's a problem!

There is one passage that carried me through those dark hours. Psalm 18. You should read it. God led me to read this passage one afternoon in the middle of one of my attacks and I just started sobbing. He loves me so much that He will part the sky and scatter my enemies when I call for help. He will scoop me up out of the dark waters because He delights in me. He will set me in a spacious place. What is a spacious place in the middle of chaos? Sounds good, doesn't it? For me it was knowing that God loved me and delighted in me no matter what. If I was committed to a Psychiatric hospital, God would still love me and delight in me the same as He loves me when I don't struggle. But I notice Him more when I do struggle. I needed Him. I realized how much I depend on myself to be in control. I felt so out of control and helpless. That brought me to my knees. And ultimately, because God is good, it all brought glory to His name. He was the only one that could have lifted me out of that pit and praise Him, He did. It wasn't immediate, but I was able to find comfort in the truth that He loved me despite my anxiety. Remember that great Psalm 23, the part that says: "God set a table before me in the presence of my enemies. My cup runneth over...." So, even though our struggles may not be solved He sets a banqet before us, He fills us to overflowing. If we just let Him enter that place with us and are willing to wait patiently for the healing that will come from it.

Ghost on the Water

Several months ago Vicky and I were doing a study on Mark 6:45-52. After Jesus had fed the 5,000 with five loaves of bread and two fish, he sent the disciples across the lake while he went up the mountain side to pray. After a while Jesus was walking near the lake and saw the disciples straining at the oars because of the wind and waves. He started to walk out towards them. He almost passed by them when they saw him. They thought he was a ghost and cried out in fear. Then, he spoke to them, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." Jesus then climbed into the boat with them and the wind died down.

This passage has hit me over and over the past few months. I've always been a big "feeler." If I don't feel loved, then I don't believe I'm loved, or if I feel too much hurt, I numb it out with busyness. The Lord is definitely meeting me in this area. I have, until recently, struggled with believing that God is present if I don't feel His presence. Of course the Bible promises over and over that He is always present. So, the hard part comes in when you have to believe the truth over what you feel.

This story in Mark depicts my reaction many times to God's presence. When the storms of life rock my boat, I tend to buckle up in fear and determination to fix things. The whole truth is that the Lord is always present. We may not sense His presence, but He IS there! If we look for Him, He may appear as a ghost, but if we cry out to Him, He will enter into our situation. He may not always calm the storm or rid us of our problem, but He is present there with us. Sometimes He may calm the storm when we invite Him into it. Other times He may want to show us His presence by simply comforting us or helping us steer the boat through the choppy waters.

It always amazes me that the disciples had no idea who Jesus was, even after He had just fed 5,000 people with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. I often think, what was their problem that they couldn't believe the Lord could walk on the water to them, so they thought He was a ghost? But, here I am on the other side of the story. Jesus has already died to pay for my sins and has risen so that I may live in wholeness by His Spirit. Which, by the way, I have been sealed with since I accepted Christ. Meaning that the presence of God IS always near me, in fact, in me! So, who am I to criticize the disciples? I know the truth and have evidence of the miracles just as much as they did, and yet I still fail to believe. I still see my Lord as the Ghost on the water.

Thanks be to God that He is patient with us. We can ask, "Lord, help my unbelief..." and He will answer. He longs for us to call out to Him in the dark and in the light, to depend on His presence for security and guidance. He longs to ride out the storms with us and talk intimately with us on the quiet waters. Until we reach the other shore, He will be always present. Whether He's been invited into the boat or not, He's there because He loves us and He's waiting for us to call to Him. Stop trying to bail out on your own, it's extremely wearisome and lonely. Call out, even in doubt, He is listening.

Hermanos Y Hermanas

We just returned from an awesome week in Mexico City. There was a team of 8 of us, which included my big 6 year-old! From the moment we stepped off the plane I felt like I was home, I often do in different cultures. There was a little bit of chaos, uncertainty where to go and what form to fill out, different smells, sounds and people. Eliza started to cry and said, "Mommy, I want to go back to America." She changed her mind soon, though.

We stayed with host families of one of the churches in Mexico City. Our family had 4 kids and their apartment was half the size of our house! I was mostly impressed with the attitude of the believers there. They were so gracious and welcoming. They are a very personable people. We learned to call one another hermana or hermano, which means sister or brother. You shake hands and lean in for a kiss on the cheek with every person that enters the room or space you are in. You hear and say things like, "Mucho gusto!" and "Dios te bendiga" or God bless you, as you are hugging.


Most of all, I loved to worship with this church. Often we would sing the same worship song, in English and Spanish. They asked Marshall and his co-leader for the trip, Kenny, to lead worship. Often when they were done, the group would shout, "Autre, autre!!" or "more, more." It was incredible to imagine God smiling down on this group of misfits, uniting together across cultural, language and economical barriers. During each service they would have a time of sharing "gratitutes" or "words of thankfulness." Every time there was mention of either us blessing them or them blessing us and many tears of emotion along with it.

