An ugly truth at Christmas.

We do much work to make the nativity scene look so pretty this season.
Lovely figurines, decorative stables, persons arranged just-so. 

The reality is that birth of baby Jesus was dirty & smelly.  In the worst possible circumstances.  Crowded Bethlehem would have meant crowded barns.  More animals than normal squeezed into the stalls.

Beautiful, lovely, holy Jesus' birth took place among the animal dung.   
Perhaps this is why I find myself so broken this Advent Season.
Beautiful, lovely, holy Jesus wants to live in the dirty, broken places of my life.

So much of my life is hidden away. Sure, I arrange all the pieces so artfully here in this place.  Sharing the happy, decorating this blog with snippets of things that are good.

The reality is that I struggle with broken relationships. I nurse old wounds.  I am impatient.
I gossip. I am judgemental & critical. My life is full of dung.

Emmanuel. God with us.
As the birth of baby Jesus transformed a barn into a place of beauty;
Please, transform my heart too.

Chaos.

Traditionally, we put up our christmas tree the Saturday before Thanksgiving. We travel during the turkey day festivities, arriving home exhausted and it's always been fun to have a head start on the Advent holiday events.

This Saturday the Poppa has a big-all-day event at our church, so we decided we'd decorate a little bit each evening.

Fan-freaking-tastic idea!!
Unless you have a 4 year old and a 2 year who LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE having boxes and boxes and crates and crates piled full of christmasy glarp spread all over the living room & kitchen.

Every strand of lights has been properly oooohed and ahhed. The nativity cradled x 1000. And the annoying Christmas bear who tells the ENTIRE Dickens Christmas tale when you push his hand has been properly decapitated (thank you POPPA. I love you forever & ever.)

I'm kidding. I'm kidding.
(Just about the every strand light part. Everything else is true.)

Tonight after four christmas bulbs were smashed into smithereens, handfuls fake pine needles strewn like confetti across the floor and at least two momma melt downs, I am sitting here observing the mess that is in my living room.

And my heart so full with love that it is about to beat out of my chest.

Six years ago the Poppa & I quietly put up our christmas tree.
In a silent house. With silent, empty hearts.
My house was clean, organized and controlled.
The ornament boxes stacked nice & neat.
But my heart was shattered. I wanted a baby so badly.

As I wipe away my tears of thanksgiving, I survey the mess made by my kids as they have pandered through the ornaments, stockings and tinsel. I reach over & pick up the tiny figurine of the babe in the manager.

And I bow my head to worship.

Kingdom come.

Today I am missing my friend Rod.

While I now live in this world of winter, my heart is hungry for the time of eternal summer.

Pause.

Life is a little less sweet. Death is a little less bitter." -- Amish Proverb

Monday morning I got the news that a really good friend of mine from college passed away. She had been very sick (complications from H1N1) for a short time and I had been praying fervently for a miracle for her life.

She & her husband were wonderful people. My life is richer by having them as part of it. They have a beautiful 6 year autistic son.

I am able to read her obituary online. But the tears keep making the screen blurry.
I fumble around with my words as I attempt to let her husband know I am praying.

I found myself squeezing MY husband a little tighter last night.
Stopping to breathe in his goodbye embrace this morning.
Committing once again to live, really LIVE fully in this moment.
THIS very day we have together.
A life lesson that God is continually teaching me.

Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties.

After all, everyone dies—

so the living should take this to heart.

Sorrow is better than laughter,

for sadness has a refining influence on us.

A wise person thinks a lot about death,

while a fool thinks only about having a good time.

Ecclesiastes 7:2-4

All of that & a bag of chips too!

Every day on my way to work, I pass a church that is doing fantastic things in our community.  I am impressed by their "out-of-the-box" thinking and their vision/plans for a community center complex is amazing.  They are in phase 1 of a building project that will eventually include a children's play area, two full soccer fields, a baseball field, several walking trails and picnic shelters in addition to their church buildings. I admire their vision very much. 

That being said, they are currently advertising for a FALL FEST at their church.  There are two signs on the road with details about the event ... date, time, location, etc. .... that I see each morning.  Part of the advertisement includes "POTATOE SALAD" as what they are offering in terms of food that day.  For various reasons, that phrase made me chuckle just a little bit when I first saw it.  I mean, come on', is potatoe salad a draw?  Who attends or doesn't attend because they are serving potatoe salad? Is potatoe salad that seductive? So as I drive by, I smile a little bit, shake my head and go on ...

Until I started thinking about it ... 
What good is a picnic without potatoe salad?
A tastey serving of potatoe salad compliments a hot dog meal perfectly.  When you eat potatoe salad, you know if it is a good potatoe salad vs. a bad potatoe salad don't you?  Take a bite of some potatoe salad that is sour or not seasoned properly and it ruins the whole meal.

There are several areas in my life that I really need to just be a good potatoe salad. 

A committee I serve on....  a team project at work...... holiday plans for my extended family.
I don't need to be the star,( i.e. the main course..... ) I just need to be willing to work beside those who are in charge.  How much smoother would things happen if I make the choice to be complimentary to whatever is happening?

Perhaps Jesus was trying to make this very point when He said, "The first will be last and the last will be first ...."

Beautiful Things

In my lifetime, I have watched dreams die.
Things I prayed for did not come true. People have hurt me.
That is why this song speaks to me.
I have seen brokenness healed. I have experienced beauty from ashes.
I testify to you that God does make beautiful things out of dust.
May you be encouraged today; catch a glimmer of hope and hold it tightly.
God is at work.



“Beautiful Things”
All this pain I wonder if I’ll even find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

Readin'. Writin'. & Prayin'.

SO, the boy started kindergarten.

As a family, we decided we wanted to send him to a Christian School. There is a fantastic one very close to my office and the logistics all seem to work out. (There was a bit of a dramatic flare to the event, because he was registered, then we were told there was no room for him, then they called & had room for him two days after school officially started ...... but when is our life ever simple? Mmmmm) It has been an amazing, wonderful step for us. From the moment we walked into this school, we knew it was where we wanted to be. Even on the very first day, as tears spilled out of my eyes watching my big boy walk into the classroom, I felt such peace.

To say the boy LOVES it is an understatement. I pick him up in the afternoon and as he climbs in to the van he is rapidly discussing what he learned that day. His brain is being stretched and he is absolutely loving the experience. It is a fantastic adventure, one that we hope & pray will continue to be with him for his whole educational journey. We excitedly review the day's papers and he is actually disappointed when there is no homework sheet in his folder. And almost daily, the Poppa prays a blessing over the boy (& sister girl too) that he would "grow in widsom & in favor with God & man."

I am not alone in recognizing this is another milestone in the journey of motherhood. The emotion of it has taken me by surprise at times. I believed I was "super-woman" and would not be affected by this step. O.contrare. The transformation of my preschool son into a real, kindergarten, school boy has me scrambling for many a Kleenex. It hits me at various times, but most often as I watch him hop, jump & run out to meet me at the end of a day. His face & hands are usually grubby, his shirt disheveled and pulled out of his shorts, the grime and sweat making his unruly hair to spike up in various parts.

I look at him in that moment and I see it for what it really is.
A moment.
Such a beautiful one, but oh-so fleeting.
Five years feels like only a few days....

Recognizing the weight of this causes me to pray harder, more earnestly. And it feels like I am the one who is being taught. Learning to shape my life, my actions, my words after Jesus. Knowing that is only through His grace that I can be the mother my children need me to be.
Lord, help ME to "grow in wisdom & in favor" too.

And as Jesus grew older

He gained in both wisdom and stature,

and in favour with God and man.

Luke 2:52

Tidings of comfort.

~Psalm 23~
(A psalm of David)
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness; For His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD
Forever.

Covering all the bases.

Once upon a time a harried mom & dad took a trip
With two adorable preschoolers, who both had to make an emergency potty break.
....blah...blah...blah..

The family chariot pulled off the interstate into a Target parking lot and both parents rushed to get the said kiddos out of the vehicle. Upon exiting the vehicle, they quickly realized that they had locked the keys (the only set of keys) inside the mini van while it was still running.
....wah....wah....wah

The Momma smartly said she was going to take the offspring and run away to the bathroom and while inside she would pray for the Poppa.
Once in the bathroom the Momma instructed the children to hurriedly do their business and that it would be wise, very wise for the wee ones to join her in praying for the Poppa & the-locked-keys-inside-the-van-situation.

The boy's prayer went something like this:
Dear God, Please help Daddy. Please help the locked van. In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the Holy Spirit and all of the other ones too. Amen.
.....ha....ha.....ha
Very soon mall security came to our rescue, unlocked the doors and the family lived happily ever after.

The End.

Growing Pains

Personally, deep in the dark places of my heart where no one else knows me:
God is showing me some stuff that I don't exactly know what to do with.
Areas where I need to grow, to change, to improve.
Things that need to be pruned out of my attitudes.
Gaping holes that need to be filled with His grace & abundance.
Discplines that need to be cultivated.