We ate a lot of authentic food, walked many miles to and from places, road the crowded subways, taxis, bicycle taxis and vans (without seat belts, I might add), climbed the ancient pyramids, dressed like clowns and led 2 kids clubs and toured the national palace and old cathedral downtown.



There were no stop lights or stop signs (the only one I saw was upside-down). There were pot holes as big as our taxi on the back roads and speed bumps every couple hundred yards on the "good" roads. You can't flush your toilet paper there. The water is randomly shut off. You can't rinse off your toothbrush or mouth with the tap water or drink it! There are little tiendas or stores every few houses, so you can buy a Coke or some candy anywhere.

All of these things describe our experiences in Mexico City, but the greatest one above all was experiencing God's presence with my hermanos and hermanas in Christ. The first night there the women of the church came to pray over each of us Americans, and the same with the men. As Norma was praying over me, I started to cry. It felt so good to be prayed over, even though I had no idea what she was saying! I felt the presence of God in it. Our last service together was full of tears as we all talked about how much of an encouragement and blessing we were to one another. Now that's how God intended our churches to be, reconciled to one another across barriers and encouraging and blessing one another in the Spirit!

Prejudice Unveiled

Webster defines prejudice: "preconceived judgment or opinion (2): an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge." Several weeks ago a friend was coming over to hang out. She came through my front door asking if I could come with her outside. One of my neighbors was having car trouble and had asked her for a jump. She didn't know them, so asked if I would come with her.

We went over and introduced ourselves. I was sad to find out that these neighbors had lived there for several months and I was just now meeting them. The guys were wearing baggy pants and one guy had a "doo-rag" and some heavy gold chains. Their step-dad came out and he didn't look much older than them, in dred-locks. We started talking with them as they were using the jumper cables. We found out that both of the younger guys were in the army and were here on a respite. Almost immediately my opinion of them changed, improved. Then as we walked back down to my house, my heart was saddened. This small interaction revealed the prejudice in my heart.

Why was it that once I found out that they were in the army I was impressed? It was hard for me to admit, but I had just assumed by the way they were dressed that they were "gangsters," high school drop-outs. I never would have shared that with anyone else, because I didn't even realize I was thinking it! I was pre-judging them based on their race, clothing and where they lived.

Another time I had found a chair on the side of the road that my friend Vickie helped me load onto the top of my van. When I got home, I was trying to pull it off by myself, of course. A young man came by and asked me if I needed any help. I hesitated and then said no because I was afraid he would ask me for money after he helped me. (which has happened before). He insisted on helping me as I almost dropped the chair on my foot and helped me carry it up to the porch. I didn't make eye contact because I was expecting the question. But he very politely said, "you have a good day, ma'am." And he walked away. I was both shocked and thankful for his kindness that I yelled out, "thank you so much!" Why did I assume that he wasn't doing this out of kindness, but for gain? Because he was a young guy walking through my neighborhood? Again, prejudice unveiled.

I'm so glad that I live where I do. Living here keeps me aware of these prejudices. Over and over the Lord has shown me His deep love for all people: drug dealers, prostitutes, addicts, the homeless. As He has unveiled the ugly prejudices in my heart, I've asked Him to replace it with genuine love and compassion for all. We have no idea the pain and struggle that people have been dealt. So who are we to label and categorize people? God is not asking us to be naive and put ourselves in dangerous situations. But He is asking us to cross barriers by building relationships with our "neighbor." If we are living out of His Spirit we would be compassionate towards all people and accept them as individuals, even if/when we do get burned.

It's easy for us to say to a drug addict, "Just stop using." Or to a family on welfare, "just get a job." But we don't know their struggles or their story. Why do we look down on the poor, when we are poor ourselves. Why are our struggles more "acceptable" within the church? It could be said to us, "stop being a workaholic" or "stop making money your god" or "stop striving for significance from people or your stuff." We all have deep struggles and God accepts us all. The ground at the foot of the cross is level, sin is sin. God does not love us any more than the drug dealer just because our sin might be more acceptable or unseen by others.

Living in Glenwood is a constant reminder to me of God's grace. His grace for my judgmental heart and His grace for the lost. He longs for us to extend that grace across the barriers of prejudice. He longs for reconciliation among His people. That's what He's about! Thankfully! Pray that God would reveal prejudice in your heart. At the grocery store, at the park, at church. Believe me, it's there! Then ask Him to replace it with compassion, He longs to do that! Get to know some of the people that you are prejudice towards. You will be surprised and your heart will be changed.