While I won't go into specifics, nor will I share any more than just that, I will say that God has been amazingly good during this time. I began 2009 with a sincere quest to know HIM better, more intimately and He has been faithful.

This has been a good place for me, even if I have been silent here in this space. I never want to stop growing in my journey with this God who I continually fall in love with.

SMELL. (Our Ministry in 5 senses)

There is an edge to the people we serve on Sunday mornings. Often times as I come downstairs and encounter the line that is already formed, I am assaulted by the scent of....

Fresh sweat and dirty feet.
Dried blood from last night's bar fight.
Earthy, fluid exchange residue from being used.
Distinctive breathes full of hard liquor.
The rawness of not having the advantage of daily bathing routines.

These all mingle together into one intoxicating mess.
The very essence of broken people.

The folks who come to eat with us on Sunday mornings don't have their lives together. And in that aspect, they are very much like me. Sure, I may "gussy" myself up and spray some perfume, but inside I am broken.

And the only thing that could ever fix me was the grace of Jesus Christ.

So I humbly stand in line with them.
I eat my eggs and toast with them.
I look them in the eye, pat them on the back and hug them around the neck.
In our exchanges, sometimes I come home smelling like them.
And when I do, I sense God's favor.

TASTE.

The journey on how we came to minister at an inner city church could take a couple of hours to explain. It certainly wasn't on our horizon. Neither one of us had experience at this type of church. Looking at us from an educated perspective, we are unqualified. Knowing us from a personal perspective, it is surprising. This was not our dream. This was not our plan. This was not where we had aspired/hoped/prayed to be.

And yet, God has given us great passion for this place.
Intense passion.
Overwhelming at times.

We came with a handful of good folk dedicated to do Kingdom work. We were hopeful and naive and had no idea what would happen on the West Side of Charleston. We also had no idea on how to reach our community.

Many of us were familiar with the neighborhood, only through local TV coverage of the crime problems. We knew that there were large communities of public housing there. Rated: Poverty Level in the census reports. How could we declare the power & freedom of Jesus to people so entangled by poverty and generational dependence upon government programs?

We quickly realized that people came if there was food involved.
Hot dog cookouts attracted a crowd. (Large crowds in fact.)

Our resources were (still are) very limited. Our core group small. How could we utilize what/who we had with the maximum opportunity? Somehow we made the connection that we were there every sunday MORNING.
And what do people eat in the morning? BREAKFAST.

Let's serve breakfast!
When we hung out our little "Free Breakfast, Every Sunday @ 11:30" sign, we had no idea what kind of adventure we were embarking. We did not know that eventually this thing would grow & that sometimes we'd run out of eggs. We did not expect to serve persons whose faces sometimes appear on the Charleston's Most Wanted list. We didn't plan for the waiting line to sweep through the hallway & outside the building.

We simply opened the door, baked some biscuits & said Come on in!
Through a modern-day-miracle, God continues to multiply our loaves & fishes each week.
No one leaves hungry, instead they are filled up on hot coffee & warm, tastey food.

I like to think that everyone who comes would agree that on Sunday mornings at 814 Florida Street, the gospel tastes a little bit like scrambed eggs & bacon.
(Or sausage, whatever is on sale or donated that week!)

"Taste & see that the Lord is good!" Psalm 34:7

HEAR. (Our Ministry in 5 senses)

So much of what is said on Sunday mornings at our church is unspoken.

We serve a large crowd in a small space and yet for the most part, we don't have a rough and rowdy group of folk come through the serving line. (I won't lie, there has been an occasional scuffle.)

There is chit chat, greetings and a little small talk, but for 75 people, the noise level is minimal.

But if you stop for a moment, the screams coming from our people are deafening. Downcast eyes, full of hurt and pain. Slumped shoulders carved out from a life of rejection. Broken spirits inside of bodies that are tired, weary & worn down.

What I hear from our people is the silence of shame and embarrassment.

And it's intense. Louder than any shouting match you've ever heard.

No one plans on living a life where they need to accept a free meal on a regular basis.
No. One.
They are poor people, overwhelmed by the journey life has taken them.

I hear it when they look me in the eye and say thank you. I hear it when they reach for the bag from the food pantry and shuffle on out the door. I hear it when they clean their plates and hope for seconds. I hear it as they stuff their pockets with whatever freebie is on the table that week.

We've worked really hard to be a community that is generous with what we have. We are committed to being loving and kind and giving. Yet we recognize that this one small meal on Sunday mornings cannot erase a lifetime of choices & circumstances.