Panic 101

Hi, my name is Diane and I have an anxiety disorder. At least, that's what my doctor calls it and maybe it's temporary. Why does that matter anyway, though. It doesn't make me any less of a person. It sure does mess with my image, though. I find it very difficult not to wear the shame of this sickness. There's so much stigma attached to this disease that it's hard to see it as a sickness and not a failure.

I first started to experience the panic attacks after I had been going to counseling for several months. I know that opening up wounds from the past can sometimes trigger this response. I started on a medication because my counselor encouraged me to. It really did help me to clear my head enough to work through some hard issues and learn the triggers to my anxiety. One of my struggles was wondering if I didn't have enough faith in God to help me through this struggle. Did I really need to take a drug? But I truly respect my counselor and Dr., so I took their advice.

About two weeks ago my whole scalp and face started tingling almost constantly. I of course reverted to my old struggle of a closet hypochondriac and started to self-diagnose. It didn't look good from my point of view. But, of course, I'm a closet hypochondriac martyr, which means I don't go to the Dr. or tell anyone, I just "suffer" through my symptoms quietly. Yes, there you have a small glimpse into my psyche.

So, I did call my Dr. because the tingling went on for days. I did actually have a good reason too because I had bumped my head really hard a day before the tingling started. I know from Web M.D. that not all concussions knock you out, so I wanted to rule out that possibility. Well, in meeting with my Dr. she had no questions about my possible concussion, apparently not a worry. But she went straight to talking about my medication. She pointed out that I wasn't taking enough coupled with a very busy and somewhat burdensome previous 3-4 months.

Like most diseases, this one is very debilitating. I feel both exhausted and ashamed. It's a very humbling sickness. Suffering through it makes me wonder, is it because of some sin? Am I ever going to get over this? Does it ruin my reputation? Then I want to explain myself away to make myself acceptable. I want to justify somehow.

This Sunday during service I just felt the Lord saying, "let go." I've been reading in Romans 12 about offering myself as a living sacrifice, acceptable and pleasing to God. Later on in Chapter 13 Paul exhorts the Romans to "clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature." The desire of my sinful nature in this case is to beat myself up, put on my cloak of shame and my mask covering up what's really going on inside. But Paul is telling us to offer ourselves as we are, this is our spiritual act of worship. God has already assured me of my belonging with Him. So I want to shed this coat of shame and clothe myself with Christ. Surely God wants to help me do this so that He will be glorified.

No matter if I struggle with this all my life, I am accepted as I am. Because of this acceptance I can "be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." Praise the Lord that my acceptance does not depend on me! Praise the Lord that I get to offer myself to God as I am and I don't have to have it all together to do so. This is pure freedom!

Pedestal

For my whole life I've been on a pedestal of sorts. I'm a missionary kid, so there's one. Among the missionary kids I was always the "good girl," I never rebelled, so there's another. Now, I've married into the ministry, there's yet another.

What do I mean by pedestal? It simply means that people look up to me and think I have it all together, so that I have no room to mess up. I feel expectations and therefore put expectations on myself. One expectation I felt as an M.K. was that I was supposed to become a missionary. So many people were disappointed in me when, at a young age, I told them that I felt God calling me to live in the inner city. I fell off their pedestal, thankfully. In college some of my acquaintances didn't even know that I was a M.K. for my first year, I never advertised it. I hated being on that pedestal. I just wanted to be treated normal.

When Marshall and I first moved into our current neighborhood we got a lot of pats on the back from people in our church. We felt like the poster children of Glenwood. Not many people knew what a struggle it was for us. We didn't have a clue what we were doing and we felt very much alone. There was a very dark period for me when I could have skipped church altogether because my heart was NOT seeking the Lord or wanting anything to do with ministry. But, I still got pats on the back and would smile like everything was okay.

Now that Marshall is the director of outreach (or as some of the ladies from the women's shelter call him, "THE pastor") I feel the same type of "pedestal" pressure. Many times I put myself there, holding a standard for myself as a "pastor's wife." It's so bogus and damaging. We can't put people or ourselves on pedestals. Basically what we're doing is putting our hope in them. Any hope or faith not put into Christ is an idol.

Sure we can have role models, but we have to be careful not to assume that they have it all together. Instead, we need to pray for those that we might consider putting on a pedestal. We need to recognize that they will fail because they are human. We need to remember that anything good that comes from a person is from Christ. Seriously, if you have doubts that someone in ministry struggles, read more of my blog. I try to be very open about my struggles because I don't want to put myself or have someone put me on a pedestal any longer. Like my pastor says, "the ground at the foot of the cross is level." This means that we are all loved and forgiven the same, nothing we do or don't do changes this. The only person who should be on a pedestal is Christ, Himself. So, knock 'em down, friends! The pedestals, I mean.