And so in faith, we continue to step forward, serving eggs & toast, knowing all the while that we are in partnership with THE ONE who hears these quiet cries more keenly than we ever can. It's why we do what we do. It's why we believe in what we are doing. It's what motivates us to continue, even when we are exhausted and cranky and ready to stop listening.

Because we know God hears the cry of human hearts everywhere, even on the West Side of Charleston, WV.

Time to get up, God—get moving.
The luckless think they're Godforsaken.
...........
But You know all about it—
the contempt, the abuse.
I dare to believe that the luckless
will get lucky someday in You.
You won't let them down:
orphans won't be orphans forever.

The Message, Psalm 10:12-14

TOUCH

The Poppa currently pastors an inner city church. It is not what we ever expected we would be doing. It's not the dream job of ministry. It certainly doesn't pay well. You won't find our name on the pages of any glossy "Happy Church" magazine. It's exhausting. It's unpredictable. It's messy. It's complicated.

And yet, it is one of the most beautiful places we have ever served.

The small white building sits right in the middle of a very needy neighborhood. Many transient people. Truly, poor people. Disadvantaged would be the PC term these days. Through a continual God-miracle, our church family offers a free meal every Sunday morning. There is no cover-charge or hidden costs. There is no expectation of attending services. Two years ago we hung a small 6x8 sign out front: "Free Breakfast, Every Sunday @ 11:30 AM."

The first week 15 people showed up.
This past Sunday we filled up 74 plates.

These folks have become our people. They have captured my heart in ways I did not know were possible. Awhile ago one of our "regulars" suddenly died. Every woman who works in the kitchen cried the Sunday we found out about his death.

Our people are smelly. Dirty. Sloppy, even.
Some of them reek of alcohol. Sometimes they stagger.
Occasionally, they can be hungover.
But they are OUR people.

I find I love them in spite of these situations. Perhaps even because of it.

God provided a way for us to operate a food pantry. Every Sunday we are able to give every person who comes to breakfast a bag of groceries. (My kids love to "work" the food pantry. Ms. Sherry, the amazing volunteer who coordinates everything allows them to be her helpers. I plan on writing more about my kids & this outreach more later.)Some Sundays I wash dishes.
Some Sundays I stand in the hallway & help direct traffic.
And when I do, I like to touch each person who walks by.
I pat them on the back or on the arm & tell them that I hope they have a good week. I assure them that we are glad they visited with us. I encourage them to come back next Sunday.

Our people aren't normally touched by society.
They just aren't.

Think about how great it feels when someone holds your hand or gives you a hug. Humans are made to be connected to other humans. Part of that connection is actual.physical.contact.
Skin on skin.

And maybe, just maybe it's a reminder that Jesus is touching them too. That He loves to touch the "untouchables."

Springtime Prayer

I look at out my kitchen window and see a hill that is vibrant green.
The mountains all around me are filled with fresh, bright, brand new leaves.
Recent rains have left a cleansing aroma in the air.
Fat robins feast on juicy worms buried within the warm earth.

And I am renewed.
My cup is overflowing with blessings.
Jesus, my husband, my children, my family, my friends.
I have a full, rich life.
The coldness of winter has been erased.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.
PSALM 121Amen. and Amen.

Truth.

At his preschool, the boy recently learned an old song from my childhood.
He loves to sing it very loudly.
I love hearing him sing it.
It makes me smile.

Today, while in the shower, I decided I would sing it loudly too.
I kinda hope it made God smile.

The devil is a sly ole fox.
I'd like to take him & throw in him a box.
I'd lock the door & throw away the key,
For all the mean tricks he's played on me.

I'm glad I've got salvation.
I'm glad I've got salvation.
I'm glad I've got salvation.
By trusting in my Lord.

Measuring Stick.

Today I was not the greatest Mom.
I'm just being honest.
This strep infection has thrown me for a loop, plus the side effects from the antibiotics have kicked in and I'm about one or two notches above functioning.
Excuses aside, I had little patience with my kids the past 24 hours.

What is normally the adorable sound of pitter patter of little feet sounded like a troop of elephants storming through the house. And every time I pulled myself off the couch it was only to discover more messes and more piles of toys. The day seemed to stretch on endlessly until finally I slopped some cold cereal into bowls, added a side of toast & called it dinner.