The World According to My Kids

Jacob screams when he wakes up every morning, "MOMEEE!!" This week I went in groggily and told him to hush, he didn't need to scream and he said, "Okay, sorry mommy." He proceeded to tell me he was screaming because his animals fell out of his bed, which meant he threw them out. I asked him as I do every morning, "Jacob, why do you have to scream?" This particular morning he said, "Mmmm, pee-cause (because) I miss mommy, long time." Of course my heart melted, even if it was before 7:00 AM.

At the dinner table this week, I was asking Psalter to tell her Daddy about the special visitor she had at pre-school that day. She said, "A fighter-fighter (a.k.a. fire fighter) clown named Flame came to talk about how to be safe around fires." So I probed with a question, "So what did you learn to do in a fire?" Psalter says, "Dial 9-9-1 and jump out the window." Oh, and she said the clown had a dog with him named Emporer (a.k.a. Ember). :)

Eliza was drawing a picture of a group of people with flames above their heads (the Pentecost that she learned about in Sun. School). She said to me, "I remember when we made flames in Chapel Hill out of tissue paper." And no, she was not referring to the craziness on Franklin Street after the Tar Heels won the NCAA tournament. That what she calls the chapel time during pre-school.

I've been using a lot of re-direction with Jacob when he starts a tantrum. For example, when I see there will be resistance to something I talk in my excited voice about something totally random to what we're doing. It usually helps him to snap out of his tantrum mode. So, this week he re-directed himself. I called him into his room to put him down for the night. He laid down on the floor saying, "don't want to..." I said his name sternly, "Jacob..." He got up on his hands and knees and started crawling, grumbling on the way. Then, out of the blue he started to growl as he crawled and said, "RRrrr I dinosaur! RRrrr!"

Psalter's rendition of the dog named "BINGO" song. "There was a farmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o. E-I-N-G-O, E-I-N-G-O, E-I-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-o." It didn't matter that I tried to correct her.

Jacob's rendition of "Jesus loves me": "Jee-za loaves me, say no. For da BIble tell me so. Tittle one(t) Him be-yong, day are reghfjdfr is STRONG! Yes, Jee-za loaves meeee, Yes, Jee-za loaves meee....

Get Out of that Pit!

This is the title of a Beth Moore book that caught my attention as it sat on my mom's book shelf this past week. It's now in my house, sorry mom. I read the first chapter on the way home and it struck me in a needy place. I've been struggling over the past few weeks just feeling stuck in loneliness and despair. I feel too tired to fight it and on top of that I feel shame for struggling, so I've told no one. So, welcome to the story of my pit!

In her book, Beth uses Psalm 40 as her platform: "I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand...." I know God has delivered me from my pit. But, is it possible to slip back into it? I know the enemy does not want me to live in freedom because then more people would see the truth of God's love and be set free. But then, on the other hand, God is more powerful than the evil one, so all glory goes to Him, sooo why the struggle?

Is it a lack of faith that keeps me stumbling back into the pit so easily? Last night, I was reading in a book by Rob Bell called "Velvet Elvis." He had a very interesting perspective on faith. "when it comes to faith, everybody has it...everybody is following somebody...an atheist is a person of tremendous faith. In our discussions about the things that matter most then, we aren't talking about faith or not faith. Belief or no belief. We are talking about faith in what? Belief in what? The real question isn't whether we have it or not, but what we have put it in." So there, I Do have faith, but I am not choosing to put my faith in God. I'm putting it into myself, other people, or circumstances to change. So when I'm feeling despair over someone's life, my faith is in them to change or for me to fix them. Both of these acts of faith produce hopelessness and failure. Only God can transform.

Why is it that I know Christ is my solid rock, the only person that has never changed how much he loves me and yet I choose to put my faith in the mud and mire that I get stuck in? Rob's perspective on faith really helped me to see that I need to wake up! Stop putting my faith in the things that drag me down and put my faith on the One who sets my feet on the rock. This old hymn keeps running through my head, "My faith is built on nothing less than Jesus' love and righteousness." Lord make this my cry! The little mustard seed of faith that I have in You, take it and multiply. I know you did not promise life would be easy, but you did promise to be faithful and to set my feet on solid ground. Only in this should I put my faith! Can you imagine, if we could channel all the faith that we have in ourselves, other people, our country, our families to faith in Christ---WOW, we would be a different people.

"Morning Frog"

One of my friend's little girl calls fog, "frog." It makes so much sense to me, when I think about my morning self. I am NOT a morning person. I'm not really a night person either, or an afternoon person. I just like to sleep and cannot seem to get enough, ever.

I don't set my alarm in the morning. Jacob is our alarm. He hollers when he wakes up. There's no snuggling in the bed until he goes back to sleep. So this is how I wake up every morning. I hear hollering somewhere far away. Then I hear footsteps (more like elephant stomps) down the hallway as the girls wake up to Jacob's hollers. They feel the need to come and tell me that he's awake. Now, I may not always be mean and snappy, but I sure am non-responsive, irritable and "croaky." My poor children know a different person from wake-up time until about 9:00, at the earliest. I sort of croak out, "what do you want for breakfast?" Usually Eliza cannot understand me and so I have to repeat myself over and over, which ends up coming out harshly.

I do pray sometimes before my feet hit the floor. I ask the Lord to give me strength to love my children this early in the morning. But somehow from the bedroom to the kitchen my resentment comes alive. I don't want to be bothered. I want to get up when I want to get up. I'm not rested enough and it's my right to get what I think is enough sleep. So leave me alone and stop bugging me. Why can't you get your own breakfast? This is what's going on in my head and unfortunately in my heart. Then I get a sweet hug and kiss and "morning, mommy." Jacob says, "Hi, mommy, mommeeee!" I'm able to muster a hug and kiss back, but that's about all I can give.

So what needs to change? I know some would say, "go to bed earlier." Although that's great advice, I feel the same whether I get 6 hours or 9 hours. It's something of my flesh that needs to die, but I find it so hard to battle the flesh in the morning. I try to yield to the Holy Spirit, but that takes my effort, which is hard for me to muster up. So, to those of you who also suffer from "morning froggyness", I remember Jesus words, "if anyone should come after me, she must deny herself daily (or first thing in the morning), then take up her cross (first thing in the morning) and follow me! Denying myself in the morning would mean, give up my rights to what I want to do, which is sleep. It means to put the needs of my children before my own. It means responding to them in love. I can only do this by "taking up my cross" which is to remember that "I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me." After I have made the effort to deny my "rights" and to remember that Christ is doing this through me, then I can react "in Christ." Only then can I love my children and care for them through my "morning frog." I pray that we can do this together.

So long, old "friend"

She's always been there for me. I've known her for years. She's been there to comfort me whenever I was confused, lonely or messed up. She sat with me for hours and gave me guidance whenever I didn't know what to do next. She's been my "go-to" friend for so many years, an old faithful.

About two years ago I realized that our relationship was actually not healthy for me. In fact, I saw how harmful it was. It was a co-dependent relationship. Even though I "felt" like I was in control when I went to her with my problems, I realized that she was controlling me. She was giving me false guidance and keeping me from living a confident life in the spirit. I saw her for who she really was, her name is FEAR.

We'd been "friends" for so long that I felt more comfortable with her than I did with the TRUTH. She is also called Worry or Anxiety. When the Lord showed me how much control I had given her, He's been helping me restore my mind. It's been a minute by minute battle some days... Just choosing to believe the Truth of the gospel, rather than what I feel.

It's been hard to say good-bye to Fear, especially when life feels overwhelming. She's tried very hard to regain the ground God has redeemed and now controls. But I remind her that she is my "flesh" which has been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer my flesh who lives, but Christ who lives in me. An the life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loves me and died to give Himself up for me. So, I'm going with Him. Yeah, I may be yielding control to Him, but he brings life and freedom, while Fear brings only death!

Ma Patrie....a poem by a fellow MK (Missionary Kid)

Ma Patrie

I dreamt one night
And found myself
In my father’s land
The harmattan winds blew
And red dust
Caked my skin
I looked out on a farmer’s field
And there I found my heart
Planted deep within the soil
Once and for all
I need it back
So I bent to pull it out
The roots were strong
And grew so deep
How could this be?
Nothing grows in this harsh land
But there it was
my stubborn heart
So I began to dig
One by one I found each root
And traced them through the ground
Each one led me towards
a different source
Each root so unique
from the others
Some weak,
Some long,
Some shallow,
Finally I found one…
strong and deep
I dug and dug for hours
The harsh sun burned within my soul
I lay there weak and parched
One last tug and there it was
The path that led me
To your heart
And grew in
Africa


-Dee Kennedy

I couldn't have said it better than this. My childhood friend, Dee really captured me with this poem. My heart is still there, and Africa remains deeply rooted in me. I try and try to make sense of it all, but it doesn't and maybe that's a gift. My home, my Africa.

The Hated Question

"Are you expecting?" asked an acquaintance in the middle of chaos. I had all three kids with me at a Church's consignment sale, holding Jacob on my hip, when she asked me this. I hadn't seen her in probably 5 months and the way I was standing, I could see why she may have thought this. Maybe she saw me wonderfully handle the stressful situation with three children and thought I'd do awesome and would want to add another.

Some of you may hate her for me, and I appreciate that, but the truth is....it didn't even bother me. I laughed and said, "No, do I look it?" She was so embarrassed and I felt a little awkward like, "what do I say next? So...are you expecting?" So I just focused on the task at hand (keeping track of my children). Anyways, I cannot hate her for this because I did the exact same thing to a friend a year ago. I hated myself and still do for that one, so I can't hold anything against this lady.