FAIL.
So I sit here and reflect on my attitude and pray with every fiber of my being that today is not the day my kids use to describe me as a Mom. And I humbly bow my head, asking for God's forgiveness. If there is way to add up all the "good Mom days" and subtract all the "bad Mom days" -- perhaps in the end, I'll tip the scales in the right way.

I ponder this because I've discovered a hard truth over the years....we all tend to judge people based on one particular circumstance or event.

You know, the way you still whisper to your BFF about that guy in your circle of friends who at one time, 15 years ago, was totally strung out on crack. Forget about the years of clean, sober living he has under his belt. He can't seem to escape his past.

Or the gal in your church who sings beautifully in the choir, but in the back of your mind, she wears the label of a man-chaser. Maybe she has had many boyfriends and relationships throughout her life, but God has redeemed her and set her free.

We judge others without the benefit of grace.
But beg for grace when the spotlight is shining inside our lives.

"Forgive our sins, as we forgive everyone who has done wrong to us."
Luke 11:3

Anniversary

Today marks a solemn day for my entire family.
One that changed the landscape of my heart & faith forever.

Twelve years ago today my beautiful niece Claudia fell asleep only to wake up inside the arms of Jesus.

It's impossible to capture the emotions of this day, so I won't mar it with useless words.
There continues to be so many questions that have no answers.
Today, I choke on the words, "Blessed be the God who gives & takes away."
Selah.

Grace

Me & my shadow have a morningtime routine of sorts. We are both the first to get moving in the mornings. I wake up stumbling around, looking for my glasses and grumbling all the way to the kitchen to turn the coffee pot on.

She on the other hand, wakes up bright eye & bushy tailed. Ready for the day. Ready for adventure. Ready for hearty conversations. (She obviously gets that from her father. Sigh.)

We've worked out a bit of a morning dance. Once the coffee pot is perking, I'll stumble into the bathroom & turn on the shower. She follows me into the bathroom, dragging the ever-present blankie & usually some doll/animal/creature she is calling her baby. I grunt & humph around, while she jibber jabbers excitedly about this or that. As I step into the steaming shower, she is arranging a little nest on the floor, where she spends the next ten minutes singing songs or talking to me the whole time I am fully waking up.

I love this! I absolutely do. I know there will be a day when she won't want to follow me around 24/7. That she'll roll her eyes at even the suggestion that we should spend some time together. So for now, I enjoy these moments, capturing them in my heart & memory.
.....................

A few evenings ago, I was very grouchy. And tired. Exhausted really.
And did I mention grouchy?

It was the end of a long day. I hurried through supper & was rushing the evening time bath ritual. Sister girl was not ready to take a bath. She wanted to play. She wanted to run. She wanted to cuddle her doll/animal/creature. She was not ready to take a bath.

Being the absolute meanie mom that I am, I picked her up & carried her to the bathroom. She WAS going to take a bath. Right now. This.very.instance. BECAUSE I SAID SO.

Her normally happy mood changed. She did what unhappy 2 year olds do.
She screamed. She kicked. She cried. She stomped her feet.

My patience was gone. I was done. D.O.N.E.
So I applied all of my most awesome parenting skills & I threw a 38 year old momma fit.
GET IN THE BATH NOW.
DO NOT PASS GO.
DO NOT COLLECT $200.00.
DO NOT. DO NOT. DO NOT.
I AM IN CHARGE.
IF YOU DON'T BE QUIET, I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!(Yes. I said it. The very phrase/words I hated from my childhood, they just errupted from someplace deep & dark & came out. I didn't just say it. I screamed it.)

Ashamedly, I'll confess, my fit throwing worked. (This time.)
She immediately hushed up, got into the bath. We rushed through the process & I put her into bed. Her compliance made me feel instantly contrite. I knew I had over-reacted. I was wrong. (Not wrong in saying that I was in charge. But very wrong in how I conveyed that I was in charge.)

Quietly I dressed her. Her blue eyes staring at me. As I laid her down, I knelt beside the bed & asked for her forgiveness. I apologized for yelling, for throwing a momma-fit. For loosing my cool & not being patient. Her little arms went around me & she gave me a wet, sloppy kiss.

Later as I closed my eyes for the night, my heart was heavy. I have so much to learn, to change, to improve on in this momma game. So.very.much. I've been here before. Whenever will I learn?


But the beautiful point I am trying to make is that the very next morning....

My little girl was happily playing on the shower rug as the warm steam filled the room. Giggling, singing, talking to me & her "baby." All of the unpleasantness from the evening before was erased.


Once again, my children are revealing so much about God to me.
I am blessed.

"Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;

therefore I will wait for him."

Lamentations 3:22-24