The beauty of it, though, is that it DID NOT bother me. This is HUGE for me. I've struggled my whole life with image issues because of a boy that called me fat in the 5th grade. I actually almost became an anorexic in the 6th grade and have continued to struggle. Some of you know what I'm talking about. Whenever I talk about this struggle people are so quick to say, "Oh, but you look great..." Not that I don't appreciate those comments, but the truth was, I didn't believe them. My belief was set on a lie that I heard a long time ago and my identity was then built on that lie. Whether I was a size six or a size 12, I was never content with who I was.

I've been on a serious journey over the past year. Last year I blogged about my body, God's praise. If you have time to read it you can see where the journey began. Not to say that I don't struggle anymore, but it's very different. The difference has been a mind change. I no longer linger on the lies when they resurface. I pray out loud claiming that those are lies and I don't believe them anymore.

The Lord has also pointed out to me that comparing myself to others is very harmful. Sometimes we'll think better of ourselves if we find "fault" in someone else or we feel bad about ourselves and want to be like someone else. Either one of those is bondage and cycles us into self-pity and self-hatred. That is not where God longs for us to be. He longs for us to love our bodies (His temple Romans 12). That is, loving our bodies as He loves them and created them and breathed life into them.

This has not happened overnight, my friends. It's taken much prayer, tears and yielding of my "rights" to compare or be envious. It's also changed the way I think about exercise. I actually don't loathe it now. It is a drag sometimes, to be completely honest, but I've been trying to see it as a form of worship. In a sense it is because I'm taking care of the temple God has blessed me with.

I give all glory to the Lord for bringing me through this valley of a struggle. He's pulled me up the mountainside many-a-steps. But I want to thank my friend, Sharon for asking me "the question" because I can say I finally passed the test!

Mommy Moments

Nothing could be finer than to live in Carolina! Where in the same week the kids are out of school because of snow and then that same week, on Saturday they're playing in the sprinkler. Girls in bathing suits, Jacob in the nude or as he calls it, "maked."

Jacob has not been feeling well for 4 days. All he's been saying is, "Momma, up!" over and over and over. I decided yesterday and told him that I was not answering to "Momma" anymore, my new name is "Awesome." So he's been saying "Allsome, Mommy!" It's so wonderful to be called that. I know, I'm brainwashing him, but whatever.

One of his "sickie" days we were home alone and I decided I would start working on tagging some clothes for a consignment sale. I was in the girls room with the attic stairs down because I kept going up and down with stuff. Jacob was actually playing and came into the room to be with me. I was busy tagging things when I realized it was all of a sudden quiet, I thought he'd just left the room, but then I also heard some heavy breathing like he was concentrating hard on something. To my horror, I looked around the room and didn't see him, so I very slowly looked up towards the 12 foot ceiling to find my 2 year old at the TOP of the attic ladder, about to climb into the attic!!! Whoever was praying for me at that moment, thank you, because I did not react normal. I didn't freak out and scream, "NO, NO, DANGER!!!" That would have made him fall for sure. Instead, I calmly climbed the ladder, 4 steps at a time and scooped him up, saying, "Oh, Jacob." When my feet hit the floor, that's when my whole body started to tremble and I said, "No, No, etc., etc." He just cried and said, "Oh, tatti (sorry), Mommy!"

Eliza has started dancing with our Glenwood Dance Team. She loves it. Yesterday I was asking her about it and she told me that God loved to watch them dance. I agreed, yes, you are praising Him when you dance. She said, "Yeah, God is sitting up on His throne watching His little princesses dance." My heart melted at that picture because it's so true. I just hope that all the other little girls who don't have good fathers involved in their lives like Eliza does, can see God the Father as one who looks down in love on His little princesses.

We have big cable for basketball months and so one afternoon I was pooped and turned on HGTV for a few minutes. The kids came swarming in because they heard the TV come on. Psalter was the last to come in and she said, "Oh...is it cooking or fixing?" I had a good chuckle about that one. They sat and watched Design on a Dime with me for at least 30 minutes! That's all for now, Ta-Ta!

One Man'sTrash is Another Man's Treasure!

I wanted to post some pictures of some of my treasures. This bureau was given to us as a left-over from a yard sale.
I sanded it down and painted it for about $12. Everything on top of the bureau came from a yard sale, except for the beautiful red tray from Bolivia! This bureau houses the kid's art supplies and puzzles. Since we live in a 100 year-old house without closets, this find is a God-send!

This table I found on the side of the road. It used to be a kitchen table, which I
cut down to fit in the girl's room in the corner. I had to re-brace the legs onto the table and then the table onto the wall. This table functions as the girls Barbie house, so that they don't have to put everything away every time they play with Barbies. So, this was free!




This treasure I bought at a yard sale this summer. It cost me $25. All it needed were some new knobs (which I got at Habitat Re-Store for $1 apiece!),and the bottom of the bottom drawer was missing, so I had to cut out a new bottom for it. Oh, and it was in desperate need of painting, so I sanded it down and painted it. It cost me about $35 in the end.


This desk was my biggest piece of work. I found it on the side of the road across from a park we frequent. I stuffed it in my car, broken drawers and all. I had to build a support for one of the legs, rip off the back and put new backing on, cut the warped drawers down and then brace them back together with glue and corner brackets. It's no Pier One desk, but I'm proud of it. Obviously I had to paint it (with paint I already had) and buy some knobs. So, for about $10 I now have a desk to set my computer and magazines on, as well as store all my card making supplies and more! So, yeah for recycling throw-aways and yard sales! If you see something with potential on the side of the road, see if it's in decent shape or can be fixed for cheap, then pick it up or call me!:) There so much out there, we don't have to spend lots and lots of money on new furniture. Sometimes it just takes patience and keeping your eyes peeled. All of these items, I feel, were a gift from the Lord. I even prayed for some of them. So have fun looking for treasures, if you need some help fixin' it up, just ask!

My Friend Vicky

The very first time I met Vicky was outside our house and she was yelling at Marshall. He wouldn't give her a ride, but she wouldn't let him explain why and that I might be able to. She just lost it. I remember thinking as she stormed off without even giving me a chance to help her, "Phew, what a case!" That was our first impression of one another.

I remember after that seeing her out there, getting in and out of cars, sitting on the corner or walking the block. Some time later she stopped at a yard sale I was having. She liked a pocket book of mine, which I let her have. She asked me for a drink and so I gave her one. That's when our relationship began. She had heard on the street that if she was hungry she could come to our house and we would feed her, so that's what she started doing.

About 3 years ago she was done with the streets. She came to our church and camped out all day, waiting for a rehab to open. I remember Marshall calling me to ask if she could spend the night with us, so that she wouldn't have to walk the streets that night. At first my heart was resistant, this was inconvenient. But of course I said, "Sure." As we hung out that night, my heart grew for Vicky. She shared some of her story, I cried. We drank hot chocolate and watched a movie together. A few days later she got into the rehab and was doing well for months.

Then she went back to her old ways, she almost couldn't handle all the love. That really hurt and depressed me. My heart was hard towards her for a while, but she didn't even come by because she was so ashamed. She was in and out of jail and then got off the streets again for several months and then went back to it. At this point, my heart couldn't take it because I was diving through my own pain with a counselor, trying to find my own healing.

She always came back to our house. She would stop by for a cup of coffee or a hot meal. We would chat and then I'd pray for her. Then we would go back to our own lives. One week I remember she came by almost every day and asked for something. I remember feeling used and I was tired of her stopping by. But one afternoon I heard the knock. I almost didn't answer, but I asked the Lord to give me the grace to love her. When I opened the door, she said, "You've been so generous and loving towards me, I just wanted to give you something in return to say thanks." and she handed me a bag of blueberries she had picked. She turned around to leave and I asked her if she needed anything and she said, "No, I just wanted to bless you like you've done for me so many times." I choked out a thank you through my tears, she left and I stood holding the blueberries, asking God to forgive me for my hardened heart.

Now Vicky is in an apartment under a special program to get the chronically homeless off the streets. Over the past six months our relationship has changed tremendously. The Lord has truly loved her through me both during frustrating times and easy times. The more time I spend with her, the more I grow to love her. She used to be my "project," I wanted to save her from the streets. Through much failure in that I've realized I can't save her, but I can love her with the perfect, unconditional love of Christ. I can do that best by spending time with her.

Now we are doing a Bible Study together once a week, which always ends in tears. She calls me when I'm sick or the kids are sick to check in on us. Now I call her to see how she's doing with her daily struggles. It's a relationship, a friendship, it's community. God created us to be in communion with one another and to love each other. We laugh and joke, we cry and pray together. Yes, it takes some sacrifice, but really, I end up feeling more blessed by calling her a friend.

And you know, through the years, I've realized I'm no different than she is. Her sin may have more physical consequences, but I realize that our spiritual consequences are the same. I fall back into my "old person" on a daily basis. I find that if I don't "nip" it right away, then I'm back to my old patterns of dealing with life. She numbs out her pain and anger with drugs, I numb out with any number of things: cleaning, busyness, TV, food, exercise, shopping, relationships. All of it brings death if we're not allowing God to take up residence in our pain.

So, there you have it, my life has been changed by this friend. No matter what she does, I still love her and will always. I came across this quote in a book Becoming the Answer to Our Prayers that sums up my relationship with Vicky: " The way of Jesus is not a proposal for how to take over the nation (or person) and make it Christian. It is, rather, a lesson in learning not to take over-to be a community where we find a new way of life by giving ourselves for others."

Sweet Psalter!

Psalter is four years old, the blessed middle child. She goes wherever the wind blows her, our free spirited child. If she's comfortable with you, she will talk your ear off, not making much sense sometimes. She loves to be with people. She has a fabulous sense of fashion, tights and skirts or dresses are her preference. Early on I struggled with letting her wear non-matching outfits, but I've realized how much of it is personality. So now we've been taking pictures of some of her outrageous outfits.

Most importantly, lately I've realized I have a short time with her before she goes to school and doesn't have time for me any more. I've been taking advantage of little brother's naptime to play endless games of Candy Land and Chutes & Ladders or doing puzzles. Just me and Psalter. Yesterday was a real sweet time of that. We were playing Candy Land, which I'm actually starting to enjoy, and she left the room. She came back with some of her Littlest Pets to play with us. So all of us took turns and of course Psalter won!
I read this quote off the side of my Real Simple magazine: "Life comes in clusters, clusters of solitude then a cluster when there is hardly time to breathe."-May Sarton. I feel like I'm living the breathless cluster with 3 young children, but I want to treasure up in my heart this special time. It will go so fast and then I will feel like I have too much solitude.

The Beauty of Inconvenience

We don't really know what inconvenience is nowadays. We can pay our bills and buy our groceries or presents by the click of a button. We can reach anyone at any time. We can carry all of our music and even movies on a little rectangle box and take it anywhere we go! There are drive-thru drugstores, Starbucks and fast food restaurants! We strive to live the life of convenience. Imagine how even our grandparents experienced things so differently from us.

I experienced some inconveniences for part of my growing up in Africa, like no electricity, phone or running water. The one thing that has always felt the most inconvenient no matter what age or where I am is poverty. It's never a comfortable matter because there's so much guilt, pity and selfishness that comes to the surface when I'm faced with it. Growing up around some of the poorest of the world felt like both a gift and a curse. A gift to my spiritual maturity and a curse to my worldly desires or materialism. My response for many years was to harden my heart or simply "numb out." It was too painful or overwhelming to care.

By God's providence I married a man who cares about poverty. As I've followed him in God's calling us to our current neighborhood, I've seen God's plan and heart unfolding in me. For years living here has been a constant struggle and inconvenience. The inconvenience of not feeling safe, having naps and mealtimes interrupted with visitors asking for help, kids coming over and staying for hours, watching drug deals and prostitution happen right outside my window caused me to want to shut it all out. I closed off my heart and my windows. I numbed myself to the pain.

Well, now God has opened the floodgates of emotion through healing my heart. But even after that, poverty is still a struggle, an inconvenience. But I see the beauty in the inconvenience now. Most of the time my flesh shows up immediately with excuses as to why I can't help or take time to notice a victim of poverty, an inconvenience. This is when I recognize my need for God and I have to cry out for help. It's about God living out in me, it's TOTAL dependence on Him to love and care for those He puts in my path. The more I understand God's love for me and His love for the poor, the more I can't ignore the inconvenient.

I really saw this happen on Christmas Eve. My family was participating in the evening service at our church. We all dressed up to go. Every Wednesday night our church hosts a dinner for the homeless, so on this particular Wed. bagged dinners were being handed out after the service, so that the sanctuary could remain set up for a service. Well, a lot of the folks that come to the dinner started to show up in between the two services, some to worship and some to get their dinner. I remember feeling like I just wanted to run out of there. I didn't want to talk to or even look at any of the folks who had come for the dinner. I just wanted to go back to the house with our decorated, lit up tree with all the presents underneath. I wanted to have a guiltless Christmas with our kids. I did not want to encounter poverty. I did not want to feel sad or guilty!

After I checked my selfishness, the Lord was able to speak in love to me. I know that He does not press guilt, only conviction. He wants to bless us and for us to bless our children. So I know that it wasn't wrong to want to have a fun Christmas with our children. It was a matter of my heart, not letting God enter into that celebration with me. He wants to bless others through us. I guess I was worried that God would ask me to invite all the homeless to my house for Christmas. Maybe someday He will ask that of me, but I know that He just longs for me to show the poor His love by loving them. I ignored it that night because it was both inconvenient and uncomfortable. But the next day God opened my heart to inviting someone over who was lonely and God really blessed that time and was able to love her through our family.

He longs to mold each of us through matters of inconvenience. Whether it's giving up something we hold onto tightly, living simply or caring for the poor or the lonely. Each of these things feel inconvenient, but are tools to mature us in Christ by calling out our yuckyness and giving us the option to choose His love for us and others.